Enigma

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  Thackery pushed the thought away. There had to be better reasons. Sebright’s was the quest of the addict for a remembered high, he decided—one so exquisite that it made normal life unbearable. But Dove’s crew had sustained themselves through an abstinence enforced by unfriendly Chance. There had to be better reasons, and the Dove vets had to know them—or those now aboard Tycho would not have chosen to accept their new assignments.

  Late to be wondering why you’re here. You know why you’re here, he answered himself. You just don’t know what will sustain you now that you are.

  A day later, Thackery found Thomas Dunn in Tycho’s wardroom, conducting a training session on the AVLO drive for Baldwin, Behnke, and four of the awks. The silver-haired senior tech was soft-spoken, but he clearly knew both his subject and how to communicate it. Thackery listened with interest from the doorway as Dunn held forth for twenty more minutes, then moved toward him when the class filed out. “Mr. Dunn? Sebright said you might be able to help me.”

  Dunn cocked his head and squinted. “Aren’t you Thackery? The inquisitive one?”

  Thackery’s face wrinkled up. “You heard—”

  “Didn’t you think we veterans talked to each other?”

  “I didn’t think anything worth talking about happened,” Thackery said stiffly. “Privacy has an exaggerated importance on a survey ship. You’ll understand after a while.”

  “Is that a warning not to ask you any personal questions?”

  “No.” Dunn settled cross-legged on the table. “I try to be a little more sympathetic to novices than Mark is.” Thackery settled in one of the recently vacated seats. “I was wondering why you came back.”

  “To the Service? I’m not that sympathetic. Next question.”

  “Well, what about Sebright? What makes somebody like that come back after five years out?”

  Dunn craned his head and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t think that I can speak for someone else, Thackery. If I’m guessing, I might be wrong. If I know, I have no right to violate their confidence.”

  Thackery’s face showed his growing exasperation. “So don’t talk about him specifically. You spent time at Benamira. How do the vets feel about what they did, about where they are?”

  Dunn swung his crossed legs back and forth. “Until you feel it yourself, it’ll just be words.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Nodding, Dunn said: “Some of us come back knowing what the parameters are. Some only need a few weeks at Benamira to learn it. Some resist and spend a few years trying to fight it.”

  “Like Sebright?”

  His eyes clouding, Dunn only smiled faintly in answer. “You see, the Service has to be your family, provide your loves and mates, even take care of you when you age. Because Earth will forget you, and if you ever return there you’ll find it strange, almost incomprehensibly so—even with the Council doing its best to put the brakes on change. My advice would be not to return. You’ve done more than change jobs, Thackery. You’ve changed lives. Your old one is now forever out of reach.”

  Dunn’s words struck Thackery as unnecessarily melodramatic. “That’s no secret. Any fool would know it. And the Flight Office warns us.”

  “You won’t begin to understand until much later,” Dunn said with that same faint smile. “It’s almost as though there’s a grace period—which is just as well. It’s not a reversible decision. You’re already out of time.”

  “I thought that’s what Benamira was for—to put you back.”

  Dunn chuckled knowingly. “When I was growing up, the world government was led by statesmen. Now it’s in the hand of bureaucrats. Back then, everyone knew who Devaraja Rashuri was. My father worked for Benjamin Driscoll. But say those names to someone from this era and you’ll get a blank stare two times out of three.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t like the music of today. I find the styles of clothing garish. I consider body adornments self-mutilation. What can the Service do to help me? Yes, they wanted Benamira to be a halfway house. But it never cures anyone. More accurate to call it a hermitage—and some vets aren’t made to be hermits.”

  “What about Neale? Is that what moves her, too?”

  Dunn’s eyes twinkled. “So you’re mystified by the Space Lily?”

  Thackery grinned uncomfortably. “Where’d she pick up that tag?”

  “That’s one of her several nicknames, none of which you should ever let her hear you using. A horticulturist at Unity hung that on her. When you were home, did you ever grow any lily-of-the-valley?”

