Tau Zero

by Poul Anderson

  — of love and merriment at home but discipline too, order, gravity in the presence of strangers; music around, Mozart the dearest; a fine school, where teachers and classmates brought a complete new universe exploding into her awareness; the Academy, harder work than she had known she could do, and how pleased she was to discover she was able; cruises through space, to the planets, oh, she had stood on the snows of Titan with Saturn overhead, stunned by beauty; always, always her kindred to return to—

  — in a good world, its people, their doings, their pleasures all good; yes, there remained problems, outright cruelties, but those could be solved in time through reason and good will; it would be a joy to believe in some kind of religion, since that would perfect the world by giving it ultimate purpose, but in the absence of convincing proof she could still do her best to help supply that meaning, help mankind move toward something loftier—

  — but no, she wasn’t a prig, he mustn’t believe that; in fact, she often wondered if she wasn’t too hedonistic, a bit more liberated than was best; however, she did get fun out of life without hurting anyone else, as far as she could tell; she lived with high hopes.

  Reymont poured the last coffee for her. The waiter had finally brought the bill, though he seemed in no more hurry to collect than most of his kind in Stockholm. “I except that in spite of the drawbacks,” Reynont said, “you’ll manage to enjoy our voyage.”

  Her voice had gotten a bit slurred. Her eyes, regarding him, stayed bright and level. “I plan to,” she declared, “That’s the main reason I called you. Remember, during training I urged you to come here for part of your furlough.” By now they were using the intimate pronoun.

  Reymont drew on his cigar. Smoking would be prohibited in space, to avoid overloading the life support systems, but tonight he could still put a blue cloud in front of him.

  She leaned forward, laying a hand over his free one on the table. “I was thinking ahead,” she told him. “Twenty-five men and twenty-five women. Five years in a metal shell. Another five years if we turn back immediately. Even with antisenescence treatments, a decade is a big piece out of a life.”

  He nodded.

  “And of course we’ll stay to explore,” she went on. “If that third planet is habitable, we’ll stay to colonize — forever — and we’ll start having children. Whatever we do, there are going to be liaisons. We’ll pair off.”

  He said, low lest it seem too blunt: “You think you and I might make a couple?”

  “Yes.” Her tone strengthened. “It may seem immodest of me, whether or not I am a spacewoman. But I’ll be busier than most, the first several weeks of travel especially. I won’t have time for nuances and rituals. It could end with me in a situation I don’t want. Unless I think ahead and make preparations. As I’m doing.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “I am deeply honored, Ingrid. Though we may be too unlike.”

  “No, I suspect that’s what draws me.” Her palm curved around his mouth and slid down his cheek. “I want to know you. You are more a man than any I’ve met before.”

  He counted money onto the bill. It was the first time that she had seen him move not entirely steadily. He ground out his cigar, watching it as he did. “I’m staying at a hotel over on Tyska Brinken,” he said. “Rather shabby.”

  “I don’t mind,” she answered. “I doubt if I’ll notice.”

  Chapter 2

  Seen from one of the shuttles that brought her crew to her, Leonora Christine resembled a dagger pointed at the stars.

  Her hull was a conoid, tapering toward the bow. Its burnished smoothness seemed ornamented rather than broken by the exterior fittings. These were locks and hatches; sensors for instruments; housings for the two boats that would make the planetfalls for which she herself was not designed; and the web of the Bussard drive, now folded flat. The base of the conoid was quite broad, since it contained the reaction mass among other things; but the length was too great for this to be particularly noticeable.

  At the top of the dagger blade, a structure fanned out which you might have imagined to be the guard of a basket hilt. Its rim supported eight skeletal cylinders pointing aft. These were the thrust tubes, that accelerated the reaction mass backward when the ship moved at merely interplanetary speeds. The “basket” enclosed their controls and power plant.

  Beyond this, darker in hue, extended the haft of the dagger, ending finally in an intricate pommel. The latter was the Bussard engine; the rest was shielding against its radiation when it should be activated.

