The Fleet of Stars

by Poul Anderson

  Fenn broke a lengthy silence. ' "This was a good idea, taking off by ourselves. I'm glad you thought of it." He spoke uncomfortably, trying for cordiality.

  Wanika smiled a little. "I hope you'll remember."

  "I will, I will. It's dry where I'm going."

  The smile died. "But it's not Earth."

  “What do you mean?'' He heard how he snapped the question.

  She looked off into the distance. "Mars—space— where you've always had your home. Though you've never wanted a home, not really. Will you ever come back here?"

  "Why, uh, of course. I'll have to, won't I? For business connected with the project. And then, this"—he gestured at the splendor around them—"and, and the people, my friends, you've all been so kind to me—"

  She sighed. "Yes, no doubt you would like to pay us an occasional visit."

  Exasperation scratched him. "What are you talking about?"

  Her eyes sought him again. '"You've no idea when you'll be returning, or how or if, but you're not the least concerned," she said calmly enough. "Your anchor is up and your sails are set."

  To see that she was pained stoked his annoyance. Why in death's name should she be, and what was he supposed to do about it? He replied with care. "Naturally, I'm eager to be off. What an adventure1!"

  Just the utterance made him feel better. The persuading of Manu Kelani and other key leaders among the Lahui Kuikawa; their discreet negotiations with officers of the Synesis; and now, now, after week upon week, tomorrow lay before him.

  Yesterday lokepa, who had been a mainstay throughout, gave a party to celebrate success. In spite of detoxer, an aftermath lingered in Fenn's head. It must be what made him edgy—not anything Wanika had said or done—mustn't it?

  He decided he should add, “But I wish you were coming along."

  Her voice stayed level. "No, you don't."

  "Oh, well, uh, true, you're not qualified. And it could maybe get a millismidgen dangerous."

  Distress broke forth. "More than that, I'm afraid. Rebellion and plotting and that secret the cybercosm's keeping from us—" Wanika swallowed. "Keeping it from us for our sakes, I do believe. You're wrong, wrong to want to violate it."

  Fenn hung onto his temper. "Look," he said, "I'm simply going to Mars to investigate. It's got to be done, after the latest news we've received, and I'm best suited to it—dn fact, the only one suited in the whole flapping Lahui. We can't go ahead with the Deimos project, we can't do a quantum-hop thing, till we have some notion of what the situation is and what's likely to happen next. If we hang around on Earth waiting and trusting, our people will lose heart, our investors will back out, and your entire bloody hope of getting into space will go on the rocks."

  "Yes, I know, I've heard it plenty often, and I still think we shouldn't keep the information to ourselves, we few—the ship from Centauri, the Proserpinans, the lens being somehow important—The world should know."

  "The cybercosm doesn't seem to agree. How many humans in the Synesis directorates have been briefed? Half a dozen at most, I'll bet. And in this case, I'm not objecting, at least not till we have more knowledge. What'd the consequences be of an immediate general release?"

  She nodded. "Unforeseeable. Especially among the radicals and dements." Her tone softened. "It was fine of you to ... avenge ... He'o the way you did. I had been lying awake nights, terrified."

  "Of what?"

  "Of what you might actually do. But you didn't. You're a good man, an honorable man." She reached across the cockpit to lay a hand over his. “We can trust you with this mission."

  "Mahalo. Thank you," he said, wondering why he felt slightly ashamed. "I'll do my best."

  “And afterward—if you find everything can be cleared up?”

  “We'll have to wait and see."

  Her hand withdrew. Her voice went flat. "What we'll see is you on Mars, to stay."

  "That depends. No foretelling. I should think I'd at least have to come back with the ship." Try for peace. "Whatever happens, though, Wanika, let me say, well, we've had our grand times, you and I, haven't we? You've been a great friend."

  "Friend," she whispered.

  After a second, she raised her head and smiled afresh. The breeze gusted, stirred her. dark tresses, tickled his beard. "We have this day and evening yet. Let's enjoy them."

