by Larry Niven
“You mean the antimatter generator,” Rachel said.
“I mean the town. And after that we’ll build the collider.”
Ursula broke in. “If there are so many people, how will you get them all to Ymir?”
“John Glenn carried two thousand of us here, all frozen,” Gabriel replied. “Let’s look at the near future, like tomorrow.”
“But there’s going to be more than two thousand. There already are. You want us to help John Glenn leave us? For someplace nobody has ever even seen?” Rachel asked.
“For a place where we were supposed to meet our friends a long time ago,” Ali said.
“Your friends,” Rachel muttered under her breath. Harry must have heard her, since he shot a warning look her way.
“How do you know Ymir’s still there?” Harry asked loudly. “Or that the other starships made it to the system?”
Harry was covering for her thoughtless comment.
Now Gabriel spoke. “It’s a planet. They don’t wander away from their suns. I have faith the other two colony ships got there.”
“I still don’t see why one day off would make a difference,” Ursula said.
Everyone ignored her.
Rachel wanted to know more about John Glenn, but Gabriel’s face was closed tight. She gave up, sighing. “Go over where we’ll be tomorrow; tell us what you need us to do.”
Ali rewarded Rachel with a smile. “It’s beautiful out there, wild and rocky. Empty. I think you’ll like it.”
They worked without stopping until Apollo set. The students shared a quiet dinner alone, sluiced sweat and dirt away with buckets of cool water they pulled from the irrigation pipes, then ducked into a big shared housing tent nestled in rocks at the end of the field. It was protected from wind and separate from the Earth Born’s camp.
Rachel twisted and turned, uncomfortably awake for hours. Loud talk and laughter from the Earth Born threaded in and out of her thoughts, and she covered her ears with her arms. The lunch talk was the first time in six weeks of planting she’d heard anything that reminded her of her conversation with her dad about Council the night before she left home. She wished her dad was there to fix her tea, and she wished Gabriel would tell her his plans. Even exhausted, she remained aware of the breath and movement of the others for a long time.
Harry snored.
THE NEXT MORNING all five of them were crammed in the little flier they’d brought out from the grove. A brush-work of saplings dotted the ground below, becoming shorter and newer as they flew over two seasons of work. Then they passed greens and reds of cyanobacteria and molds; signs of regolith being given life. The ground changed to jumbled rocks and sand, streaks of reds and browns and blacks where surface soils mixed unevenly. Small ridges and shallow craters flowed below, everything rock and sand. Rachel had seen pictures and read about the regolith deserts, miles and miles of dead land waiting to be coaxed awake. It was most of Selene, and flying over it, Selene seemed huge. She sat wedged between Harry and Ursula, and had to look past them on either side to get a view.
They flew above one of the few roads on Selene. Dry, dusty, and rocky, the Sea Road terminated at the edge of the Hammered Sea, a quarter of the way around Selene from where they were now. Back when Aldrin was still tented, Council used the road for big equipment to lay water pipes between the Hammered Sea and Aldrin. Now, Selene’s stable heavy atmosphere encouraged flight; Council designed for it. Mostly unused, the road looked abandoned. Long stretches were still smooth glassy road surface, punctuated with hundreds of feet of sand drifts. Watching carefully, Rachel noticed how the makeup of surface soils affected the amount of drift.
“Let’s stop for lunch,” Ali suggested.
Gabriel banked the little plane, looking for a good landing place.
The cramped cabin filled with a piercing warning whine. Wrist pads chimed and beeped.
Gabriel leveled the plane and sharply increased speed.
Ali flicked her data window to a new search and stared at it, mumbling, “We’re lucky we weren’t on the ground.”
“What is it?” Harry asked.
“Flare,” Gabriel said.
“How much time do we have?” Harry’s voice didn’t even quiver.
Gabriel answered, just as smoothly. “Two hours. We should have heard about it earlier—Astronaut must be slipping.”
Pain sliced through Rachel’s knee as Ursula’s fingers dug into flesh.
“We won’t get back,” Harry said.
