"Banshee's state of the art: a fullerene-wrapped superconducting magnet with a field radius of eight thousand kilometers, a pion drive, and a courier class fast hyperdrive. The drive unit normally tows the habitats, so don't worry about radiation, we'll never get near the thing."
"It's a ramjet?" asked Cassels.
"Hybridized to use antimatter from an onboard supply instead of doing straight fusion. Banshee is very, very fast. We'll approach the Envy's velocity in a little under two months. We'll use the hyperdrive first to get near the Envy, so we can accelerate in empty space. We'll come out of jump three light-months behind her and accelerate up from there. We'll have a six-week window to bail out once we get there. Then we'll have reached a point where it'll be just as worth our while to stay with the Envy until its next stop. So the mission is a five-week exploratory phase, followed by a possibly extended mission of a year and a half. Luckily the Envy is on a course that will take it near the K-class star Maenad in two years. Maenad has no planets or colonies, but it's a massive enough star to start our FTL drive. We can jump back to Chandaka from there."
Dr. Herat was shifting impatiently in his seat. "That's fine. What about the cycler? All we've seen of it so far has been a set of photos. What are we going to find when we get there?"
The admiral smiled. "Well, to answer that, I think we should defer to the owner of the cycler, Mr. Cassels. Max?" He turned to the rumpled halo-worlder, who glanced around and stood up.
"Actually…" said Max. "I'm Max Cassels, all right, but I'm not Bud Cassels and I'm not the real owner of the Jentry's Envy."
He was met with a puzzled silence.
Just as Admiral Crisler opened his mouth to speak, Max said, "We decided that while we were here, the real owner would let me play the part because I've got a bit more experience dealing with… people in powerful situations. She's confident she can take over now and frankly I think the deception really annoys her." He smirked at the other halo-worlders. "So, then, let me introduce the real owner of Jentry's Envy, Rue Cassels."
Michael squirmed in his seat. He was as surprised as the others at this turn of events, but even more embarrassed now than ever that she had seen him eavesdropping last night.
Max sat down and the young woman stood up. Max had made the introduction like a toastmaster and the lack of applause that greeted her was jarring. She stammered. "I… I'm from a station in the back of beyond, you know. Self-confessed rube. When we came here we didn't know whether we'd be conned out of the ship. I didn't know what to do, so I put things in Max's care for a while. Sorry for lying to you all."
Michael glanced around the table; the others were surprised, but not offended— except, perhaps, for Crisler, who was scowling at Max. Michael himself was completely enchanted.
This Rue Cassels was utterly unlike the one Michael had seen in the garden last night; there, she had been poised, confident, even eloquent. This Rue was a shy, barely adult young woman. She seemed to be hiding behind her dark sunglasses. Some of that might be real— but it came to Michael that she might be acting and if she was, she was superb at it.
"I know, Dr. Herat, that you want the facts and figures about Jentry's Envy," she said. "You'll get them. But I had a real hard time thinking of what to say today and I didn't know why for a while. Then I realized it was because the whole experience of being there at the Envy was so… huge, so wild, that I didn't have the words for it. I mean, I went into this whole thing without a clue what I was getting into. The Envy was a shock. I don't think it's fair to any of you to let you think that this is going to be like anywhere else you've ever been.
"Admiral Crisler and his aides have told me what star travel is like in the R.E. You get on a ship, eat some fine meals and use the exercise facility, hobnob with the other passengers for a couple of days, and then you're at your destination. It's seamless.
"Well, cyclers aren't like that." She glanced at Evan Laurel, who chuckled silently.
"To go to a cycler is not to go from one part of your world to another," she said. "To go to a cycler is to leave everything that you know and see it dwindle into specks and disappear in the hugeness. It's not like visiting somewhere, it's like leaving home for good."
Crisler cleared his throat. "With respect, Ms. Cassels, we're all experienced travelers. I think we know what to expect from your kind of travel."
Rue stammered. "Yes, of course…"
"What about Jentry's Envy?" asked Herat mildly. "What did you find when you got there?"