  Thus Leonora Christine, seventh, and youngest of her class. Her outward simplicity was required by the nature of her mission and was as deceptive as a human skin; inside, she was very nearly as complex and subtle. The time since the basic idea of her was first conceived, in the middle twentieth century, had included perhaps a million man-years of thought and work directed toward achieving the reality; and some of those men had possessed intellects equal to any that had ever existed. Though practical experience and essential tools had already been gotten when construction was begun upon her, and though technological civilization had reached its fantastic flowering (and finally, for a while, was not burdened by war or the threat of war) — nevertheless, her cost was by no means negligible, had indeed provoked widespread complaint. All this, to send fifty people to one practically next-door star?

  Right. That’s the size of the universe.

  It loomed behind her, around her, where she circled Earth. Staring away from sun and planet, you saw a crystal darkness huger than you dared comprehend. It did not appear totally black; there were light reflections within your eyeballs, if nowhere else; but it was the final night, that our kindly sky holds from us. The stars thronged it, unwinking, their brilliance winter-cold. Those sufficiently luminous to be seen from the ground showed their colors clear in space: steel-blue Vega, golden Capella, ember of Betelgeuse. And if you were not trained, the lesser members of the galaxy that had become visible were so many as to drown the familiar constellations. The night was wild with suns.

  And the Milky Way belted heaven with ice and silver; and the Magellanic Clouds were not vague shimmers but roiling and glowing; and the Andromeda galaxy gleamed sharp across more than a million light-years; and you felt your soul drowning in those depths and hastily pulled your vision back to the snug cabin that held you.

  Ingrid Lindgren entered the bridge, caught a handhold, and poised in mid-air. “Reporting for duty, Mr. Captain,” she announced formally.

  Lars Telander turned about to greet her. In free fall, his gaunt and gawky figure became lovely to watch, like a fish in water or a hawk on the wing. Otherwise he could have been any gray-haired man of fifty-odd. Neither of them had bothered to put insignia of rank on the coveralls that were standard shipboard working attire.

  “Good day,” he said. “I trust you had a pleasant leave.”

  “I certainly did.” The color mounted in her cheeks. “And you?”

  “Oh … it was all right. Mostly I played tourist, from end to end of Earth. I was surprised at how much I had not seen before.”

  Lindgren regarded him with some compassion. He floated alone by his command seat, one of three clustered around a control and communications console at the middle of the circular room. The meters, readout screens, indicators, and other gear that crowded the bulkheads, already blinking and quivering and tracing out scrawls, only emphasized his isolation. Until she came, he had not been listening to anything except the murmur of ventilators or the infrequent click of a relay.

  “You have nobody whatsoever left?” she asked.

  “Nobody close.” Telander’s long features crinkled in a smile. “Don’t forget, as far as the Solar System is concerned, I have almost counted a century. When last I visited my home village in Dalarna, my brother’s grandson was the proud father of two adolescents. It was not to be expected that they would consider me a near relative.”

  (He was born three years before the first manned expedition departed
for Alpha Centauri. He entered kindergarten two years before the first maser messages from it reached Farside Station on Luna. That set the life of an introverted, idealistic child on trajectory. At age twenty-five, an Academy graduate with a notable performance in the interplanetary ships, he was allowed on the first crew for Epsilon Eridani. They returned twenty-nine years later; but because of the time dilation, they had experienced just eleven, including the six spent at the goal planets. The discoveries they had made covered them with glory. The Tau Ceti ship was outfitting when they came back. Telander could be the first officer if he was willing to leave in less than a year. He was. Thirteen years of his own went by before he returned, commander in place of a captain who had died on a world of peculiar savageries. On Earth, the interval had been thirty-one years. Leonora Christine was being assembled in orbit. Who better than him for her master? He hesitated. She was to start in barely three years. If he accepted, most of those thousand days would be spent planning and preparing… But not to accept was probably not thinkable; and too, he walked as a stranger on an Earth grown strange to him.)

