Permanence

by Karl Schroeder

  "We had the same mentor," said Barendts. "You remember Errend, don't you?"

  Michael's stomach turned over.

  "He sure remembered you. You were… how did he put it? One of the pawns he had to sacrifice to convince the R.E. that Kimpurusha had gone quiet. But he always hoped you'd kept your allegiance and that we might activate you again. A farsighted man, Errend."

  "Indeed." Michael looked over the seed to where Barendts was trying to wedge his end into the airlock. "Need a hand there?"

  "Sure, buddy." Michael went around the seed and crouched by the open airlock next to Barendts.

  "Why don't you just grab it there, and—"

  In one motion Michael unholstered Barendts' laser, and kicked the marine off the interceptor.

  "What the hell are you doing!" Barendts tumbled over twice before he got his reaction pistol in hand and steadied himself. "This is our only chance now, don't you get it? If Crisler gets away with the other seed, he'll be able to build a weapon we can't stop! Hell, one that even he can't stop! He'll win the war, Mike. Kimpurusha will have fallen for all time, and it'll be your fault!"

  Michael regarded him calmly over the edge of the airlock. "What war is it that you're talking about?" He had to laugh at his own thick-headedness during the past months. "I know all about that war, I just spent the last five years of my life uncovering its victims with Professor Herat.

  "Out there in High Space, the war is of all against all, and it goes on forever. No one needs anyone else if they can simply pull up roots and move a few light-years to get away— which works great until you run up against someone who's there already. That's the great lesson of the Chicxulub, isn't it? No matter how big the galaxy, its resources are finite— but with FTL, mobility isn't. Barendts, the result is always— always— the disintegration of the species into thousands of subspecies that war among themselves and with their neighbors. Permanent war. In all the lifetime of the galaxy there's only been two exceptions: the Lasa and the Chicxulub. The Lasa opted out of FTL travel completely; they discovered an environment that encouraged cooperation rather than competition: the halo worlds. No halo world can stand on its own. They need one another, and war between them isn't possible because of the barrier of light-speed."

  "You're crazy," said Barendts. "Put down the laser. Can't you see what's happening here?"

  "More clearly than ever. The Chicxulub are the only other solution, Barendts. The only other solution is to keep yourself pure, and wipe out every competitor. That's what the R.E.'s all about, isn't it? It was created to force humanity to stay together.

  "The lit worlds are lost no matter who wins, can't you see? Whether you and I bring this seed back or not, the R.E. either wins, and goes the way of the Chicxulub, or it loses, and we end up with every world for itself. A thousand wars where before there was only one."

  "You want the R.E. to win!" accused Barendts.

  Michael shook his head. "Actually, I want the Lasa to win. Now you'd better find something to hold onto out there, because I'm shutting this hatch and then we're going after the rest of our people."

  From inside the hatch it was easy to pull the cycler mother seed inside. Michael could see Barendts waiting just outside, but he had no weapon. He continued to rail impotently at Michael until the hatch was shut.

  * * *

  "DON'T MIND THE cold, guys," said Rue. It was only about — 5 °Celcius in here so far, which brought back memories of her escape from Allemagne. "Just breathe through your noses." At least everybody had their suits on; it was just the scientists who were missing their helmets that were having trouble. So far everyone had been calm, sitting along the walls silently while the techs worked.

  The lights of the hab flickered. Now this they didn't need. "What's going on?" She moved to where two technicians were trying to rig up a transmitter.

  "Looks like the emergency supply was just a superconducting loop. It's bleeding out pretty fast, ma'am. I'd say we've got about ten minutes of power left."

  When the power went the cold would really start. Those without helmets would develop severe frostbite around the face and ears, then their lungs would start to burn.

  She would have to fix things before then. "Okay, how about reserve oxygen?" The techs pointed to a set of panels under the floor. Rue opened one and examined the tanks there.

  "Listen up, people! We're going to do something hazardous. I'm going to fetch one of our interceptors." If Mike Bequith hasn't stolen both, she thought bitterly. "I'm going to have to cut a hole in the wall and exit through it. There'll be a huge pressure drop, but it'll be temporary. Once the patches are on, you'll be able to breathe again. Is everybody clear on that?"