She smiled at the professor. "Well, that's just it. We'd arrived, but not at what we'd expected, and not at anything we could figure out. Radar showed a bunch of spheres of different sizes. There were other things, too— big half-empty gasbags that barely showed up in radar and little dense packets obviously made of metal. They all had thin lines trailing off them, joining up and ultimately connected to the plow sail. Most of them were at ambient temperature— a few degrees above absolute zero. A couple, though, were warm."
"You explored them," said Dr. Herat.
"Well." She adjusted her pince-nez. "We started to. But while the cycler was doing its turn, there was a slight pull on everything. If we parked our little habitat next to something, that something would drift away. If we used fuel to follow it, we were, well, using up fuel. So we found the warmest sphere in the whole collection and we attached a line to its line. Then we were hanging with the other cargoes, like some kind of weird chandelier."
"Surely you did some exploring," coaxed Dr. Herat.
"At first we thought the cycler was going to finish its turn in a couple of months. But it didn't, it kept turning; it was still going to pass Chandaka, but on the other side of the star from what we'd expected. We'd explored Lake Flaccid while we waited, then afterward I decided it wouldn't be wise to waste too much fuel, so we only explored one other—"
"Lake Flaccid?" Dr. Ophir was trying to keep a straight face.
Max gave a long-suffering sigh. "Our Rue has a talent for naming things," he said. "And, as captain, it's her right to name stuff however she wants."
"It is flaccid," cried Rue. "The name is perfect and you know it."
Dr. Herat held up a hand, a pained expression on his face. Michael could see that the professor didn't think much of Rue Cassels. He would never name a priceless alien site so irreverently.
Michael had to smile.
"What is Lake Flaccid?" asked Dr. Herat impatiently.
Rue appeared puzzled. "We took photos. You didn't…?"
Admiral Crisler half stood. "We decided to withhold the key pieces of evidence until we had everyone committed to the mission. Sorry, Dr. Herat, but we couldn't show you everything before."
"Ah." Rue frowned at Crisler. "Well, let's take an inscape look at it now, if you want."
The picture of the Banshee was replaced by another image. This seemed to be a shot down the length of a round tunnel. Evan Laurel stood balanced on one toe near the camera. He was grinning behind his suit's faceplate and he was brightly lit by a light source near the camera while everything behind him faded into shadow.
"That's the rotational axis of one of the midsize habitats," said Rue. "It's huge by cycler standards— sixty meters across, easily. The axis is about seven meters across, so the bulk of the place is 'under' this cylinder. The habitat rotates, so gravity at the outside would be about two gees. At the axis, it's micro."
"This isn't the habitat that has the Lasa writing on it," Crisler said to Herat, who nodded slowly.
Rue paused, staring at the image. "At first we thought we might set up camp here. The atmosphere's pure nitrogen and though it was about minus twenty, we were going to hook up some heaters and oxygenate a tent. Do some real exploring. But when we got to the lake we got too creeped, so we ended up back at the ship. Well, all except Evan and Corinna. They seemed immune to the creeps."
Evan shrugged. "Needed to get off the ship for a while, that's all."
"What is this lake?" asked Ophir.
"
You can see it in the picture," said Rue. "See that dark line?" Behind Evan in the picture, a broad expanse of darkness ringed the cylinder. Michael had taken it to mean that most of the length of the cylinder was surfaced with some dark material. Now he could see that that surface was indented some centimeters below the white metal Evan balanced on.
"We shone lights into it," said Evan. "Couldn't figure out what it was. Some liquid, we figured, but if it was water it would have massed an incredible amount and you just don't ship that much water up to light-speed. Costs way too much."
Rue shrugged. "We only visited one other place— and it was even weirder than this." She shook her head. "I'm afraid we don't have much to tell you, Doctor Herat."
"Which brings us to the reasons for this expedition," said Crisler. "Obviously it's a huge undertaking and none of us would be doing this if we didn't expect to reap great reward from it. We all have our agendas and it's time to make those clear. Let's start with yours, Rue."