  “Let’s get busy,” he said. “I assume Boris Fedoroff and his engineers rode up with you?”

  She nodded. “You’ll hear him on the intercom after he’s organized, he told me.”

  “Hm. He might have observed the courtesy of notifying me of his arrival.”

  “He’s in a foul mood. Sulked the whole way from ground. I don’t know why. Does it matter?”

  “We are going to be together in this hull for quite a while, Ingrid,” Telander remarked. “Our behavior will indeed matter.”

  “Oh, Boris will get over his fit. I suppose he has a hangover, or some girl said no to him last night, or something. He struck me during training as s rather soft-hearted person.”

  “The psychoprofile indicates it. Still, there are things — potentialities — in each of us that no testing shows. You have to be yonder—” Telander gestured at the hood of the optical periscope, as if it were the remoteness that it watched — “before those develop, for good or bad. And they do. They always do.” He cleared his throat. “Well. The scientific personnel are on schedule also?”

  “Yes. They’ll arrive in two ferries, first at 1340 hours, second at 1500.” Telander noted agreement with the program clamped to the desk part of the console. Lindgren added: “I don’t believe we need that much interval between them.”

  “Safety margin,” Telander replied absently. “Besides, training or no, we’ll need time to get that many groundlubbers to their berths, when they can’t handle themselves properly in weightlessness.”

  “Carl can handle them,” Lindgren said. “If need be, he can carry them individually, faster than you’d credit till you saw him.”

  “Reymont? Our constable?” Telander studied her fluttering lashes. “I know he’s skilled in free fall, and he’ll come on the first ferry, but is he that good?”

  “We visited L’Etoile de Plaisir.”

  “Where?”

  “A resort satellite.”

  “Hm, yes, that one. And you played null-gee games?” Lindgren nodded, not looking at the captain. He smiled again. “Among other things, no doubt.”

  “He’ll be staying with me.”

  “Um-m-m…” Telander robbed his chin. “To be honest, I’d rather have him in the cabin already agreed on, in case of trouble among the, um, passengers. That’s what he’s for, en route.”

  “I could join him,” Lindgren offered.

  Telander shook his head. “No. Officers must live in officer country. The theoretical reason, having them next to bridge level, isn’t the real one. You’ll find out how important symbols are, Ingrid, in the next five years.” He shrugged. “Well, the other cabins are only one deck abaft ours. I daresay he can get to them soon enough if need be. Assuming your arranged roommate doesn’t mind a swap, have your wish, then.”

  “Thank you,” she said low.

  “I can’t help being a little surprised,” Telander confessed. “He doesn’t appear to me as the sort you’d choose. Do you think the relationship will last?”

  “I hope it will. He say she wants it to.” She broke from her confusion with a teasing attack: “What about you? Have you made any commitments yet?”

  “No. In time, doubtless, in time. I’ll be too busy at first. At my age these matters aren’t that urgent.” Telander laughed, then grew earnest. “A propos time, we’ve none to waste. Please carry out your inspections and—”

  The ferry made rendezvous and docked. Bond anchors extended to hold its stubby hull against the larger curve of Leonora Christine. Her robots — sensor-computer-effector units — directing the terminal maneuvers caused airlocks to join in an exact kiss. More than that would be demanded of them later. Both chambers being exhausted, their outer valves swung back, enabling a plastic tube to make an airtight seal. The locks were repressurized and checked for a possible leak. When none was found, the inner valves opened.

  Reymont unharnessed himself. Floating free of his seat, he glanced down the length of the passenger section. The American chemist, Norbert Williams, was unbuckling too. “Hold it,” Reymont commanded in English. While everyone knew Swedish, some did not know it well. For scientists, English and Russian remained the chief international tongues. “Keep your places. I told you at the port, I’ll escort you singly to your cabins.”

  “You needn’t bother with me,” Williams answered. “I can get around weightless okay.” He was short, round-faced, sandy-haired, given to colorful garments and to speaking rather loudly.

  “You all had some drill in it,” Reymont said. “But that’s not the same thing as getting the right reflexes built in through experience.”