“Not to where we came from,” Gabriel replied, then, to Ali, “Closest shelter?”
“I’m looking.” Ali’s voice was musically, cheerfully sarcastic.
Rachel felt her breath coming high and fast, closed her eyes, and peeled Ursula’s hand from her knee. Everyone in Aldrin drilled regularly, but Rachel only remembered one other real flare.
She’d been smaller, just seven. Running with her father, being swung low into a shelter in the center of Aldrin, underground. Pulled by strange hands down into a place she hadn’t even known existed. She remembered struggling to breathe standing against the adults’ legs, until finally she cried out and people shifted, making room for her. She could still hear Frank calling for her mother: “Kristin,” then louder, “Kristin!” and the door closing and Frank shoving her hand into a neighbor’s, and looking hard at her, commanding her to stay. His back as he turned and struggled for the door, now closed. His fists pounding on the door as he looked back at the crowd, at Rachel, and finally stood still, an angry lost look on his face. After what she remembered as a long time, he had come back and held Rachel tightly to him, his arms quivering.
She had not seen her mother since. Her father’s face was empty when he told her Kristin had gone to John Glenn. Within a few weeks he stopped talking about her. Sometimes Rachel noticed him stroking the violet and rose embroidered curtains her mother had made, and staring out the window.
It was as if she’d died.
The flier banked, the change in angle drawing her back into the present.
Gabriel flew with purpose, driving the little plane near the top of its abilities. He was totally focused. He and Ali spoke too low and fast for Rachel to make out the words. Half an hour passed before Gabriel throttled the plane back and brought the nose up, clearly meaning to land.
Rachel couldn’t see anything. No people, no vehicles, certainly no shelter.
No one spoke as Gabriel landed the flier. She looked at her wrist pad. Almost an hour had passed. They wouldn’t see radiation. Would the sunlight be brighter? What if the timing was wrong?
Gabriel pulled a pack from under his seat, climbed out, and stood by the door, helping them down one by one. “We had to land a little ways from the shelter. This was the closest stretch of road long enough to take the plane safely. We have time. Follow me, stay close.”
“But where—” Ursula started to ask.
“They built shelters along the Sea Road,” Harry whispered. “That must be where he’s taking us.”
The sunlight didn’t look any different.
None of them wore wings. Rachel, in a chaotic bouncing run, quickly ran out of breath. Gabriel ran with one hand in Ursula’s and one in Harry’s, pulling them into bigger strides than they’d have managed on their own. Ali grabbed Rachel’s hand and pulled. Rachel’s longer legs barely let her keep up with the help of the smaller woman, and Rachel wondered where Ali got her strength.
They ran until Rachel’s breath came in small desperate gulps.
Rachel felt the pull of Ali’s hand change suddenly, pushing her back. Gabriel had stopped where a tall metal rod poked up out of the ground, bright yellow streamers and green bands decorating the top. He dug in the dirt below it. “Harry, Rachel, help me,” he said.
The five of them frantically pushed sand and small stones away until they uncovered a handle on a slab of metal set into the ground. Gabriel leaned down and pulled, his whole body straining against the weight. It didn’t give.
Harry
walked over to the metal stake, began pulling on it. No give there either. Rachel saw what he was doing, stepped over, and began to pull as well. They worked the stake in a circle, loosening it, tugging upward. Nothing, then a slight movement, and then nothing again. “Ursula!” Rachel called.
Ursula turned, and then Ali said “Good idea!” and came to help. With four sets of hands pulling, the rigid pole finally slid from the ground. They carried it over to Gabriel, and he threaded it through the metal door handle, making a lever. Ali said, “Twenty minutes.”
Gabriel grunted. They pulled up together on the rod, and puffs of dust rose from two spots on the long edge. “Now, more,” Gabriel said through gritted teeth, pushing the sound out so it was barely intelligible.
They pulled. The door didn’t budge.
CHAPTER 4
THE CONTROLLER
ON BOARD THE John Glenn, Ma Liren stalked into the galley. Two gardeners stared at a video wall, watching something on Selene’s surface. Liren stopped, frowning, watching the women, Mary and Helga.
