Emprise

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  The near-worship did not change Rashuri. But his first glimpse of the Earth from space did. No photo, no film, no first-person account had prepared him. However awesome the sights they portrayed, photos and films were finite: Jupiter reduced to the size of a dinner plate, an entire galaxy contained on a three-metre screen, and both bounded by ordinary reality.

  But what Rashuri saw from the windows of the Shuttle II cabin and later from the viewports at Unity was unbounded and all-enveloping. Ordinary reality vanished with disconcerting speed. The spacecraft was a mote on an infinite sea, its hull eggshell-thin—

  At that point the doctor assigned to attend Rashuri in-flight read the meaning of the biomonitors and Rashuri’s panicked expression, and redirected the Chairman’s attention inside the cabin.

  “It’s a rookie experience—starts with rapture and sometimes turns into a nasty anxiety attack. You’ll get used to it,” the doctor promised.

  “I hope not,” Rashuri said, risking a cautious glance at the disk of the Earth sliding beneath them. “I’m afraid you will.” The doctor smiled. “But you never forget the first time.”

  Though dwarfed by the unfinished hexagonal framework of Gauntlet B to which it was stiff-tethered, the Star Rise vehicle was still larger than Rashuri had intuitively expected. The sense of scale came not from Gauntlet, now stripped of weapons and dotted with construction pods, but from the one-man, self-contained waldoids which jetted gracefully between it and Star Rise. The waldoids, powered spacesuits which were used for work in a vacuum, were as ticks to a housecat.

  Star Rise’s shape, at least, was as expected. A central cylindrical hull, flared at either end by the AVLO projectors, housed the drive. Arrayed perpendicular to the drive hull at ninety-degree intervals were four spokelike instrument spars where, once the tests were complete, the inhabitable modules would be attached. The ship would be set spinning like a child’s jack to provide a half-gravity, and then accelerate along the axis of rotation.

  The same day Rashuri arrived at Unity, Star Rise was detached from the construction rig and towed to the test range by a pair of tugs. Rashuri watched the process from Unity with a pair of binoculars, and kept an open line to Driscoll in England, who was watching via the same cameras providing PANCOMNET’s news feed of the test series. Driscoll had objected to the live coverage, but to no avail. Rashuri was willing to take a small risk of public failure in order to focus attention on Star Rise.

  After twelve hours of checkout at the launch site, Star Rise was spun up by small thrusters on the instrument spars. It then moved out smartly under the command of its onboard computers. Within minutes, the ship had reached .01c, easily outrunning the upgraded OTV serving as a camera platform. Star Rise continued to accelerate up to .05c, at which point the lengthy deceleration phase began. Within two hours, at Rashuri’s prodding and on the basis of preliminary telemetry, Driscoll pronounced the test a success.

  Only Weddell had been forewarned about Rashuri’s plans once that pronouncement was done, and he only so that the necessary arrangements could be made.

  “I join with you in celebrating the successful test of the spacecraft which will soon carry our envoys to their historic meeting with the Senders,” Rashuri said in a surprise planetary address. The Chairman himself was able to watch the broadcast in his Unity office; it was (me of several tapes he had taken the precaution of having made before he left Earth.

  “Your hard work and support of the Pangaean Consortium has made this day possible. Now I would like to invite you to become involved in a more personal way. The spacecraft that you saw today needs a name.

  “Star Rise was the name for our starship project, but was never intended as the name for the ship itself. We need a name that properly embodies all that this ship means to us, that captures the meaning of this moment in our existence. And we look to you to provide that name.

  “For the next eight weeks, Channel 22 of the NET will be reserved for submission of your suggestions. I will review them personally and make the final selection. The person who first submits the name which is chosen will be invited to take part in the ceremonies when the envoy ship is launched later this year.”