  Several of the exposed faces went white, but no one protested.

  "Better for two of us to go," said Harp. "I'll come."

  "All right." Rue pointed a laser at a section of wall well away from the vulnerable scientists. "Rapid, deep breaths, people. Get ready to plug your noses." She aimed.

  Clunk. Something big had struck the hab a glancing blow; Rue found herself and Harp tumbling like dice in a cup. Moments later the hab stabilized, but not its inhabitants: Everyone was shouting at once.

  "Wait, wait! Shut up everybody!" They gradually quieted. Then Rue heard it: a tapping on the door. She flew over to it and looked through its tiny window.

  Michael Bequith grinned back at her. He was holding a large and cumbersome inflatable airlock, trying to attach it to the door. After a minute he gave her the thumbs up, then she heard hissing.

  The door opened. Mike filled the doorway, his suit covered in smoking frost.

  She grabbed him and hugged him tightly, despite the cold that seared through her cheek as she laid it against the breastplate of his suit. "You came back."

  "Of course." He seemed a bit offended that she had doubted him.

  "But the seed… the rebels… don't you want to fight the R.E.?"

  Mike sighed, and reached up to smooth back her hair with one icy glove.

  "I don't want to destroy, not even destroy the R.E." he said. "I… want to build."

  * * *

  A DAY LATER, Rue joined a large crowd that had gathered around a big inscape window in the larger of the cruisers they had captured from Crisler. The scientific team was here, all talking excitedly about the spectacle unfolding in the window. Someone had found material to make black arm bands in honor of Henry Katz.

  "I knew there wasn't enough power in those tethers to launch a cycler!" laughed Herat. "But never in a million years would I have imagined they'd do that!"

  That was bright enough to illuminate both Apophis and Osiris like a minor sun. The thousands of conductive tethers that orbited around Osiris normally just drew power out of the brown dwarf's magnetic field. Somehow, they had orchestrated a vast current flow back into the dwarf— and the result was the biggest flare Rue had ever seen burst off a dwarf. It stood out of Osiris's equator like an incandescent spear, and though they weren't visible from here, she knew that a vortex of tethers was amplifying and aiming that flare. The full power of Osiris's magnetosphere was pouring power into an energy beam of astonishing power.

  Crisler's cycler rode the crest of that wave of energy like a leaf in a hurricane. The acceleration was enormous; Crisler and his men were either in their hibernation tanks now, or dead from the pressure. The cycler was thriving, though, soaring on wings of magnetized plasma faster and faster, trying its best to catch up to light.

  Rue made her way over to the professor, and Mike who was as always next to his mentor. Rue reached out and touched Mike's arm. He turned with a wide smile.

  "And so," Rue said very softly, "the halo worlds become able to launch our own cyclers at last." Mike took her hand in his, and squeezed it.

  She'd barely had a chance to talk to Mike in the whirlwind of activity that had followed Crisler's escape. When he arrived to rescue her team and she realized he had abandoned the rebels, Rue had felt a rush of happiness that had carried her through th
e whirlwind. Now, with Crisler's ships secure and dispatches ready for sending to Colossus, New Armstrong, and Crisler's probable destination, she could finally relax for a moment.

  The scientists cheered the cycler launch like they were watching a sporting match. Herat turned away, smiling fondly, and said, "Hello, Rue. Are you getting ready to leave?"

  She nodded. "There's much to do. Are you staying here, Laurent, or are you going back to High Space? Now that we know they exist, I'm sure you'll be able to find the Lasa themselves."

  He shook his head. "No— or rather, we already found them. They are that." He gestured to the vast machinery of the Twins visible through the window. "That and no more. The original Lasa— the species that gave us the name— realized that no species is permanent. Only the ecological niches, the environments friendly to one or another kind of life, have any kind of permanence. They saw that they would rise and fall like every living form. So, instead of trying to extend their existence, like so many other species before and since," he sighed, "they looked to ways of preserving and nourishing an environment that would encourage the birth and growth of species similar to themselves. Cooperative, farsighted peoples."