Liren stepped forward to look. She recognized Gabriel and Ali and three Moon Born children, outside, exposed to the coming flare. They were pulling together, everyone on one side on some kind of lever, faces strained. It was a micro-camera image; a slightly grainy picture and no sound. The door jerked, flew up a few inches, and fell back to the surface of Selene. Harry jumped as the lever was torn from his hand.
“Come on,” Mary whispered, rapt, “you can do it.”
“Astronaut,” Helga demanded, “time left?”
“One point four minutes until initial effects, seven minutes before serious radiation.” The AI’s calm voice contrasted with Helga’s high-pitched tones.
The image was small. One of the children—Rachel—separated from the group and picked up a rock, setting it down next to the door. The children all reached together, joining Ali and Gabriel, pulling up again. The door rose—inches, more inches, and Rachel toed the rock under the edge just as the group lost leverage and the door started to fall again. The lever angled up, and Ali and Gabriel squatted, using the strength of legs accustomed to more gravity than the Moon Born. The door rose and, finally, balanced at a ninety-degree angle to Selene’s surface. Gabriel and Ali held the door.
Helga and Mary clenched fists and screamed triumph as Ali led the three Selene born into the stairway. Gabriel was the last one in, and as the door thumped closed, Helga and Mary smiled broadly at each other.
Liren closed her eyes. This wasn’t good—the crew couldn’t afford attachment to the Moon Born. “Okay,” she said, “they’re safe.” She looked directly at the two women. “Don’t you owe me a report on the savannah?”
Mary turned around. “Hey, lighten up.”
“It’s not as if we could have helped them from here anyway. Let them solve their own problems, and we’ll solve ours.”
“You know, Liren, not everything can be work.”
It was an old argument. Liren sighed. “Of course not. We provide you plenty of other entertainment.”
“Aren’t you even glad they’re safe?”
“Of course I am.” Liren clenched her teeth and headed for the refrigerator, rummaging for some synthed milk to calm her stomach. “We all know our jobs are here, and that’s where our focus should be—on keeping this damned ship running until the Selene project is over.”
“Maybe we should all help. The work down there would go faster.”
“We need to save your skills.”
Helga raised her soft voice. “Do you still think we’ll get to Ymir?”
“Not if we lose faith, we won’t. We need to stay pure, and keep our focus.” Liren poured the milk into a tall thin glass. “Now, don’t you all have some work to do?”
Mary threw her head back and laughed. “Still always work. Don’t worry, we’ll do what you want. We always do, don’t we?”
Liren bit back an angry reply. The crew was bored, and Selene provided fresh entertainment. “Just remember you have jobs to do here. Others are assigned to Selene. Let them do their work, and focus on yours.”
Liren hated Selene. She hated the compromises they made every day. Compromises were dangerous. They needed too much nanotech to change Selene into a world rich enough to support manufacturing and the civilization of thousands needed to build the collider. The Astronaut program had too much freedom and too much say. It was too easy—the AI could handle complex math and design more readily than a human or a standard computer program. Gabriel and Captain Hunter kept loosening the bonds that were supposed to keep Astronaut caged into its small world of interstellar navigation.
Liren walked down the corridor toward her office, still lost in thought. John Glenn couldn’t orbit here forever. The ship’s sleek sides were dimpled with space-debris impact pits. They’d lost two Service Armor ships across the years. Terraformers had stolen sensors and materials to use on Selene. In-ship systems needed more regular repair. It was an ever-uphill battle to keep her small group of humans free from the twin temptations of technology and complacence. They couldn’t risk more technology. They had the ability; nano could make them gods. But what would wild nano do to Selene? To John Glenn? That was the path of poor, doomed Earth.
No matter how hard she tried, Liren couldn’t see a way to dampen the crew’s attachment to the Children. Council and Colonists on the surface needed the support of John Glenn’s resources. Warm bodies aboard John Glenn were bored enough to need entertainment. Circumstances trapped them.