  As the eight-flight test program continued in ciscytherean space, the suggestions pouted in. It was quickly evident that nationalism was not dead: from Germany there were many nominations for Oberth and Von Braun, from China for Wan Hu, from the Russian republics for Tsiolkovsky and Gagarin, from the United North for Goddard, from Italy for Galileo, from Poland for Copernicus. The list of national heroes unrelated to space activities was much longer.

  First Scion Carl Cooke, Laurence Eddington, and Rashuri himself were singled out for the honor in some numbers, as were Jesus, Gandhi, and George Washington. Those who looked a little deeper into the world’s intellectual traditions came up with such names as Anaxagoras and Kuo Shou-ching. The review committee kept an informal list of more bizarre nominations: one proud Scot wanted the ship named Cameron of Lochiel after a seventeenth century chieftain, while several thousand music enthusiasts saw nothing wrong with Ludwig Van Beethoven.

  But Rashuri and the committee quickly agreed that it would be inappropriate to name the ship after any individual, no matter of what stature or popularity. So more attention was paid to the considerable array of phrases and expressions offered up for consideration.

  The most popular language after English was Latin, perhaps because it lent a distinguished air to what were in many cases banal thoughts. Excelsior, still higher; Per Angusta Ad Augusta, through difficulties to honors; and Ad Astra Per Aspera, to the stars by hard ways. But to use a name that nearly everyone would need to have explained to them was also ruled out.

  So Rashuri and his committee looked to simpler suggestions which hewed to the same spirit. Peace. Avatar. Friendship. Open Hand. There was no shortage of material. By the time the AVLO trials were completed, more than one billion entries had been submitted.

  It was while Rashuri was so engaged that Driscoll called to report on the results of the test program. “There’s good news and bad news,” said Driscoll. “The good news is simple. The bad news is complex.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “As was the case with the prototype, the drive performs more efficiently than predicted. Obviously we don’t yet have the last word on the AVLO phenomenon. But based on the test series, I expect that the ship will be capable of very near to ,80c—or about ten percent faster than we hoped for.”

  “Which means that we will be able to meet the Senders even farther out than planned.”

  “It would—except we won’t be launching on time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the ship needs to be redesigned. A ship traveling at the velocities this one is capable of needs protection from space debris. The smallest dust mote is a danger at .5c.”

  “Surely you anticipated this need.”

  “Yes, of course—we were counting on using the pushmi-pullyu to provide that shielding. I was led to believe the gravitational well created by the more powerful drive would be not only steeper but larger. It isn’t so. The outer third of each of the four mods will be exposed.”

  “Which is where the bridge and crew quarters are located.”

  “Yes. The simplest solution is to redesign the ship—tuck in its elbows, as it were. Instead of perpendicular to the main hull, the modules will have to be reworked so that they can be attached parallel to it.”

  “How long will that take?”

  Driscoll sighed. “Another sixty days. There are dozens of utility fittings which have to be relocated, along with the access hatches.”

  “Still, that doesn’t seem too onerous after all we’ve gone through,” said Rashuri.

  “I’m not finished. We will have to eliminate one of the four spoke modules. Because of their profile, only three will fit parallel to the drive hull. I want your permission to delete the MuMan Environmental Chamber.”

  “What other alternatives are there?”

>   “None. You know how we designed it. The Minimal mission requires mod A, the Basic mission A plus B, the Standard mission, both of those plus C. Mod E isn’t required for any of the missions, except in the eyes of the Assembly.”

  “It seems to me that eliminating mod C is an option.”

  “Then there’d be hardly any point in going. You’d be cutting the complement from twelve to four. The whole mission would be threatened.”

  “The scientific mission is not the whole mission,” Rashuri said shortly, “It is not even the most important one. We were prepared to launch a four-man crew, or if the limitations of the drive demanded it, a one-man crew. Isn’t that reflected in your modular design?”

  “It is,” Driscoll grumbled.

  “And if you have been under the assumption that your division would provide the ship’s entire complement, you have been sadly mistaken. You were commissioned to build a star-ship—not to man it.”