  He turned back to contemplate the view. "I'm going to stay here, and make it my life to study this place. The Lasa, you see, aren't a species. They're an environment— an ecological niche. Bequith, here, explained that to me. And I'm coming to agree with him that humanity would do well to expand into and nurture this niche."

  As usual, Rue didn't completely understand Herat. But he smiled at her, and turned back to watch the cycler launch. That smile was enough to tell her he was content.

  She turned to Mike, and now her throat was tight again. "And what about you? You came back for us, when you could have gone with Barendts and become the greatest hero of the rebels."

  He shrugged. "I just realized it would never stop. We might get Kimpurusha back, but what then? It would never return to what it was when it was part of the Compact. And… and I realized that freeing Kimpurusha wouldn't satisfy me. There was something better I could do."

  Rue bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. "So where will you go now?"

  He had that mysterious smile again. "I want to help revive the Cycler Compact. Right now, there's nowhere I'd rather be than wherever you're taking the cycler mother seed."

  "Why, Mr. Bequith," she said, grinning back at him. "Where else would I take it? It's coming with me to Erythrion."

  He hesitated. "And your crew will go with you. That's six, including Rebecca's girlfriend; there's no room in the interceptor for one more…"

  Now she laughed. "Evan is staying here. He wants to return to High Space."

  "And that means…"

  She took his hand and smiled into his eyes. "There is a berth on my ship, Mr. Bequith, if you would like to have it."

  28

  RUE STOOD AT a window, and the view from it was real, neither holographic nor inscape. Treya shone close by, a sphere of pearly auroral light transfixed by one circle of purest white radiance where the artificial sun was shining today on clouds. The orbital colony where Rue stood had once been the property of the Cycler Compact; it had seemed a fitting place for her to stay, for now.

  "You see?" she said to Michael, who stood at her side. "Sunlight, of a sort. Too bright for me, but you'll like it."

  Michael rested his hand on hers. The cuffs of their shirts were an identical black; she wore her captain's uniform, and Michael had accepted the high-collared clerical counterpart. He looked good in uniform, especially now that he seemed to have overcome his demons. He radiated authority.

  Sounds of debate came from behind them. A long oak table filled the other end of the room. A group of men and women, mostly elderly, were going over a complex set of plans and edicts. They all looked slightly shell-shocked. A week ago none had suspected that their lives would be overturned by the arrival of Rue.

  There were fourteen people here; fourteen in all Erythrion who had once held positions of power in the Cycler Compact and who might still be trusted by the people. On Oculus, the Compact had been a living thing, a vast and ancient order that encompassed both government and religion. Oculus had been vibrant, forward looking. Well, Rue was determined that Erythrion would become so too.

  Only the monks of Permanence and a few holdouts from the old days had responded immediately to Rue's summons. On her arrival she had exercised the prerogative of a cycler captain in ordering a special session of the Compact executive. The first replies had been angry accusations that she was playing some trick; she had been called disrespectful to the glorious past that the proud few still revered.

  Her response to that was to transmit substantial excerpts from Blair's records. The discovery of Jentry's Envy and the proof that Rue had learned to control it was enough to yield a second round of responses. These were respectful and curious. She claimed to come bearing great news, and yet she had not arrived by magsail. Had she come from High Space? And what was this news?

  Her first meeting here, a week ago, had begun inauspiciously. The men and women who filed into this office were just civilians— albeit rich and powerful, some of them. They had long ago retired their uniforms and rented out the offices of the Compact to local businesses. Ten people who might have been here had refused to come, citing more important business of one kind or another. Rue suspected that they simply believed the Compact was dead or not worth reviving.

  She had not minced words during that first meeting. "The Cycler Compact has been reborn," she told them. "Erythrion is requested to restore its institutions to the standards of the Compact. In the months and years ahead, you will have the opportunity to return to your traditional roles in the administration of the Compact. In fact, Erythrion is critical to the rebirth of our great civilization. For we will be the first halo world in decades to begin launching new cyclers."

