They got out, all five of them. Goma studied the house again, searching for traces of time’s hand.
‘You hated her,’ she said quietly, speaking not to Malhi or Yefing as individuals, but in their roles as government operatives. ‘Why didn’t you tear the place down once she was gone?’
‘That was a long time ago,’ Malhi said. ‘Things changed. You should go inside.’
Goma looked at Ru and Kanu, nodding that they should accompany her.
But Kanu raised a hand. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’
‘You came all this way,’ Goma said.
‘And I’ll enter the house shortly. But not until you’ve had a moment or two to yourself.’
He had not spoken for Ru, but after only the slightest hesitation she nodded. ‘Kanu’s right. We’ll be right outside, until you need us.’
‘I need you now.’
‘No,’ Ru said. ‘You only think you do. But you’re stronger than you realise, Goma Akinya. If I didn’t know that before we left Crucible, I know it now. Go on in.’
So she walked to the front door, pushed it open and went on in.
And a thought flashed through her head: Mposi always used to bring her greenbread. I should have brought greenbread.
No one else was in the house, and Malhi and Yefing had remained outside with Ru and Kanu. Inside it was cool and shadowed, with no illumination beyond that which the windows provided. They threw oblongs of brightness across the rooms’ pale surfaces, the walls, the bookcases and furniture and such sparse ornamentation as Ndege had allowed herself. Goma touched a window sill, testing it for dust. She held her fingertip up for inspection. It was immaculate, harbouring not a trace of dirt. Someone had taken pains to keep this place both pristine and exactly undisturbed, as if it were a hallowed public shrine.
Goma moved between rooms. She had never been here without Ndege. Some part of her mind kept trying to impose her on the scene: a suggestion of human presence at the corner of Goma’s vision, dissolving when she turned her gaze upon it. Not a haunting, but the power of memory, the forcefulness of its influence on the present moment.
Nothing was kinder or crueller than memory.
She went to take a book from one of the shelves. But as her hand neared the shelf, a glowing rectangle lit up on a portion of the ajoining wall. Text and images appeared in the rectangle. To her surprise, the text was in a familiar form of Swahili, the wording easily comprehensible. The images were of Ndege, and of things to do with her life. The holoship, her mother Chiku, the early days of the settlement, the Mandala, her experiments in direct communication with it . . . the ring of rubble that was all that was left of Zanzibar.
Trial, censure, imprisonment.
It was a familiar story, even though the tone of it was not quite what Goma would have expected. Not so much damning and judgemental, as sympathetic: framing her mistakes as understandable errors, rather than as crimes of hubris. Miscalculations, not misdeeds.
This rectangle told only part of the story. As she wandered the rooms, similar patterns of text and image appeared. Sometimes there were moving images and audio recordings, with her mother’s voice whispering softly from the walls of her house.
Goma traced the arc of a life. Ndege had lived for another thirty years after the expedition’s departure. It had not been long enough for her to learn the truth about Zanzibar, but then Goma had never really thought she would. Ndege had been dead long before the expedition reached Gliese 163, and still more years had passed before any news of their findings made its way back to Crucible. There had been no death-bed pardon for her, no easing of her conscience in those final years.
Still, with time, the government had decided to reassess its view of her. With the Watchkeepers gone, and with the news about the second Mandala – and its activation by Eunice – there was now a concerted push to understand and tame this daunting alien technology. It might take decades, centuries, before the Mandalas could be made to sing at humanity’s whim. What was clear, though – and abundantly so, given the content of these biographical fragments – was that Ndege’s work provided the foundation for all subsequent experiments. Need dictated that they build on her accomplishments, and what had once been considered a crime must now be viewed in a new, more clement light.
Goma wanted to accept this tacit forgiveness on its own terms. It was good to know her mother was no longer detested, no longer held morally accountable for a terrible accident. But there was a cynicism here that she could not set aside. It suited the government to build on her work, and therefore her reputation had to be rehabilitated.