  “You can’t design a ship without thinking about the kind of people who will be operating it.”

  “And so you have been deeply involved in establishing the selection criteria and qualifications. But the prerogative to choose who will fly Star Rise has remained with my office. As does the prerogative to downgrade the scientific mission. The MuMan chamber stays. The complement is cut to four. You may nominate candidates for one of those positions.”

  “Director!”

  “Show a little of the wisdom your age implies,” Rashuri said tiredly. “I have had to make promises to get us here. I am obliged now to keep them, or our fragile harmony will be destroyed.”

  “But a single scientist!”

  “Be grateful you have that. If I could, I would send a musician, a poet, an athlete, a woman with child, a philosopher—I might not find room for a scientist at all. But the days when I could act according to the dictates of logic or my conscience are long past. Don’t you realize that if others had their way, we would be sending a warship or a titanium temple? As it is, Tai Chen will send a soldier, Cooke a priest—and you must content yourself with a single scientist.”

  Driscoll scowled. “That makes three. What about the fourth?”

  “The fourth will be someone whom I hope will speak for all of us. Someone whom I hope has in him something of the best in us. I did everything I could to see that he was prepared… Benjamin, I began this knowing that I would not be there when it ended. Would you deny me the right to send my son in my stead?”

  The name of the Star Rise vehicle was announced a week later. Rashuri first thanked all those who participated and revealed that the name would be inscribed on the starship’s hull in every living language. But the actual announcement was made by playing the recording of the nomination, which showed a short-haired black girl who smiled nervously before beginning.

  “My name is Jobyna. My family lives in Emali, near the railroad, but I go to the Von Neumann Institute in Nairobi. I’m fourteen. I think we should call the ship Pride of Earth, because I think we have a lot to be proud of—our beautiful planet and all the good people on it and the things that we know how to do. I think I was born into the best species in the best place anywhere, and I want the Senders to know that when we go to meet them.”

  III

  * * *

  ENVOY

  “The great struggle of life is not between good and evil, but between differing ideas of good.”

  —Devaraja Rashuri,

  Days of Pangaea

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  Captain

  “Pawn to King Four.”

  The brown-skinned, round-faced boy propped his chin on his hands and anxiously scanned the chessboard. Finally he reached out and pushed a pawn forward, then looked up uncertainly.

  “Call your move,” Rashuri said harshly. “You’ll never learn the board if you don’t.”

  “P-pawn to, uh, King Four,” stammered Charan.

  “Bishop to Queen’s Bishop Four.”

  Charan wrinkled his brow and studied the board.

  “Come now, how much time do you think we have?” asked Rashuri. “Sorry, sir,” said Charan, hurriedly reaching out to move a piece. “Pawn to—ah, Queen’s Knight Three.” Rashuri made his move with assurance. “Queen to Rook Five.”

  Scratching his nose, Charan leaned forward. After a moment’s consideration, he reached toward the right side of the board.

  “Best look to protect your King’s Pawn,” Rashuri said quietly.

  Charan looked to the center of the board. “Okay. Knight to Queen’s Bishop Three.”

  Rashuri moved as though pouncing. “Queen takes pawn, checkmate,” he declared.

  Crestfallen, Charan stared at the board, then angrily swept a dozen of the carved wooden chessmen onto the floor with his hand. “You tricked me!”

  Rashuri smiled slightly. “No, Charan. I taught you a valuable lesson. Never let your opponent dictate your play—either your pace or your strategy, in chess or any other part of life. No matter how much they smile nor how friendly they seem, an opponent wants only one thing: to defeat you. Remember that.”

  “I’ll remember,” Charan said sullenly.

  “Remember, too, that if you are defeated, there is no profit in anger. You cannot blame your opponent for wanting what he wants. You can only blame yourself for allowing him to have it. Now—pick up the pieces and set up the board.”

