The Matriarch Manifesto

by Devin Hanson

  Jackson was just happy there were no flashes of lightning within the cloud formations at their level. Far below them, the denser cloud layer flickered with sporadic lightning, but it was always doing that.

  As they neared the edge of the habitat’s roof, Jackson caught sight of the prop they were supposed to repair. It stood out from the edge of the habitat on a pylon, giving the sweeping, eight-meter blades plenty of room to spin. Behind the blades, the streamlined engine cowling bulged, fifteen meters long and wider than Jackson was tall.

  When they reached the base of the pylon, Millicent called them to a halt. After giving Jackson a brief lecture on how to use the safety harness he wore, she broke out the rappelling gear. Laud and Jackson changed from the carabiner safety clips over to carbon fiber cables. Millicent would stay behind and manage the cables. She lashed herself to the cleats and ran the cables through her own harness.

  “All set, boys,” she announced. “I’ll feed you line when you need it and keep up the slack. You just concentrate on not falling.”

  Laud waved and climbed out onto the pylon. Jackson followed behind, his heart starting to pound in his throat. He reached the edge and looked over. Empty space dropped away below him, boiling with clouds. His head suddenly felt hollow and his ears buzzed. Sour saliva flooded his mouth.

  “Shit.”

  Laud turned around to look back at him. “What’s the holdup, Harding?”

  “Be right there,” Jackson muttered. He glanced back at Millicent and the chief waved at him.

  Gingerly, he put his foot on the first rung on the pylon and tested his weight on it. The poly-coated steel offered a sure grip to his booted foot. Wind gusted, making his suit tug against his harness. There was nothing solid for fifty kilometers below him. If he did fall, the pressure and heat would kill him before he actually impacted with the surface.

  He tugged on his cable again, checking the knot one last time. Then he took a deep breath and climbed out onto the pylon. He went slowly, taking care that each step was secure and every handhold solid. His hands ached from gripping so tight.

  There was a job to do, Jackson reminded himself. The prop was vital to keeping the habitat on course. Without it, the storm might blow the habitat around to the night side of the planet. If that happened, thousands of people would die, along with all the matriarchs that were on board. He couldn’t help but notice all the dirigibles docked around the habitat. The only people on Venus wealthy enough to own their own dirigibles were matriarchs. There were dozens of dirigibles here, which meant there had to be at least that many matriarchs.

  Despite Wharton’s angry rhetoric, Jackson had nothing against the matriarchs. Like most of the people he knew, he rarely thought of them at all, and when he did, it was with a sort of disbelieving awe. Immortality! Who didn’t dream at some point of living forever?

  Step by step, Jackson worked his way out onto the pylon. Millicent kept the cable loose, and as he went, he clipped it into the anchors welded to the pylon every two meters. The empty space yawned below him and he fixed his gaze on the rungs leading upward on the pylon.

  “See?” Laud said, “It’s not so bad. Give me a hand with this cowling.”

  Jackson looped his cable through an anchor and reconnected his carabiner lines to rings set into the base of the cowling. He still felt exposed, but now if his feet slipped or he lost his balance, he’d fall all of a meter or so before his safety lines caught him.

  Following Laud’s direction, Jackson set about releasing the cowling clamps until they were able to lift the side up. It pivoted back on a hinge, giving Laud easy access to the internals. To Jackson, the prop engine looked of relatively simple construction. The cowling protected a long series of simple low-voltage direct current electromagnetic drivers. A single driver would produce only a few dozen kilos of torque, but all of them lined up in series threw enough force behind the shaft to get the prop spinning quite quickly.

  The damage was immediately obvious. A hinge in the cowling had become worn through friction and the protective enamel coating had flaked away. The acid precipitation had eaten through the metal of the hinge, and then leaked down into the cowling. One of the drivers had shorted out and fused, though it looked like no damage had been done to the shaft.

  “Well, shit,” Laud muttered. “Okay, Jackson, swing down to the base of the cowling. You’ll find a hatch there, with breakers to cut the prop’s power off.”

  “On it,” Jackson said, and unhooked his carabiners.

  It quickly became obvious to Jackson that Laud hadn’t exaggerated when he said “swing down”. The breaker hatch was beneath the cowling, with no easy way to reach it from the pylon. He could climb around upside down, but Jackson didn’t think he had the upper body strength to pull that off.

  “Just to make sure,” Jackson said, his heart hammering, “you want me to swing over to the breaker hatch?”

  “How else are you going to reach it? Hurry up, I can’t start working until the power is cut.”

  “Chief, you hear that? I’m going to be swinging on the line.”

  “I copy, Harding. Relax, I’ve got you.”

  Jackson swallowed and clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. How hard could this be? He had his line anchored to the pylon. All he had to do was maneuver around until he was in a direct line to the hatch, then let go. He’d swing over, grab onto the hand-holds next to the hatch, and cut the power to the prop.

  Easy.

  “There really isn’t a better way to do this?” he asked one last time.

  “It’s only the perimeter props that are like this,” Millicent assured him. “For the other props, the breaker hatch is right next to the pylon, in easy reach.”

