Permanence

by Karl Schroeder

  Mallory's proposed ring included both Colossus and New Armstrong— but it missed Erythrion. Rue sat back, arms crossed, and tried to cultivate a neutral expression.

  Pleased expressions appeared up and down the table as Mallory waxed poetic about the new trade possibilities. But as he spoke, Captain Li caught Rue's eye and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

  When Mallory was finished, Captain Li cleared his throat and said, "And what if Osiris and Apophis is the origin of Jentry's Envy?"

  Mallory waved a hand negligently. "Well, clearly we need to determine that… but do we need to sacrifice an entire cycler to do it? Look at the chart. Once the Envy passes Osiris and Apophis it can't return to another viable ring without doing one hundred twenty degree turn— impossible for any massive cycler at that velocity. It'll be committed to visiting a series of empty worlds before it reaches port again. I suggest we outfit a scientific expedition to ride a small habitat on that course and survey the Twins on the way by."

  Li shook his head. "They'll pass the system at nearly light-speed. There's no way they can do a proper survey without decelerating in. With no beam to ride, how are you going to get in and out?"

  "We could do it with a self-powered ship like the Banshee," said Rue. "That's Admiral Crisler's ship," she explained. "It's a ramjet. It could take us in and out, but firstly, it's an R.E. ship and secondly, Crisler's already planning his own visit to Osiris and Apophis. Once he gets to Maenad he'll return to the R.E. and round up some supply ships. He'll take these and Banshee to the Twins. The Banshee will be used to ship them all out again when they're done exploring the place."

  "How far is Maenad from the Envy's position?"

  "About six light-months. Longer, granted that they have to decelerate in."

  The captains glanced at one another. "We have time," said another of the captains, an old man named Serle. "But we'll be tipping our hand."

  "It may not matter," said the minister. "I think it's a risk we have to take."

  Mallory leaned forward. "What do you mean? Are you saying we can get there first?"

  "Of course not," said the abbot— a little too adamantly, Rue thought. And the minister had an odd look on his face, as if he'd said something he shouldn't have said. Mallory obviously saw these things; he frowned and sat back.

  Well, that was interesting! Too bad Max wasn't here. He was good at reading subtext.

  "Let's restrict this discussion to the possible," said the minister. "We have to sacrifice a pawn by letting Crisler's supply ships get to the Twins first. Once there, they're trapped until the Banshee arrives."

  "Any chance we can take the Banshee over?" asked Mallory.

  Rue stared at him; he really seemed serious. "Uh… I don't think so," she said. "It's an antimatter-drive ship. Doesn't that mean it's got enough power to burn off a moon if it needs to?"

  "Erm, yes," said Mallory. "But we could disable or destroy it fairly easily."

  "I will not allow murderers on my ship!"

  The abbot raised a hand. "That's not in the plan, Captain Cassels. Mr. Mallory, you're out of line. There'll be no military action against the Banshee. All we need to do is ship up a smaller, lighter ramjet of our own. The only problem is it will take almost all our beam power to do it."

  "Well that is a problem," said Mallory. "My people and I are eager to return to New Armstrong. There's considerable cargo we need to take with us. The Envy would literally shave years off our schedule."

  "Your schedule," said Rue coldly. "Is that what all this is about?" She looked around the table. "I appreciate the economic advantage that Colossus and New Armstrong stand to gain by altering my cycler's course. The ring you're proposing would pass a number of core systems and obviously it would make me unbelievably rich. But you've only told half the story, Mr. Mallory."

  She tuned up the holo so that her ring glowed more brightly than Mallory's. "What you didn't say is that four of the 'empty' worlds on my ring were surveyed a hundred years ago and found to be prime locations for new colonies. Abbot Griffin began this meeting by telling us that the Compact is in trouble. That's because we're losing all the lit worlds that were once a part of it. Cyclers that once picked up and deposited cargoes at the lit worlds are passing them by— there are holes in our rings now. Distances between stops have increased for nearly all the cyclers because of this.