"I've been up front about it all along," she said. "I own the Envy. It's impossible or at least prohibitively expensive to slow it down to sub-light speeds— like it or not, it's a cycler and therefore the only issue is its course and ability to serve as a habitat for travel between planetary systems. I want to make sure it services the halo worlds. I also have to make sure that its course really is a 'cycle'—it has to pass by Erythrion again eventually. So this time out we're looking for ways to live off the habitats that are already there and change its course if we have to."
Dr. Herat sputtered. "That's… criminal. Well, no not criminal but I'm sorry, this is a priceless artifact, you can't turn it into a floating motel—"
"Doctor Herat," barked Crisler.
"Our civilization is held together by the cyclers and nothing else," said Rue coldly. Her shoulders were hunched now, as if she were anticipating a blow. "There are very few cyclers now and fewer every day, thanks to you people. Anything that can bring back a little of what you stole from us is to the good. If your precious investigation has to suffer so that billions of my people can continue to communicate, then so be it!"
"There is also the fact that not even the Cycler Compact has the systems in place to decelerate something as massive as this starship," said Crisler. "The Envy is not something you can tote home to a museum, Professor Herat. It will continue on its course until it erodes away. Ms. Cassels's plan is only sensible, provided we establish a permanent scientific presence aboard the cycler to investigate it during its occupation."
"Ah." Herat looked chastened. "I apologize, Ms. Cassels. Your people do deserve to benefit from this discovery." Michael could tell he was genuinely sorry for his outburst— but also knew that Herat would still feel the exploitation of an alien artifact for personal gain was wrong. "Of course, if we have a permanent presence on the Envy, in the long run…"
"You'll have to pay for that yourselves," said Max Cassels. "The halo cannot afford to subsidize the Rights Economy."
"So," said Crisler, "one of our priorities is to secure the Envy as a viable cycler for use by the halo worlds. Dr. Herat, what are your priorities?"
"Where to start?" he said. He cracked his knuckles under the table; Michael winced. "This is a find of unknown importance. We have no idea what we're going to discover there. It's imperative that we not make any course corrections until we know what the cycler's programmed course is. We need to find out how old it is, who made it, where it comes from. We may be on the verge of contacting an entirely new civilization. I think Ms. Cassels would agree that this is at least as important as securing a single cycler for the halo— especially if this alien civilization is friendly and also uses cyclers. Imagine what it would mean if they cooperated with the halo worlds to build more!"
Rue, who had sat down, arched an eyebrow.
Crisler ticked off points on an inscape scratch pad. "Origin. Makers. Course. Of course, any technological advances that result from the investigation will be shared by the halo and the R.E."
"So what is your interest, Admiral?" asked Michael.
"It's very simple," he said. "If there really is a hidden civilization out there, one that comprises more than a single species, we need to reach it before the rebels do. I hardly have to tell you that our attempts to create a unified galactic parliament have failed; the other spacefaring species are too alien for us to deal with. The whole construction of the Envy hints at a multispecies civilization, which has been humanity's dream since before we even had space flight. If such a civilization exists, the first faction to make an ally of it will inherit the galaxy."
Michael glanced across at the halo-worlders. Crisler seemed unaware of it, but he had just driven home a deep insult that they must all feel: The people of the Cycler Compact had seen themselves as the inheritors of the galaxy before the Rights Economy had burst out from Earth to steal the lit suns from them. Cyclers had been the essential glue binding the original interstellar human civilization. In thinking only of the polarity of rebels vs. R.E., Crisler was openly relegating Rue Cassels's people to the ash-bin of history.
No hint of this showed on their faces. They politely listened as Crisler set about negotiating the hierarchy of priorities. But as Michael looked around the table, he could clearly see what others might not: competing interests and old wounds ignored for now, but perhaps not forever.
They worked through more details of the expedition. When the formal meeting wound up, everyone remained to shake hands and proceeded to snack on the breakfast that had been provided— everyone, that is, except Max Cassels, who begged off and practically ran from the room.
Michael found himself avoiding the other Cassels. He felt embarrassed about eavesdropping on Rue last night. As he was skulking by the drinks table, Linda Ophir appeared next to him.
"I'm a great admirer of your and Dr. Herat's work," she said, hiding a smile behind a tumbler of orange juice.
"Thank you." He wracked his brains for a suitable complimentary reply.