  “So we flounder a bit. So what?”

  “So an accident is possible. Not probable, I agree, but possible. My duty is to help forestall such possibilities. My judgment is that I should conduct you to your berths, where you will remain until further notice.”

  Williams reddened, “See here, Reymont—”

  The constable’s eyes, which were gray, turned full upon him. “That’s a direct order,” Reymont said, word by word. “I have the authority. Let us not begin this voyage with a breach.”

  Williams resecured himself. His motions were needlessly energetic, his lips clamped tight together. A few drops of sweat broke off his forehead and bobbed in the aisles; the overhead fluoro made them sparkle.

  Reymont spoke by intercom to the pilot. That man would not board the ship, but would boost off as soon as his human cargo was discharged. “Do you mind if we unshutter? Give our friends something to look at while they wait?”

  “Go ahead,” said the voice. “No hazard indicated. And … they won’t see Earth again for a spell, will they?”

  Reymont announced the permission. Hands eagerly turned cranks on the spaceward side of the boat, sliding back the plates that covered the glasyl viewpoints. Reymont got busy with his shepherding.

  Fourth in line was Chi-Yuen Ai-Ling. She had twisted about in her safety webbing to face the port entirely. Her fingers were pressed against its surface. “Now you, please,” Reymont said. She didn’t respond. “Miss Chi-Yuen.” He tapped her shoulder. “You’re next.”

  “Oh!” She might have been shaken out of a dream. Tears stood in her eyes. “I, I beg your pardon. I was lost—”

  The linked spacecraft were coming into another dawn. Light soared over Earth’s immense horizon, breaking in a thousand colors from maple-leaf scarlet to peacock blue. Momentarily a wing of zodiacal radiance could be seen, like a halo over the rising fire-disk. Beyond were the stars and a crescent moon. Below was the planet, agleam with her oceans, her clouds where rain and thunder walked, her green-brown-snowy continents and jewel-box dries. You saw, you felt, that this world lived.

  Chi-Yuen fumbled with her buckles. Her hands looked too thin for them. “I hate to stop watching,” she whispered in French. “Rest well there, Jacques.”

  “You’ll be free to observe on the
ship screens, once we’ve commenced acceleration,” Reymont told her in the same language.

  The fact that he spoke it startled her back to ordinariness. “Then we will be going away,” she said, but with a smile. Her mood had evidently been more ecstatic than elegiac.

  She was small, frail-boned, her figure seeming a boy’s in the high-collared tunic and wide-cut slacks of the newest Oriental mode. Men tended to agree, however, that she had the most enchanting face aboard, coifed in shoulder-length blue-black hair. When she spoke Swedish, the trace of Chinese intonation that she gave its natural lilt made it a song.

  Reymont helped her unstrap and laid an arm around her waist. He didn’t bother with shuffling along in bondsole shoes. Instead, he pushed one foot against the chair and flew down the aisle. At the lock he seized a handhold, swung through an arc, gave himself a fresh shove, and was inside the starship. In general, those whom he escorted relaxed; it was easier for him to carry them passive than to contend with their clumsy efforts to help. But Chi-Yuen was different. She knew how. Their movements turned into a swift, swooping dance. After all, as a planetologist she had had a good deal of experience with free fall.

  Their flight was not less exhilarating for being explainable.

  The companionway from the airlock ran through concentric layers of storage decks: extra shielding and armor for the cylinder at the axis of the ship which housed personnel. Elevators could be operated there, to carry heavy loads forward or aft under acceleration. But probably the stairs which spiraled through wells parallel to the elevator shafts would see more use. Reymont and Chi-Yuen took one of these to get from the center-of-mass deck devoted to electrical and gyroscopic machinery, bow-ward to the living quarters. Weightless, they hauled themselves along the stair rail never touching a step. At the speed they acquired, centrifugal and Coriolis forces made them somewhat dizzy, like a mild drunkenness bringing forth laughter. “And ay-round we go ay-gain … whee!”