  "I know we've been redrawing the rings to compensate, but more cyclers for fewer worlds is a false economy— and it means increasing isolation for the most distant halo worlds. Mr. Mallory's plan would be profitable in the short run, but have we completely lost sight of the long run here?" What about Erythrion? she wanted to shout. Captain Li had shown her plans for the new, smaller rings. There were no cyclers for Erythrion in that plan.

  "I will not alter the course of the Envy," she said. As Mallory opened his mouth to speak she continued. "I have very good reasons not to. First, there may well be an alien cycler-building industry at Osiris and Apophis; we need to get to it before the R.E. does. The Envy is going there anyway. We need only tag along with the small ramjet the abbot mentioned. With the Envy as backup, the ship can do a quick insertion and return flight. Otherwise, you're contemplating a starship that has to carry as much resources as a cycler, because it'll have to be autonomous for years. It's not going to be a 'light' ramjet if it has to survive on its own all the way back here from the Twins.

  "But the second reason's much more important. Is the Cycler Compact dead? Are we just marking time? Are we so demoralized by the loss of the lit worlds that we're going to withdraw from exploration and just get by with what we've got? Or are we going to seed the worlds along the Envy's existing route with beam-builder robots? In twenty years when we pass by again, the beams will be ready and we can begin dropping colonists on those worlds. Just think! Four new systems! How many new worlds among them? Ten? Twenty?"

  Mallory and the Oculus minister were both glowering at her. Li was smiling and the abbot's face was neutral. Rue spread her hands and said, "It's the only reasonable course of action. My cycler is open to any legal cargo, naturally, but I'm keeping her on her present course and that means our best bet will be to ship up some beam-builders and a light ramjet or pion drive cutter to visit the Twins. I'm not qualified to figure out those details, but as to the course itself… that's set."

  No one objected. In fact, to her surprise she saw they were nodding, all except Mallory. For Rue, something had crested and passed at this moment. She was no longer nervous; she no longer feared the men at this table.

  The world was full of Jentries and Crislers and Mallories. But they could be opposed and beaten. This, she promised herself, she would remember.

  "And what about your own course?" asked the abbot.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "You're in an unusual position," continued the abbot. "You're both a cycler captain and the cycler's owner. Most cyclers are commissioned by consortia or governments, then run by a captain chosen by the Compact. Since your salvage claim on the Envy has been upheld, you no longer need to reside on the vessel itself. You could choose to settle somewhere. Will you be returning to the Envy? Or returning to Erythrion— which will take years?"

  "I… I don't know," she said, off balance again.

  "I just wanted to say that you have a third choice," said the abbot. The others were smiling and nodding now.

  "What choice?"

  "You could settle here, with your crew. Colossus would be honored to accommodate a cycler owner of your stature. And we're wealthy as halo worlds go, Captain Cassels. You could live in luxury here— your whole crew could."

  Rue's mind was a blank. Somehow she had never contemplated this possibility. She had been so focused on staking her claim on the Envy, for so long, that what came after had remained a blur in her imagination.

  "Uh," she said after an awkward silence.

  The abbot laughed. "Please, don't think you need to answer right now! Think about it. I just wanted to make su
re you knew the offer was there."

  The meeting continued, but Rue seemed to be floating above it somehow, watching herself debate and listen with the others.

  Could it be that her long flight from Jentry's anger would end here?

  * * *

  MICHAEL KEPT SNEAKING glances at the green man as they walked. It wasn't as if someone had applied green paint to his body. The color had a depth to it, so that the contours of his body shone a deeper shade than the planes. Even his long tangled hair was green. He stalked rather than walked, balancing on the balls of his feet, nostrils flared, eyes wide. He looked ready to fight, or flee.

  The strange man had not spoken at first, merely staring at Michael, Herat, and Waldt. Finally one of the other humans had introduced himself, as a Mr. Arless. "These are the ones you asked for," Arless had said to the green man.