"Listen, Dr. Bequith, before we get all formal in our roles, I was wondering…"
He reached for a drink. "Ah…?"
"There's some… anomalies… in the data that you should know about," she said quietly. "I'd like to discuss them in a less crowded environment. Would you like to take a walk in the garden later this morning?"
"Oh. Well, sure. Uh, what anomalies are we talking about?"
"Nothing special. But please don't mention this to anyone. Okay?" She smiled winningly at him, and walked quickly away.
Michael realized he was standing holding the ladle to the punch bowl like a weapon. He put it down, shook his head, and went to join the knot of people talking with Dr. Herat.
* * *
L INDA DIDN'T SHOW up at the gardens. Michael wasn't sure whether she had been trying to pick him up or talk business, so he waited around for a while, increasingly annoyed. Finally he decided to abandon the wait, and went for a walk. As he stepped through the giant gates of the old Compact fortress, he smiled at the feel of warm air and sunlight on his face.
The sky was blustering today, but it was warm and muggy. The air smelled like cinnamon. Chandaka's star was G-class, like Earth's; the skies were blue here and full of big puffy clouds, and the light seemed natural. He knew that this world had not always looked like this; centuries ago, Compact engineers had blown off the planet's old atmosphere using directed cometary impacts, and had imposed a carbon cycle by force. Free atmospheric oxygen was a new factor in Chandaka's environment; in many places, apparently, deserts and rivers still spontaneously burst into flame now and then. Oxygen was absorbed out of the air almost as fast as it was introduced— sucked into iron-rich rocks and into the oceans for the most part. Though the hills that rolled away to the horizon on both sides looked green and peaceful, the terraforming effort required to keep them green was massive. And expensive.
The streets and towers of the city that sprawled in the valley below the Redoubt at first looked like fabulous confections spun in glass and chrome
. Michael tuned his inscape to full realism, and the illusion vanished: Now he saw the buildings and streets of Chandaka's capital as they really were. The older towers were of carved stone, beautiful and baroque; everything new, though, was made of gray concrete, undecorated in reality. Looming beyond the blocky cityscape were giant stacks belching out oxygen; Michael had swallowed some mesotech scrubbers to remove the extra CO2 from his bloodstream, otherwise he would die in this air.
There were no physical signs to designate shops or public areas— or rather there were some, but they were old and faded almost beyond recognition. The people were likewise unadorned, mostly dressed in utilitarian pant and shirt combinations. This spareness was typical of colony worlds that had little real money or resources; real wealth was siphoned from the citizens to the offworld Rights Owners through thousands of daily microtransactions.
Ironically, it cost Michael money to view the city without inscape filtering. He flipped his inscape back to full representation and instantly the streets became canyons of light, full of virtual pennants and floating holographic ads. The gray concrete walls became marble, a thousand kinds of music sprang up around him and what had been bare stalls along the side of the road turned into a carnival market. There weren't that many kinds of item for sale here, but they were presented in thousands of different inscape wrappers. Even buying vegetables became an adventure when you had to choose between the microspirits in each farmer's stock, each of which strove to be entertaining or wise or salacious as it danced upon the potato or breadfruit that housed its broadcast nano. You paid for this wrapping; you paid just to breathe in this place.
Some of the citizens who had been visible a moment ago were blurred out, edited by their own choice from this version of the street. Those that remained were now dressed brightly, even outrageously, in jewels or light or flame or swirling TV images.
There were other versions of the city, though not as many as you'd find in the inner systems. Michael tuned to a religious view and the hawkers and stalls turned into rows of bronze silent Buddhas. The light changed to something limpid and clear and overhead graceful white forms flitted between the clouds. There were very few people visible in this view, most replaced by ghostly cloth-wrapped figures so you didn't walk into them. Once upon a time there would have been NeoShinto shrines here, physically present along with all the other sects of Permanence. But it was illegal for a religion not to charge for its services in the R.E. There was in fact a Church of Permanence here— the bastardized version whose doctrines and rites were «owned» by a cabal of fallen brothers back on Earth. Michael would have had to pay just to walk through its doors.
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