  “I think I’ve seen it.”

  “It’s small, unobtrusive, and looks delicate—and the next thing you know it’s taken over the garden. You follow?”

  “No.”

  “She’ll make it clear to you at some time or other, I’m sure,” Dunn said, in a way that made clear the subject was closed. “Well—have I satisfied your curiosity, Thackery?”

  “Less than you might have.”

  “You incline toward the painfully blunt, have you ever been told?” He brought a hand to his mouth. “Let me be equally forthright. Have you paired yet? Are you happy with McShane as a cabinmate?”

  The question cast Dunn’s willingness to talk in a new and unwelcome light.

  “I’m fine,” Thackery said, too quickly.

  But Dunn took no offense. “We’ll be out a long time. I hope you’ll keep me in mind when you’re ready for a change.”

  A glimpse of the rainstorm building on the horizon pulled Thackery off the climb way and onto the Tycho edrec deck. The landscape was playing on all twelve of the screens ringing the huge circular room.

  Iowa, Thackery thought. Or maybe eastern Nebraska.

  One chair had been turned to face the darkest part of the clouds, and above the fabric of the shoulder rest projected a shock of reddish hair.

  “Dan?”

  He was answered with a grunt.

  “You pick this?” Thackery asked, settling in a chair nearer the center of the deck, where the illusion was better.

  “Yup.”

  “Something up, or are you just trying to depress the hell out of everybody?”

  “I got chewed out by Graeff today, in front of everybody.”

  “Deserve it?”

  “No. She’s got it in for me. I work twice as hard as any bridge awk, and everybody knows it. She’s just busting me.”

  “Don’t argue. Vets know everything,” Thackery said cynically. From behind he heard the faint ringing sound the climb-way made when someone was near. A moment later Tyszka bounded off the ladder and joined them.

  “Is this the meeting of the Descartes Masturbators’ Society and Sewing Circle?” he asked loudly, striding across the deck and plopping into the chair to Thackery’s right. He craned his head and took in the landscape that was playing. “God, how depressing. If I tell you how it comes out, will you put on something else?”

  “Put on what you want,” McShane replied disinterestedly.

  But Tyszka made no move toward the control pedestal, instead sliding sideways in his chair and hooking one knee over the arm. “You two look like you’ve already heard the news.”

  It was Thackery who offered the obligatory response. “What news?”

  “It’s done. They’re all gone,” Tyszka said, clucking and shaking his head. “And unless my intelligence is faulty, none of us have one. I warned you, Thack.”

  “Now I know what you’re babbling about.”

  “Will someone tell me?” called McShane.

  “Women, my son, women. They’re all spoken for. I know. I just helped the last one move in with my roommate.”

  “No doubt a painful experience.”

  “Considering it was Nakabayashi, I would say significantly painful.” He made a loud clicking noise. “We don’t need them, though, right?”

  “Celibacy forever,” McShane rallied.

  “That’s right,” Tyszka said, pounding the padded armrest for emphasis. “We resisted, despite their cru
de attempts to seduce us.”

  “We were too smart for them,” Thackery said, trying to get in the spirit of the foolishness.

  “We refused to let them sap our vital life fluids,” declared McShane.

  “No matter how much they begged.”

  “Right. They didn’t meet our standards.”

  “Not a one of them.”

  The patter became rapid-fire, self-reinforcing improvisation. Thackery sat back and listened, the laughter building in him but showing only as a wry smile.

  “Muir.”

  “Too butch.”

  “Abrams.”

  “The ice queen. Uibel is still defrosting.”

  “Shaffer.”

  “White wear.”

  “Too fragile.”

  “DeLaCroix.”

  “Too experienced.”

  “Too crowded in her bed.”

  “Baldwin.”

  “Big sister.”

  “She’ll tuck you in but she won’t fuck.”

  That brought the first involuntary, half-embarrassed laugh spilling out of Thackery, and his laughter triggered theirs. “Graeff,” McShane managed to say, trying to keep it going. “Untouchable,” Tyszka fired back. “Neale.”