But still. Forgiveness was better than opprobrium, wasn’t it?
Perhaps.
She was turning to leave the house when Ndege appeared before her, standing in a shaft of sunlight.
Ndege raised a calming hand.
‘You’re back, daughter. At least, if you’re seeing me now, you must be. Don’t fear, I’m no ghost. Long dead. This is a recording. They’ve allowed me to make it, on the assumption you’ll one day be in a position to hear my words.’
It was Ndege, but the older version of her mother she had only seen in the wall’s images – Ndege as she had been near the end of those final thirty years. The All must be playing its part, Goma thought – manifesting this image before her, as real as day. Was that the reason they had been so keen to get the All into her so quickly – so she would be able to see Ndege?
‘You mustn’t fear for me,’ Ndege said. ‘They’ve been kind, these recent years. My brother held the government to its word, even in death. They said they’d ease the terms of my confinement if I volunteered for the expedition, and so they have.’ She had to pause, gathering her breath before speaking again. Her voice was frail and frayed. ‘The fact that I never boarded the ship is incidental – the will was there, as you know.’
‘I do,’ Goma said.
The image continued without interruption. ‘I’ve been holding out for a pardon, but it’s clearly not going to happen while I still have a heartbeat. Still, I’ve confidence in you, daughter. You’ll have found something out there, I know. Something that puts me in a better light. Whatever it is, I know you’ll find it.’
‘I did,’ she whispered, as if to speak aloud might shatter the spell.
‘The doctors are kind, but they skirt around the issue of how much time I have left. I daren’t think in terms of years now. Months would be good, but weeks might be more realistic.’ Her smile was gentle, her eyes sparkling with fondness. Some fierce edge was gone from her mother now – dented or worn away in the years since Goma had left. ‘I want you to know, nonetheless, that these last years haven’t been the worst. Of course I miss you, and I still grieve for Mposi. But I have found ways to keep living. My enemies would be pleased to think that my days have been a catalogue of misery and despair, but I have disappointed them. We’re resilient, and we like life. Sunsets are good, but sunrises are better – even an alien sunrise, on a world that still doesn’t really like us. That’s what makes us who we are. Call it an Akinya trait, if you will. I’d say we’re just being human.’ She paused, drawing breath – slow, laboured inhalations. ‘I’ve made them promise me one thing. I can’t enforce it – I won’t be around to – but I think they’ll keep their word. It really isn’t much to ask, and I wanted you to have something when you got back to us. Whoever’s brought you here, they’ll know what I mean. Have them show it to you. You’ve earned the right to have it back. Welcome home, Goma.’
The image paled, faded from view. Goma wandered the room again, in case something in her motion or bearing might bring Ndege back. But there was no second apparition. Some intuition told her this was all there was; that what she had heard would not be repeated. Ndege would not have cared to have her words ground down to meaninglessness by endless repetition.
But what had she meant?
Goma stepped out int
o the silvery glare of Crucible’s day. She had to squint against the brightness. The others were still waiting for her, their expressions wary, as if none of them were quite sure what had happened inside.
‘Well?’ Ru said, to the point as ever.
‘She left me a message. She said there’s something for me – something she wanted me to have.’
‘There is,’ Malhi confirmed. ‘But we weren’t sure what to make of it, or what you’d think. It’s round the back of the house. Do you wish to see it?’
Goma swallowed. ‘Yes. Whatever it is.’
Ru took her hand from the right, Kanu from the left. ‘There was a message?’ he asked.
‘From Ndege. On the All. You can go inside, if you like. I’d be interested to know if she appears for you.’
‘She won’t,’ Ru said firmly.
Goma gave a nod. ‘No, I don’t think she will. This was for me. Only me. And I don’t think there’ll be another message.’
‘Does there need to be another?’ Kanu asked.
‘No,’ she answered, after a moment’s consideration. ‘I think we said all that needed to be said.’