  “Today, Harding. I don’t want to stay out here any longer than I have to,” Laud said impatiently.

  Jackson nodded. “Okay. Okay. I got this.”

  Still unsure if they were playing a practical joke on him or not, Jackson let go of the rung and stepped off into space. For a moment, he fell straight down and he bit down on a scream. Then the cable caught his weight and he swung heavily up and toward the hatch. He missed the hand-holds on the first swing and thumped into the cowling next to the hatch. On the return swing, he started spinning and lost sight of the hand-holds.

  There was nothing below him but the thick cloud layer kilometers away. Only the thin ribbon of the carbon fiber cable held him away from certain death.

  With the breath coming hard in his throat, Jackson twisted around, just barely keeping himself from panic. There, the hatch was coming up again! He flailed out with both hands and caught the hand-hold with a fingertip. Before he could swing back down again, he grabbed it with his other hand and caught himself.

  He forced himself to let go with one hand and fumbled at his anchor carabiner. Grateful that the carabiners were oversized, he finally got hold of it and latched it onto the hand-hold. He had done it! Panic faded and he wheezed a breathless laugh.

  “The power, Harding,” Laud reminded him.

  Jackson swallowed back his hysteria and he popped the hatch. The breaker was a big, red handle, and he twisted it to the off position with a heavy clunk.

  “Power is off,” he announced.

  “Good, now get back up here and help me with this driver,” Laud said.

  “Well done, Jackson,” Millicent said. “Laud, go easy on him. He’s never done this before, remember.”

  “I wish Polder was here,” Laud grumbled.

  “He’s not, so stop complaining and work with the tools to hand,” Millicent said, her voice turning sharp. “I remember a time when someone I know soiled himself his first time rappelling.”

  Laud muttered something inaudible but stopped giving Jackson a hard time.

  “So, how do I get back up?” Jackson asked.

  “If you swing back, you will be where you dropped down from. You might have to swing a few times and build up some momentum to get back high enough,” Millicent instructed.


  “And you’ll be okay with my weight?”

  “I’m anchored solid, Jackson. Don’t worry.”

  Getting back to the pylon was as easy as Millicent had made it out to be. By the time he made it back up onto the pylon next to Laud, he was breathing hard but the fear had subsided to mere nervousness.

  “Sorry about that, kid,” Laud grunted when Jackson joined him. “I forget what it’s like out here for new extras. You’re doing great.”

  “Thanks,” Jackson said. He tried to be cool about it, but his voice cracked, betraying his nerves.

  “Don’t mention it.” Laud ducked back into the cowling. “I’ve almost got this driver coil loose. See about patching that corroded hinge. You should have a replacement in your satchel.”

  Jackson got himself anchored against the cowling and dug through his satchel. At some point, the designers and engineers of the habitats had realized the vital importance of making components as universal as possible. The hinge that replaced the corroded one on the cowling was the same hinge Jackson had seen on doors, tool chests, vent covers, and pretty much every other swinging object on the habitats.

  He used a rotary tool to cut away the corrosion damage on the cowling and cut out a replacement patch to rough dimensions with a pair of shears. It was awkward, working on the side of the cowling, but all his tools had straps and elastic cords to keep them from tumbling away into nothingness.

  It was a little tricky holding the patch in place while he squeezed epoxy onto it, but he managed to do it without gluing his glove to the cowling. With the patch in place, he pulled up the diagrams of the cowling on his tablet and got the hinge where it belonged and got it tacked in place. He wouldn’t be able to epoxy it until Laud had finished and they were able to close the cowling.

  In the meantime, Laud had managed to get the damaged driver out of the engine and was tucking it away in his satchel. “I’m done here,” Laud announced. “I don’t have a replacement driver, but the prop will spin now, if at reduced power. After the storm, another crew will have to come out with the parts and make everything good as new.”

  “I’m done, too,” Jackson said. “If you’re finished, we can close the cowling and I’ll set the epoxy for the hinge.”

  “You do that, I’ll get the power turned back on.”

  Laud moved away, climbing swiftly along the pylon. He set his cable in the anchor and swung off into space without a moment’s hesitation.

  Jackson swallowed. It would be a long time before he had that sort of confidence, he thought grimly. Replacing hinges was something he did know how to do, though, and he set about that task swiftly. Without Laud in the way, he could move the cowling back and forth and locate the proper position for the hinge. With everything in alignment, he applied the epoxy and sealed the cowling. The new hinge and his patch should last for another twenty years.

  Jackson climbed down off the pylon and joined Millicent. Laud threw the power back on and the giant prop started slowly picking up speed.

  It felt good, doing jobs like this. Making these repairs to the habitats felt like he was really making a difference. He wasn’t just cleaning grease out of kitchen vents or applying new grout in the showers. Because of his actions today, the habitat would have better ability to stay on the day side of the planet. Because of him, the matriarchs and other people on board the habitat would be safe.