  "Phages in the house of God," said the green man. His voice was thin, as if he had to force the words past some obstruction. "This is a catastrophe."

  "We were informed that the autotrophs will see us," said Herat.

  "They see no phages," hissed the green man. Then he looked down at his feet. "But you may see them."

  Arless hovered at Michael's shoulder. "We gave the monks of the Autotroph Way a hand when they were starting out," he whispered. "The 'trophs accept them and in turn they owe us big time. So trade happens."

  "Who is 'we'?" asked Michael.

  Arless shrugged. "Business people."

  "Of course." Michael knew the R.E. would never tolerate such an arrangement. Genetic alteration of humans was illegal— as were the personal neural implants of NeoShintoism, he thought sourly. The R.E. was terrified that humanity would radiate into a thousand subspecies, as had happened to so many spacefaring civilizations in the past. That fear was one of the reasons they used to justify the tyranny of the Rights Owners.

  "I can't believe the 'trophs have agreed to see you," said Arless. "You must really have something they want." He glanced at his men.

  "It's nothing you could use," said Michael quickly. "You might say it's a shared hobby."

  "Come," said the green man. He had turned and marched into the green mouth of a tunnel. For almost half an hour now Michael had let himself be drawn though a seemingly endless maze of corridors hacked out of crustal ice. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were of deep blue, emerald where lights shone in nearby, hollowed-out chambers. Cables ran along the ceiling and the footing underneath was loose plastic plates.

  Finally the green man stopped at a dead end. A ladder was set into the wall of the tunnel here. It led upward.

  "We'll wait for you here," said Arless as Michael and the professors moved to the ladder. "Say hi to the 'trophs when you see 'em."

  They followed their guide up the stairs, which rang loudly under their feet. Michael shaded his eyes and looked ahead to try to make out their destination. He could see a triangular network of girders, mist, and, somewhere in the distance, a rich red surface like a theater curtain. The light was too bright to make out more.

  The steps passed through the girders and let onto a large concrete surface. To Michael's left, the geodesics of girder-work swept up and into obscurity, at least half a kilometer overhead. Blue and green ice brooded outside the triangles. Where sight foundered in dim mist overhead, the eye met glowing crimson, which swept down inside the geodesics to become a second wall to Michael's right. This space— outside a wall of girders and inside a wall of billowed crimson— curved away to either side. The girders must form a geodesic sphere and inside that sphere was another, this one of the red material. Michael and the others stood at the bottom, in between the two walls.

  There were more green humans here, striding back and forth or riding small carts, carrying supplies and tools. A few stared in their direction. The concrete floor was a maze of stacked boxes and pillowed tarpaulins. It was damp in here, the air heavy, but no longer cold.

  "Phages are not allowed beyond this point," said the guide. He scowled at Michael and the professor. "They must not know that you are here. Walk only where I say."

  "Are the autotrophs afraid of us?" asked Herat casually. Michael stared at him— how could he be so tactless? But the guide simply shook his head.

  "Fear is an emotion. Emotions are a pollution of phages, not autotrophs."

  "That doesn't sound very attractive," said Herat. "Why do you admire them so much if they have no concept, say, of love?"

  "There are… affects… that autotrophs have, but phages cannot." The guide was proving to be positively chatty. Michael was once again surprised at Herat's ability to ferret out information from seemingly impossible sources.

  "But do these affects correspond to states like fear or attraction?"

  "This way." The guide started walking again. In the distance, Michael could see a slit of bright light in the crimson wall.

  They rounded a stack of huge crates and came to the slit in the curtain. The red material was at least two meters thick, Michael now saw, and rubbery. As they approached he put his hand out to touch it. It felt like a leaf— alive and delicate. He snatched his hand back.

  The slit rose a good ten meters above them, narrowing gradually.