Malhi and Yefing had gone on ahead. As Goma rounded the corner to the back of the house, Malhi was standing there with one arm outstretched, pointing to the object that had been hidden from view until then. Goma stared at it for a few seconds, hardly believing what she was being shown. It was both utterly familiar, utterly a part of her, and yet it had been such a long time since she had brought it to mind, such a long time since she had considered its lines, admired its elegant balance of form and function, that it might as well have been the first time she had set eyes on it. It seemed unreal, blazing in the same superluminous white of Yefing’s medical uniform.
‘Geoffrey’s aeroplane,’ she said, wonderingly. ‘The Sess-Na.’
She slipped her hands free of Ru and Kanu, walked up to the aeroplane’s side, touched a hand to that blazing whiteness. She half expected it to burst like a soap bubble. But it was real. It was cold and hard under her palm, undeniably present.
She touched the wing. She walked to the front and stroked the edge of the propeller, like a swordsman testing the keenness of a blade.
‘Who’s Geoffrey?’ Kanu asked, stepping into the wing’s shadow, eyeing the ancient machine with more than a little trepidation.
‘You should know,’ she chided teasingly. ‘He was one of ours. Your . . . what? Uncle? Great-uncle? He was Sunday’s brother. You figure it out.’
‘I knew I’d heard the name.’ Kanu smiled back at her and continued his doubtful examination of the primitive aircraft. ‘He owned this?’
‘He owned this, and it wasn’t even new at the time. It came with us, all the way from Earth. All the way from Africa. It’s . . . old. Stupidly old. Nine hundred years. Maybe more.’
‘Can you fly it?’
‘I used to, all the time. Against my mother’s wishes, most of the time – she thought I’d break my neck.’
‘And yet,’ Kanu said, ‘she made sure you got it.’
‘If you were going to break your neck, you’d have done it by now,’ Ru said.
‘Can you dismantle it, or box it up?’ she asked Malhi.
Malhi frowned back. ‘You don’t like it?’
‘It’s not about whether I like it or not. I have to go to Earth. It might as well come back with me. That’s where it belongs, not here.’
‘I’d say it belongs here as well as anywhere,’ Kanu said.
‘Doesn’t matter. It can still come back with me.’
He walked over and placed an arm over her shoulder. ‘The machine belongs here. This is where it’s spent most of its existence, isn’t it?’
‘And?’ she asked, squinting against the abstract white glare made by the Sess-Na’s shape.
‘So do you,’ he said. ‘Here with the Tantors, the Risen. Here on the world where you were born.’ He nodded to Ru. ‘Both of you. This is your world, not Earth. You’ve work to be getting on with. Crucible needs you.’
‘Haven’t we done enough for Crucible?’ Goma asked.
‘The more you do, the more you’re needed.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I have to go back. For Eunice’s sake.’
He lifted his arm from her shoulder, brought himself about to face her, his tone firm but affectionate.
‘You made a vow, at least to yourself, that you’d see her heart returned to Africa.’
‘Yes.’
‘That vow can stand. But I can be the one who delivers the heart. Where’s the problem in that? It’s not as if I’m not family. It’s not as if I couldn’t be trusted to deliver on the commitment.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Is it?’
‘Of course not. But—’
‘And I’m going there anyway.’
‘But Nissa—’ Ru began.
‘She’ll come with me. Earth’s medicine may or may not be more advanced than what they have here on Crucible. They may or may not have the same ethical constraints concerning the regeneration of damaged neural tissue. But it’s not Earth I’m counting on. I’ll take Nissa to Mars. They remade me once, when I should have died. Rebuilt my brain cell by cell, stitched Swift into my skull like a pattern woven into a tapestry. If they could do that for me, they can bring Nissa back too.’
‘You would have no guarantee,’ Yefing said.
‘No, I wouldn’t. But if curing her was easy, you’d have already done it. It’s beyond what you can do – or beyond what you’ll allow yourselves. Isn’t it?’
‘There are impediments,’ Yefing answered, in a confessional tone. ‘But none of us wished to dash your hopes so quickly. There are still avenues to be explored . . .’