  His face flushed by the humiliation he felt, Charan complied. When he was finished, he looked to his father, who nodded grudging approval.

  “I will be away for several days, in Geneva for a conference,” Rashuri said, rising from his chair. “I expect you will practice against Priya and Shantikumar. We will play again when I return, and see if you have learned enough to defeat me.”

  Charan had a sense of foreboding on seeing Kantilal, his bodyguard, approaching in the hallway between classes. Until a few months ago, Kantilal had been a constant and unwelcome presence, hampering Charan’s efforts to make friends and embarrassing him before his peers. At long last, Charan had persuaded Kantilal to exercise his vigilance in the main lobby during classes. The sight of him now meant that something had broken the routine.

  “Your father wishes to see you right away, Charan.”

  “I have another class.”

  “Your father is a busy man. You must make allowances.”

  Charan sighed resignedly. “I’ve got to get my things.”

  Once at his father’s office, Charan was kept waiting twenty minutes before he was allowed to enter. “You sent for me, sir?”

  “Yes, Charan, come in. Close the door behind you.” Rashuri eyed the school blazer his son wore. “A profitable day, I trust?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m working hard at my studies.”

  “So you say,” said Rashuri, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning back in his chair. “I have been looking for a new school for you, one which will allow you to achieve the most that you are capable of. I am happy to tell you that my search has been successful.”

  “I don’t need another school,” Charan quickly protested. “I can learn everything I need to where I am.”

  “That is not so,” said Rashuri, wagging a finger at his son. “The world is changing. There are more important things than knowing the particulars of the Montagu-Chelmsford reforms or the birthdate of Nehru. You must study mathematics, engineering, languages, psychology.”

  “I like what I’m doing now.”

  “You like what’s easy and resent being reminded that you tend toward laziness. I will not accept that in you. You will have challenges and you will learn to relish them.”

  “Where is this school?’

  “In London, England. You will spend two years there—”

  “You want me to go to a British school?”

  “In Britain, but not British. A new school. A Pangaean school.”

  “But Britain. I’ll never see Priya or Shantikumar. I’ll be the only Hindu there. I won’t have any friends.”

 
“As many friends as you have time for, you will find.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Charan said grimly. “It isn’t right. I have friends here. I like my school. I like what I’m studying.”

  Rashuri glowered at him. “You speak as if all that matters is that you should be kept amused. Listen, Charan, and listen well.

  “You are a link in an unbroken chain of life stretching back three billion years. In a very strange and profound sense, you have been alive not since your birth but since the beginning. Whether the gods or nature forged the first link or whether those are simply two words for the same idea is trivial beside the sweep of biologic history that allowed for your existence.

  “In this wondrous present the weight of responsibility falls more heavily on some than on others, Charan. You have been gifted with a strong body and a keen mind, and you were born into a family of influence in a time of opportunity. Your responsibilities are very great, indeed.

  “You will study what I ask, where I ask, and you will excel, or I will know the reason why. Great deeds await you, and your name will be remembered longer than my own—if you do not fail me.”

  Thoroughly cowed, Charan lowered his head and mumbled, “Yes, Father. I apologize for my selfishness. I’ll go to Britain for you.”

  “Not for me,” Rashuri said, exasperatedly. “Not for me, or there’s no point. For yourself.”

  “Yes, Father. For myself.”

  It was Moraji, fretting over security, who suggested that Charan go to Tsiolvoksky not as the Chairman’s son but as Pradeep Saraswathi, a Telugu youth from Madras. The idea found favor with both Rashuri and Charan, though for different reasons.

  “This will assure that your wits, rather than favoritism, will ‘ determine your success,” Rashuri told his son. “No one will hesitate to criticize you for fear of offending the Chairman.”

  “Does this mean that Kantilal isn’t going with me?” Charan asked hopefully. Moraji answered. “We will trust to Tsiolkovsky’s normal security and to the deceptions we employ here.”