Liren entered her office. The room was orderly, clear surfaces, black and white colors, and almost no decorations. She sat in her high-backed chair and stared at the wall. She thumbed up what she called her “reminders.” Articles and scenes flashed on the wall as a collage she’d spent years building.
On Phobos, AIs with more power than humans. News photos of crew members killed on their way to John Glenn. An asteroid turned to an Escher nightmare, all edges and angles, by wild nano, and no sign of the expedition that was supposed to be surveying it. Pictures of John Glenn’s two sister ships, Leif Eriksson and Lewis and Clark. Surely both ships had reached Ymir and were building a real world. Each new picture slammed into her, building her resolve to keep going. They also made her stomach cramp harder, and she tasted sour milk.
“Astronaut,” she commanded, “how bad is the flare? Give me damage estimates.”
A voice sounded in her ear. “Data streams indicate that everyone made it to shelter in time.”
“Get me a report on the plant damage as soon as you can.”
“It will take a few moments to assemble detailed information. Gabriel and Ali were lucky to get themselves and the students to the shelter. Perhaps more shelters should be built?”
“I asked for a report, not an opinion,” Liren barked.
“I will produce a report about the efficacy of more shelters,” the voice said, “and a better design for the door.”
“I asked for a report on plant damage. Gabriel can tell me about the shelters. It’s high time he was here anyway.” Gabriel was way too attached to Selene.
“What worries you, Liren?”
“Ask Gabriel to come up for the next High Council meeting. And be quiet until I speak to you.”
The silence was immediate. If Astronaut were human, she would think it was miffed. She would not worry about an AI’s feelings.
She needed a distraction.
She’d left so much behind on Earth! At least the arts had come with them. Gabriel sang. Ali wove. Kyu decorated herself. Sculptures dotted the garden and common areas of the ship. Liren approved of art. She pulled out her journal, and worked long into the night, writing a story about Ymir, hoping to keep her people’s attention on the real goal. Her stomach wouldn’t settle. The right words refused to find their way into her data window.
She tried for haiku. The spare lines often centered her. Tonight, even simple poetry refused to blossom for her. She curled up onto her white couch, covering herself with a black b
lanket.
She twisted and turned, falling into a familiar dream. John Glenn, still parked in Earth orbit, waited to leave for a base near Uranus, to join sister ships Leif and the Lewis and Clark. They’d financed it themselves, High Council, fifteen members of the Council of Humanity. Spent savings, sold conglomerates. In her dream their little ship approached the big carrier, dodging a cadre of man/machine hybrids flying agile space-planes, intent on forcing berths aboard the first interstellar ships ever built. Ma Liren as copilot pitted her human ingenuity against their pursuers. One ship was already behind, ten people who wouldn’t make it to John Glenn. In her dream, she watched the doors slam shut against the locks she had been angling for, shutting her out.
CHAPTER 5
THE HAMMERED SEA
A DAY AND a half after the flare, Gabriel stood with Ali and the students at the edge of the crater that cupped the Hammered Sea. The horizon was almost a flat line of water—the tallest edges of the far crater wall peeked above the sea like teeth, jagged and far away. He loved this place. It was a wild machine, much more controlled than it looked, often surprising.
The rim was unstable. Ten degrees away from them, inside the crater wall, a rock worked loose and fell. Ursula pointed, her finger shaking. He watched it bounce slowly, exaggeratedly, down the jagged incline and splash into the bright water below; a tiny ball, graceful in the low gravity. “That was beautiful,” Ursula said.
“Those rocks,” Gabriel said, “are the size of the planting machines you hate to drive.”
Ursula’s eyes widened and she stepped back, losing her balance and falling onto the soft powdered rock that covered the rim of the crater. A fog of dust rose around her, changing the color of her skin.
Gabriel laughed. Harry laughed too, standing at the edge, toes lined up with the end of a rock. In a few moments, Ursula’s laugh followed theirs, a nervous trill. She moved away from the rim.
Rachel leaned forward, eyes pinned to the sea. She pointed toward water stains below them. “Does the water really get that high?”