  “Unthinkable,” Thackery blurted, and as the landscape dis solved into rain around them, they dissolved into the silly, out-of-control laughter of the tired and the stressed. Thackery laughed until his chest hurt, until his throat rebelled with rough coughs and his eyes brimmed with moisture.

  “Well,” Tyszka said as decorum slowly returned, “if the Concom was right, maybe we’ll be too busy to notice.”

  The mention of Sebright wiped the remaining smile from Thackery’s face. “I don’t know how much stock to put in him these days,” he said soberly, then kicked Tyszka’s chair. “Change the freezin’ tape, will you? This is depressing.”

  Ten days from A-Cyg, Neale posted a schedule of crew interviews—four a day in two-hour blocks. No purpose for the interviews was given. Some of the interviewees came back in fifteen minutes, while a few stayed the two hours, and Nakabayashi was gone for three. None would discuss the interviews or even divulge their topic. The consensus in the hive was that the interviews were fitness reviews, and the anxiety level of those well down on the alphabetical list climbed precipitously.

  To minimize his distraction, Thackery refocused his attention on increasingly difficult Contact simulations. Almost before he realized it, his appointment was imminent. He convinced himself he was at ease by eating a normal lunch just before he was due in officer’s country. En route from the mess to Neale’s cabin, Thackery detoured to his cabin to relieve his slate.

  He was startled to find McShane there, sitting cross-legged on his bed and hunched over a portable netlink, a unit similar to the slate but with input capabilities.

  “What’s up?”

  McShane did not look up, and Thackery moved to peek over his shoulder. The screen was filled with two columns of names, none of them familiar.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on the bridge watch?” Thackery asked, glancing at his watch.

  “I’ve got to get this finished first.”

  “What the hell is it?”

  McShane touched the scroller several times and the list jumped downward. “There,” he said. “There you are.” Thackery’s name was in fact on the screen, along with the names of several other crewmembers.

  “Some sort of personnel list?”

  McShane craned his head to look up at Thackery. “Do you remember the name of the woman who passed us through the Unity screening center?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, the blonde with the long hair. The young one.”

  “I barely remember her. What are you doing, anyway?”

  He turned back to his machine. “I’m trying to make a list of everybody who ever knew me. I mark them with a caret if they were friends, and an asterisk if I had sex with them. Everybody else is just an acquaintance. See, your name has a caret.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “So nobody forgets. Are you sure you don’t remember her name?”

  “I don’t think I ever knew it.”

  “Damn. Oh, all right. I suppose I can leave her off.”

  “Don’t you think this could wait until your watch is over?”

  “No,” McShane said placidly, then abruptly changed the subject. “Thack, do you know what happens if you die out here? They can’t give you space burial—there’s no place to send you to. I wonder what happens to the soul, whether it has a way of escaping the craze.”

  “Dan, maybe you should go see Pemberton,” Thackery said tentatively, naming the medtech.

  McShane snapped his fingers. “That’s a great idea. I’ll bet he had to work with her on the screening. He ought to remember her name.”

  With an anxious glance at his watch, Thackery picked up his slate and moved toward the door. “Dan, I wish I could stay, but Neale is expecting me. Go upship and stand the rest of your bridge watch. I’ll go see Pemberton with you later.”

  His back to Thackery, McShane shook his head. “I’ve got to finish my list first.” He sighed. “I wish you could have seen Karen at Lake Ponchetrain.”

  With an effort of will, Thackery made himself open the door and leave the compartment. How do you help them? he asked, sagging against the corridor wall. How do you bring them back?

  But there were no ready answers, and Neale was waiting. First things first, he told himself, and hurried off.

  When Thackery arrived, Neale’s cabin was full of stars in motion—a time-compressed, asymmetric scale projection of the Expanded Local Group, 10,000 stars in a 100-light-year radius sphere centered on Earth. Four of the stars were a brilliant green: the colonies. Thackery stepped through the doorway and into the swirl of stars.