  Relief brought happiness. "Absolutely. Best offer I've had since the last one like it."

  "That's why I wanted us to spend the time on this boat," she told him. "Here's where we first came together, do you remember?"

  In her era, the spaceship was proud and a wonder, a torchcraft capable of high acceleration for as long as reaction mass and energizing antimatter held out, like a fiery lance flung at the stars. She was small, for she bore no common cargoes, but rather humans and special consignments that must cross an interplanetary reach fast. Meanwhile, her recyclers, homeostats, and protection systems kept her riders comfortable, except under heavy boost. Obedient to the pilot's orders, the central robotic brain carried out all actual observation, computation, and maneuvers; sometimes it suggested or warned against a course of action. Whatever it did was done with incredible speed and precision. A flying dream made metal, Fenn thought.

  Yet in a way it had brought about its own end. When a robot performed so well, why have a pilot? For undertakings that might require more than algorithmic judgment, give command to a sophotect. There was in any event nothing left for humans to do in space that machines could not do better. The single justification for their being on Luna and Mars was that that was where some chose to live. Let robotic vessels serve their transport needs. And thus the crewed ships were piecemeal converted, unless they were dismantled. A very few remained in groundside storage or out-of-the-way orbits— historical relics, objects of a sentimentality that dwindled away over the generations until hardly anyone was even aware of them.

  Lahui agents had appealed to what traces of that emotion were left when they sought to buy two or three of the craft. More accurately, when counselors in the Synesis tried to persuade them that their enterprise was fatuous and foredoomed, they threatened such an appeal. No law forbade what they had in mind, and an increased public interest in it could further destabilize the troubled societies of Earth. The Synesis yielded and made the transaction, quietly, and machines gave the Lahui the help to which they were entitled in refurbishing the old travelers.

  Release of antimatter to power them was something else. That terrible stuff must always be under the strictest control. Moreover, although production had resumed, this was because demand had; experimentation and exploration consumed most. The minor quantities that ordinary vessels burned came from a reserve accumulated earlier, and it, while still large, was not infinite. If the Lahui wanted to send a man back to Mars, let him take the regular carrier, as he had done before.

  Negotiating, lokepa Hakawau pointed out, with profanity, that this time—for reasons he was not required to state but that appeared fairly obvious—their man could not wait a year for the next flight. As for safety, the software in the robot, which could not be altered or replaced without triggering a burnout of the robot itself, would never obey an order that had any reasonable probability of endangering others. The sales contract had stipulated that the ship was to be used and the necessary services would be available. Did the spokespeople of the Synesis wish to go to mediation? It would be quite a story in the news.

  Grudgingly, they compromised. They would sell as much fuel as the scheduled carrier spent on a trip to and fro. Since she was considerably larger and heavier laden, the Lahui vessel would have more delta v than the carrier by a factor of six or better, depending on load. That was insufficient to make this far longer journey at anything like the same continuous acceleration, but the Lahui must not demand total indulgence of their impatience.

  Time was slipping through lokepa's fingers. He swore many new oaths and agreed.

  Thus Fenn boarded the ship hopefully renamed 'Atafa, "Frigate Bird
," knowing that he would not make a quick transit. Given the present configuration of the planets, his best plan was to use relatively high boost at short, critical periods and otherwise let gravitation move him. At first he didn't care. Yes, almost three weeks before he saw Kinna—before he saw Mars again; but he would be in space, at his own helm, voyaging! His heart drummed and sang like a lover's.'

  Outward bound, he saw Earth rimmed with sunrise. It waxed in phase as he fared, blue-and-white glorious, and dwindled in sight until it was a star among the stars, with Luna a wan companion. Thrust ended and he swam weightless. "On course and all well," the ship told him.

  "Steady as she goes." He laughed aloud.