  The green man gestured to a rack of pressure suits. "Dress." He picked one off its hangar and began suiting up. Michael grabbed another; it was an unfamiliar design, with markings in a language he had never seen before on its metal cuffs and wrist pad. He tried to imitate the green man's actions. Getting a suit properly sealed was a matter of life and death; because he couldn't read the suit's HUD display, he wasn't sure if he'd done it right. Did green lights mean safe or danger to these people?

  Waldt had reached for a suit, but the green man stopped him. "Only three may safely enter at a time," he said. Waldt started to protest, then shook his head in obvious disappointment and stepped back.

  The now-suited green man walked over and checked Michael's suit, then Herat's. Michael's earphones crackled and he heard the voice of the green man say, "Good. Come." Their guide walked over to the glowing slit in the wall and pressed himself into it. The material gave slightly. The suited man pushed and wriggled his way deeper into it.

  "You don't suppose the whole place is like that?" asked Waldt. "Solid, I mean?"

  "You don't know?"

  Waldt shook his head. "I've never been allowed beyond this point," he said.

  Michael went up to the slit and tentatively pressed his hand into it. It gave like rubber. He pressed forward into crimson glowing material; this was much less pleasant than the Lasa airlocks had been. Like being born, in reverse, he thought. He got about a meter in without difficulty; then he began to encounter a strong pressure. The light was changing, becoming brighter and what he could see of the arm extended ahead of him was beaded with moisture.

  Abruptly his hand was free of the material and with relief he pushed himself out, into a realm of dazzling light and noise.

  As his eyes adjusted he made out a vast space, at least a kilometer across, carved out of the ice and draped with the folds of this red stuff. No— not draped, he realized as he began to see more. The red material rose up in petals, like a cyclopean rose, with the glassed-over shaft leading down to icewater at its base. At its crown, banks of arc lights lit everything in shadowless, blue-white. The color of this light darkened the red of the huge flower to a bruised purple. The radiance was hot on Michael's skin even through the faceplate.

  Narrow catwalks crossed the open space in a profusion of bright lines and rising up from around the circular water shaft were numerous scaffolds, upon which bright machines twirled and roared. The whole space echoed with noise, in fact— an industrial bedlam completely at odds with the strange and opulent flower that cradled the machinery.

  Michael now stood on a nexus of scaffolds; five radiated away from this spot and ladders and odd spiral poles rose up from the railing. In the nearby air tiny black flecks— insects? — danced distractingly.

  "One thing we do know," said
Herat. "The autotrophs like a temperature of about a hundred Celsius, at high pressure. Their atmosphere is mostly compressed steam with a bit of nitrogen in it. Look— you can see the air ripple with the heat."

  Michael looked about for some sign of the autotrophs. He saw things moving— strange, looping tetrahedrons that rolled to and fro, sometimes stopping to balance on two legs while the other two grabbed some piece of machinery or piping and passed it off to the spidery metal robots that swarmed over the scaffolds. At least he assumed they were robots.

  "Are those the autotrophs?" he asked, pointing to the distant tripod shapes.

  The guide simply gestured for them to follow. He headed out along one of the narrower catwalks, which passed over the dark pit of the water shaft.

  Looking out, Michael could now see a few glassed-in platforms suspended over the shaft. One of them was a broad dome joined to the catwalk by an ordinary looking airlock. There were what looked like beds inside this dome and green forms on many of them. He did a double take and realized he was looking at almost a hundred green men and women, apparently asleep in the blazing light.

  "We have provided an interface to the autotroph information net," said the green man. "You will use that to ask your questions." He pointed and Michael, following his gaze, at first could not see what he was pointing at. There was a thing like an inscape terminal, but it was covered with a dense crawling carpet of bugs.

  Then he got it. The autotroph AI was a cloud of black metal beads, each about the size of a bee. They had wings and were distributed throughout the vast space of the enclave. Here, though, the green people had built a device to attract them. So were they going to speak to the autotrophs through this device— or only to it?