‘And I appreciate your efforts, your good intentions,’ Kanu said. ‘But there’s another consideration. I have to go back to Earth. It’s not just about Eunice’s heart. I have to answer for myself.’
Malhi said: ‘I do not understand.’
‘Years ago, when I was leaving Earth’s system, I turned my ship’s weaponry on another vehicle. I killed a man. At least one. His name was Yevgeny Korsakov. We were friends. Or at least colleagues. I saw no other course of action open to me, but that does not absolve me of responsibility. You say there is no extradition treaty.’
‘You would go voluntarily,’ Malhi confirmed. ‘We have no record of this crime, and Earth has no knowledge that you have returned to us. If you chose to remain here, there is no reason why you could not enjoy decades of freedom.’
‘But I’d still have to live with myself.’ Kanu smiled at them all. It was a smile of wise and sad acceptance more than of joy. ‘It’s all right. I’d more or less made my mind up before we left the medical complex. As soon as there’s a ship, I’ll be on it. Perhaps they’ll have forgotten my crime, or decided to forgive me for it. Whatever their view, I’ll abide by it. I’m sure they’ll grant me the mercy of delivering Nissa to Mars, and Eunice’s heart to Africa.’
‘You’re doing this for her,’ Goma said. ‘Not because you can’t live with yourself. But because she matters more to you than anything.’
Kanu had no answer for that.
‘A ship is scheduled to leave in a few weeks,’ Malhi said, finally breaking the silence. ‘There would be no problem in placing you and Nissa aboard it, if that’s what you wish. But there is time to think about your decision.’
‘Thank you, Malhi. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind. This is what must be done. Besides, it’s no hardship. Earth is my home. Whatever lies in store for me there, it’s where I belong.’ And he turned his face to Goma, letting her know that she need have no regrets, no second thoughts, no doubts, no misgivings, that all was well between them. ‘Where Eunice belongs. I’ll see that she returns home. It’s the least I can do.’
‘Kanu . . .’ Goma said, her eyes welling up. ‘Uncle
.’
He drew her closer, hugged her to him. ‘It’s a beautiful machine Ndege left you. I think you should spend some time enjoying it again. I’ll be fine. One day, perhaps, I’ll come back to Crucible.’
‘I wanted to see Earth.’
‘Earth’s not going anywhere. It’ll still be there in a hundred, or a thousand years. But meanwhile, there are Risen. This is their cusp, Goma – their bottleneck. We came through our share of them; now it’s our turn to do something for our friends. They’re in good hands, I know.’
‘I hope it works out for you, Kanu,’ Ru said.
‘It will. I always try to hope for the best. What else can we do?’
Twenty days later they watched him depart.
Goma had already said her farewells; there had been no need to say goodbye to him at the spaceport. Instead they had flown out in the Sess-Na, far beyond Guochang’s last straggling suburb, into elephant territory.
The ambassadors would soon be walking these alien plains, but not just yet: there were still weeks or months of acclimatisation ahead of them, before they could comfortably breathe Crucible’s air. But elephants had made that transition once before, without the benefit of contemporary medicine, and Goma had no doubt the ambassadors would prove equally adaptable.
For now it was just her and Ru, standing together a few dozen paces from the aircraft.
‘I spoke to Malhi,’ Goma mentioned. ‘They’re still tracking her, after all this time.’
Ru looked at Goma with only mild interest, her real attention still on the distant spaceport, lying somewhere beyond the distant shark fin of the medical pyramid. ‘Her?’
‘Arethusa. She’s still alive, still somewhere out there. But bigger and stranger than she ever was before. She nearly killed Mposi, did you know? He tried fixing a tracking device on her. That didn’t go down well.’
‘And now . . . ?’
‘Someone needs to bring her up to speed. She may not be an Akinya, but she’s been part of this for long enough. I want Malhi to take me out there. A boat, submarine, whatever it takes. There are still merfolk. They can help me find her.’
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