  Hours became daycycles. Familiar with microgravity, he had never before been in it for a really extended span. Medication curbed the bad effects, he slept well and his dreams were generally pleasant, but there was scant room inboard to frolic and nobody to do it with. The ship could converse, virtually like a person, but her range of topics was limited and centuries outdated; often he found what she said incomprehensible. He had ample books, shows, and music to play, he had a dreambox, but he was born unable to be passively entertained without frequent active breaks. He exercised more than necessary for musculo-skeletal maintenance, and was glad he had brought along several handicraft kits. Even when pieces bobbed off into the air, it was a welcome diversion.

  He was in space, and he would not trade; but ever more he remembered the seas of Earth, wind in a sail, waves thunderous, and the thrum of a tiller beneath his hand. When you get right down to the bones of the matter, he thought, the only meaning the universe has comes from whatever is alive.

  On a hyperbolic orbit prudently clear of the sun, 'Atafa rounded perihelion and jetted to adjust her vector prior to continuing on trajectory. The navigation display showed a red spark that was Mars.

  A while afterward, the ship reported that she was crossing a communication beam between the planet and an L-4 relay to Earth. Would Fenn care to tune in?

  Would he! He had had no news since his departure.

  What he heard in the beginning were faint clicks and beeps, incidental overtones as machines talked to machines. But before he lost contact, he caught a human voice. A fair number of people liked to know what was going on elsewhere and expected a daily account. Already the face Fenn saw in the screen was dim and wav-ery, but the words came through.

  Maddeningly, they referred in passing to events that had taken place while he had traveled deaf. He gathered that the outlaws of Tharsis had attempted to capture the Star Net Station on Pavonis Mons, for reasons uncertain but surely unsane, and had been repulsed by the robotic defenses with regrettable casualties. The House of Ethnoi, bitterly divided between Terran and Lunarian delegates, was debating whether to organize an expedition that might—or might not—quell them once for all.

  The program went on to other items. Soon the ship left the beam. Reception faded out. Fenn cursed for minutes and beat his fist against a bulkhead till pain made him stop. The joy in his mission was turned to starkness.

  Calming a bit, he considered reboosting. He could arrive much sooner. But no, by now the difference wasn't what it would have been if he'd used more thrust earlier. Without a nova-strong reason, he ought not to squander the delta v needed to bring this ship home. She belonged to the Lahui Kuikawa, who trusted him.

  Well, he thought, the gear I had lokepa get for me, that nobody else knows about, looks like it'll see-use.

  19

  STARS AND THE Milky Way surrounded Dagny where she drifted. Sensors of quantum-level sensitivity watched over her solitude. They caught only the gleam of the remote sun, the low seething of the cosmos, and, within the hull, those beats and pulses that betokened life.

  Luaine of Phyle Janou, Wardress of Zamok Gora, gave herself a push. With free-fall grace she arrowed from the passageway into the common room, caught a handhold, and poised in midair. Red locks floated loose about features that might have been carved in ivory; her body rested long, slender, form-fittingly black-clad.

  The room was sparsely outfitted. Crewfolk once gathered here, but Guthrie had scrapped their decorations and most of their furnishings. The overhead still displayed a simulacrum of the sky outside, stellar brightnesses enhanced so that, no matter interior illumination, eyes dwelt on glory. It limned the woman for him as he entered after her, himself like an elfland knight in plate armor that soared. For a moment, silence cupped them in its hands.

  "Then this is what they gave you," she murmured, "yonder." Her head nodded at one brilliant spark, Alpha Centauri's image.

  "What do you think of it?" he asked.

  They could have held their private meeting in a vessel of hers, but she had wanted to inspect his in detail. The desire was natural. She belonged among the seigneurs of the outer comets, who passed much of their lives aboard ship. On Proserpina she spoke for them, and they wanted her to bring knowledge back. Guthrie had just finished giving her what he called the grand tour.

  "It fascinates," she said. "The differences in design from ours—foremost, the weapons."

  "Are they so special?"—two small naval lasers, four machine guns, a few tactical nuclear-tipped missiles plus launcher. "I explained before, the retrofit was only in the hope that if things somehow got really hairy, I could fight my way clear, in order to make tracks for elsewhere. Nobody had any bilgewater sloshing around in his skull about how I could prevail over any serious attackers."