  He held on to that feeling of contentment as they marched back up the curving slope of the habitat toward where Wharton and his crew were repairing solar panels. It might be dangerous, but it was worth it.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  When the ships carrying the first matriarchs arrived at Venus, they found the existing population living barely on the verge of survival. Annette Everard’s negotiations with the scientists living in orbit and in the floating habitats in Venus’s atmosphere were brief. She brought a promise of wealth and stability to the scientists, and the driving power of private enterprise.

  Without the matriarchs’ arrival, the scientific expeditions on Venus were sure to have lost their funding as the governments back on Earth were gradually losing interest in the exploration of the essentially worthless planet. There was no wealth that could be generated from Venus. The surface was thoroughly out of reach and the elemental value of the atmosphere was nonexistent.

  Annette knew this going in and her negotiating position was unassailable. She had no interest in the scientific missions and was only concerned about finding a new home for her matriarchs. The scientific expeditions surrendered control of the planet to her without reservation and informed their respective governments that their scientific missions had come to an end and that they would be staying on Venus. For the most part, the governments that had men and women on Venus saw this as a windfall, an unexpected reprieve from the burden of sending an expensive expedition to the second planet to retrieve their explorers.

  Dennison Romaine watched the test proctors carry the unconscious Everard girl off the platform. The two girls who had passed the Challenge looked on, horrified at the proximity of their own worst nightmare.

  The auditorium was silent but for a single, broken cry, choked off halfway through.

  Cynthia Everard stood, staring down at the platform, her face white. In moments, her ainlif had her surrounded and were escorting her from the auditorium before anyone else had a chance to move.

  Murmurs filled the air and Dennison looked to his own mother. Alana looked troubled, her face drawn and her brows furrowed. Dennison left his seat and knelt beside her.

  “Would you like to leave?” he asked softly.

  Alana shook her head. “No. This is a celebration! For two girls, at least.” She looked over at him and something on his face made her expression soften. “Do not worry for me, Dennison. I was merely remembering my own Challenge. It is a moment that stays with you.”

  Dennison nodded uncertainly and returned to his seat. The other two girls, someone from the Delacroix clan, and another Rey – lately it seemed like the Rey family had another matriarch take the Challenge every year – were being sworn in, reading each tenet of the Matriarch Manifesto and solemnly swearing to follow it. Their faces were the picture of disbelieving joy.

  It was a little hard for Dennison to reconcile the pure happiness radiating off the new matriarchs with the horrified cry of the Everard girl. Like everyone else, he had no idea what questions were asked on the Challenge, but he had seen the toll it had taken on the girls within their isolated domes. He couldn’t imagine what that must have been like.

  Thank God he was born a man. He would gladly serve his mother for thousands of years rather than go through the pressure of taking that test.

  He listened to the tenets being read with a feeling of nostalgia. He had taken the same oath when he had been given the gift of immortality. Chills ran up his spine every now and then. Time and again, the high voices of the girls touched on something that the day-to-day pressures of life had driven from the front of his thoughts.

  It was the duty of the ainlif to be the forward shield of the matriarchs. They put themselves in harm’s way so that their mothers could remain safe. It was their solemn oath to be forever vigilant against the threats against their freedoms.

  The threats against the freedom of the matriarchs were varying in their subtlety. Besides the rare personal attack, there had been a brief attempt at a socialistic government that had been quickly shut down and the primary agitators quietly disposed of. The Council of Matriarchs ruled Venus, and that was the way it was going to stay.

  But even that had taken place before Dennison had been born. Constant vigilance grew monotonous after decades of peace. It took these rare reminders of what he was working for to renew his purpose.

  His thoughts turned to the population problems in the megahabs. There were two habitats that were constructed of seven stacks locked together in a rosette. New London and Nueva Angela each had a population growing past forty thousand. There were hundreds
of single, double and triple habitats, with populations ranging from a few hundred to a few thousand, but none came even close to the sheer crush of humanity on the two megahabs.

  The smaller habitats never seemed to have a problem with population expansion. Maybe it was the moderating influence of the matriarchs that kept the common folk from breeding out of control. Or maybe the smaller populations were easier to monitor and the societal pressure to limit the number of offspring to two was stronger.

  Was it wrong to expect the common population to remain constant? Like all ainlif, he was a student of history. The most common reason people went to war was lack of resources and overpopulation. How much longer would it take before the muttered discontent exploded into something more violent?

  It was a matter that deserved more attention, and he resolved to bring it up to Addison. Maybe the two of them could hash out a plan of action they could take to Alana. Funding another megahab would go a long way toward reducing the tensions, even if it took another five years for the materials to be shipped over from Earth.

  On the stage, the ceremony was coming to a conclusion, and the proctor formally accepted the two girls into the Council.

  One by one, the matriarchs in the crowd left their seats in order of age seniority, and walked down to the platform to offer their personal congratulations to the two girls. Dennison watched his mother make the trip, second in line, with no small degree of pride. Alana was one of the eldest of the matriarchs, and her voice was given a lot of respect in the Council.

  Dennison was surprised to see Cynthia Everard return to the auditorium. The procession of matriarchs giving their welcome to the newest members came to a halt. All eyes went to Cynthia as she walked unhurriedly toward the platform and climbed the steps.