  They had begun to come around, gradually. Then, as the news of the cycler mothers sank in, skepticism had changed to enthusiasm, then almost feverish excitement. The scattered worlds of the halo could be reunited. The shared experience of living in the interstellar fastness could reach everyone, no matter how remote. From being isolated colonies with no belief in a future, they could become explorers and settlers again. The offer was almost unbelievable; in a kind of desperation to prove it real, they were working day and night now to lay the groundwork for the return of the cyclers.

  The argument behind Rue and Mike now reached a fever pitch, then broke in laughter. She turned. Corinna Chandra stood at the head of the table, waving to the text in a holo window. "That's it, then," she said. "The monks of Permanence will take charge of the cycler mother seed. We will see to its nurturing and growth."

  There were nods around the table, some reluctant, some enthusiastic. Rue smiled at Corinna, who seemed to be beaming all the time, these days. Corinna had adopted the seed as if it were her own child, and she was fiercely protective of it. This new agreement was a good one; people still respected the monks, and they alone still controlled the myriad launch beams and power tethers that orbited Erythrion. The launch beams could double as weapons in a pinch, everyone knew that, so the monks' possession of the seed would not be threatened.

  Everyone sat back, relaxing and talking excitedly. The cyclers could come again, and the psychological isolation of Erythrion would be ended. Even now Blair was in an editing suite preparing his records for broadcast. Rue had no doubt that they would be the most highly watched documentaries on the net for the next six months. By the time they had finished airing, the impact of what was now possible would have begun to sink in; Erythrion would begin to thaw from the long winter of the soul that had gripped it.

  "Ten minute break," said the abbot of Treya's Permanence monastery. "Then we need to discuss Brother Bequith's dangerous new theology."

  "Dangerous?" murmured Rue to Mike, who grinned. They headed for the door with the rest of the crowd, but the abbot stopped Mike.

  "You have seen more of the
universe than any of us, Brother," said the abbot seriously. "We know the grave discoveries you made about the life and death of civilizations. I just don't understand why such proof of the fragility of life hasn't convinced you that Permanence is our only hope. I mean… what can we possibly offer the people of our worlds that would be better than an eternal civilization?"

  Mike looked the abbot in the eye and said, "Children. We can offer them children." Then he politely stepped around the abbot and into the hall.

  Rue grabbed his arm as he walked, and laughed. "You're learning fast," she said.

  "Learning? What?"

  "How to be a prophet. Cryptic utterances are an essential part of the role, aren't they?"

  He blushed slightly. "I just didn't want to get into it all right then."

  Michael now believed that the theology of NeoShinto was incomplete. "It tries to make us one with the universe— and it succeeds. But I got lost in that oneness, and I suspect many people do. Your Supreme Meme taught me that the little inconsequential details of my everyday life are as real and valuable as everything else put together. In science they have a principle called complementarity: mass and energy are the same thing, but you can only have one at a time; a particle has momentum and position, but you can only see one of those at a time. So it is with our lives. We need to honor our sense of unity with the world, but we also need to honor our individuality. Both are true. Both are absolutes, and we have to nurture both if we're to survive on these worlds."

  He had tried to explain the theology of it to her, but Rue wasn't really interested, and he knew that. "It's just…" he had said after a half hour's discussion, "just a new way to both accept mortality and throw yourself into life. Nothing's permanent. But everything can hand what's unique, what's best about itself, to what comes after."

  "Like the Lasa?" she'd asked.

  He nodded. "And like the Chicxulub."

  They walked upstairs and into the gloriously hot artificial sunlight of the colony cylinder. This tiny world was a cylinder twenty kilometers long and four across. The land wrapped itself above to become sky, with an intolerably bright fusion lamp at the axis providing daylight for the parks and forests that dotted the inside of the cylinder. Rue and Mike went to sit on a bench under a shady tree, and after fumbling out her sunglasses she draped herself over the back of the seat and drank in the air. It was nearly as natural smelling as that of Chandaka. Things were peaceful here; among the distant clouds, people glided and swooped on diaphanous wings.