  She ignored his Anglo archaisms, which she doubtless didn't understand. "Nay, their design, I said," she crooned. "Touches of a beauty strange to me,"

  Like a mogul and a samurai admiring each other's swords, he thought. Yeah, I guess that on average we humans always Mve put as much love into our weapons as into anything else.

  Aloud: "I expected the differences in the ship herself would be more interesting, my lady. They come from different needs, after all. For instance, the Centaurians not living as far-flung as you people do, but wanting more agility, what with all the rocks now flying around in their system."

  Her green glance dwelt on him. "Need alone? What is due simple happenstance, and what is the expression of a civilization, a spirit, no longer ours? One wonders."

  Her switch to a philosophical mood could have disconcerted him in his Terran embodiment. Machine, he fell effortlessly in with her. A part of him stood aside, observer and pilot. His objective was to sound her out. To that end, he should humor her for this while. "Cultures do change," he agreed. "How like your ancestors on Luna are you?"

  She grinned. Self-mockery? He couldn't tell. "Maychance less than we fondly believe."

  "And my race," Guthrie's mortal species, "we're taking off in our assorted directions too. We're not the same at Amaterasu, Isis, and Hestia."

  Her tone went grave, her gaze searched. "Not even you, the eternal captain, nor the incarnations of the Mother?"

  "I think not. Not any longer. Though across light-years, it gets hard to know. Someday I'd like to go in person, this person," this line of memory and personality that zigzagged through the manifold branchings of himself, "and find out."

  Find an answer to that question, and to infinite others. The hugeness, diversity, mystery of the universe through space, through time. What was coming into being as he talked, what joys, triumphs, griefs, horrors, creations— what life?

  "Here you begin," Luaine said low.

  He could not bow in microgravity but he saluted. "Thanks to your help, my lady."

  He spoke truth. She, wielding her influence as a surgical program wields a scalpel, had had the most to do with getting Dagny refueled. Some Selenarchs remained hostile to the whole idea.

  "It was not given on impulse, Captain Guthrie," she said slowly.

  The face he generated in his turret formed a smile. "Sure. I knew that. You hope for some return on the investment. I hope I'll be able to oblige."

  Luaine turned her head to and fro, as if she could see through to the ends of the hull. "This power
ful instrumentality," she breathed, "and you yourself, an unknown quantity—unknown also to the cybercosm, to the very Teramind—might you be victorious where we have failed?"

  "You mean the solar lens, don't you?" He was aware that she and her associates had been at the forefront of Proserpinan efforts to hunt out the secret. Something akin to a nerve-tingle passed along his neural network.

  Her look swung back to him. "What else? For a beginning, maychance for more." Fiercely: "It is your venture too. Would you see humankind, both humankinds, in the freedom of the stars? Then we must know what awaits us, and why the cybercosm wills that we not know."

  "If it does."

  "It, yes! Terrans could never keep silence so long about something so meaning-laden. Eyach, a few, few chosen ones can, utterly subservient to their Synesis." Contempt poisoned the last word.

  "They don't consider themselves subservient, do they? You're speaking of trustees and other such panjandrums."

  "Nay, they choose to obey. They are worshipers, as in ancient times. The name of their god is Teramind."

  Guthrie's organometallic shoulders could not properly shrug. He spread fingers in the Lunarian equivalent of the gesture. "Maybe." She's prejudiced, he thought. Nevertheless—"But what do you suppose the lenses have discovered?"

  "The lens, one particular lens," she corrected him. "It has acquired much the most, if not entirely all. We have become sure of that, at the least. You have heard."

  This time he vocalized a sigh. "Look, my lady, I'm a stranger here yet, and I've been almighty busy with a cramload of assorted concerns. Learning my way around has been just one of them, and others, like arguing and dickering with a dozen different jefes, have kept interfering with it. I've simply not had a chance to give the lens business any special attention."