  “Chair to your left,” said Neale’s disembodied voice. Thackery moved that way and felt his way into the seat. The motion of the stars suddenly stopped with three of the four green spots within Thackery’s reach.

  “Do you know them?” she asked.

  Thackery studied the projection. “Pai-Tem,” he said, pointing at one. “82 Eridani, that’s Muschynka. Journa. And Ross 128, over there in Virgo.”

  “Very good.” The lights came up, masking the projection. Only then could Thackery see Neale, who was almost swallowed up by a padded recliner modeled after an orbital acceleration couch. Neale’s fingers beat an irregular rhythm against the arm as she stared the thousand-mile stare.

  Her gaze drifted sideways and found Thackery’s face. “I’m sorry to say that only about half the operations crew can correctly identify all four without prompting,” she said. “I’m reassured to find that my surveyors are more knowledgeable.” She crossed her aims across her smallish breasts. “Have you thought much about the First Colonists, Thackery?”

  “No.”

  “I’m surprised. I marked you for more intellectual curiosity than that answer suggests.”

  “I’ve thought about what it would feel like to take part in a Contact, about my responsibility if Descartes should happen to find a colony. But about the First Colonists themselves, no. It’s hard to see how there’s any profit in the effort.”

  “Do you think that all of the colonies have been found?”

  “Life, I hope not.”

  “Then wouldn’t there be profit in making our search more effective?”

  “If there were some chance in knowing what the First Colonists were like and what motivated them. But it’s all guesswork. Unless there’s been some recent discovery I don’t know about, we don’t have a single FC-era artifact.”

  She wagged a finger at him. “How wrong you are. We have four very significant artifacts. You named them earlier.”

  “But the colonies don’t remember their founders any better than we do the civilization that produced them. Even the First Cities of Jouma turned out to postdate the colonization by thousands of years.”

  “There are consc
ious memories and unconscious memories, Thackery. Don’t mistake one for the other. If we don’t remember the Firsts, then we need to look more deeply into ourselves. They left their mark on us, I have no doubt. But set that aside for now. How would you choose the destinations for a fleet of colony ships?”

  When Thackery made no answer, treating the question as rhetorical, she went on.

  “So many of your generation think it’s so easy—just pick a dozen or two stars similar to ours in temperature and spectrum, long-lived and stable. Journa’s sun is the perfect example, a pretty little G-type star. So is 82 Eridani.”

  “Yet they passed up Tau Ceti and Alpha Centauri A.”

  “Exactly!” She sat up in the lounger. “Some of the other colonies are around some of the most improbable suns. Pai-Tem has a K binary, for life’s sake! And it’s no wonder the Ross colony failed, orbiting a M-star so cold it takes a greenhouse effect to make the planet livable. But they chose it deliberately. What did they know that we don’t? What fact would unscramble the puzzle? There’s the fascination, Thackery. That’s the magic of the colony problem.”

  She sat back and waited for his reply. When he said nothing, she gestured. “I asked you here to tap you. I want my crew’s best thoughts, honest thoughts. Otherwise we’ll never solve this thing.”

  “I think it’s a mistake to worship the Firsts and act as though there was some magical wisdom in their choices,” Thackery said tentatively. “Maybe they ended up where they did because they had no way of continuing on—we’ve never found one of their ships to know their capabilities. For that matter, there might not be any ships to find, maybe there are other instrumentalities. Or maybe all that was special about them was that they were first.”

  The lights dimmed as Neale touched a control on the arm of her lounger. “You disappoint me, Thackery,” she said as the spherical halo of stars once again took over the room. “You lack imagination.”

  “Commander, I’ll be happy to devote some attention to this now that I know of your interest—”

  “Don’t bother,” she said brusquely. “You haven’t the vision for it, and I don’t need another flufflicker.” She continued mechanically, “I invoke your pledge of confidentiality. You are not to discuss this interview or any of its subject matter until I free you from the pledge. There will be a general announcement to that effect when the remaining interviews are completed. Good day.”