Arkwright

by Allen Steele

  On the other hand, in making this determination, the probe also learned that Eos was not entirely lifeless. As a red dwarf, Calliope was a young star, and its planets were also young. Thus, Eos’s native species were primitive as well, still on the lowermost rungs of the evolutionary ladder. Yet even the lichen, sponge molds, and tiny ferns of its flora and the multilegged worms and trilobite-like crustaceans that occupied the top of the food chain for the fauna were evidence that the planet was not barren.

  Many years earlier, Arkwright Foundation scientists and mission planners had argued long and hard over the ethical problems just such a discovery would present. The intent all along had been to reshape Gliese 667C-e into a world that, while perhaps not being earthlike, would nonetheless support bioengineered Earth species: plants, animals, and, yes, humans. Yet, was it morally right to condemn an entire planetary ecology to death so an Earth colony could thrive and survive? No one had an easy answer to this, for humankind had already made extinct millions of planet and animal species on its own world. So a compromise had been reached. Galactique’s AI was programmed with a series of protocols that would help it determine whether life on Eos was sufficiently evolved to make their destruction an act of genocide.

  Had the answer been yes, then Galactique would have stopped there, and its last act would have been to transmit its data via laser to Earth so that, twenty-two years in the future, whoever was still running the Arkwright Foundation could scream in frustration. But it took the AI, with its coldly ruthless logic, only a few seconds to determine that the answer was no.

  From that moment, Eos’s destiny was forever changed.

  BOOK FOUR

  The Children of Gal

  1

  Sanjay Arkwright’s mother was sent to Purgatory on Monone, the second day of Juli. As dawn broke on Childstown, Aara was escorted from her home by a pair of Guardians, who silently walked two-legged on either side of the heretic as they marched her to the beach. Sanjay and his father, Dayall, quietly accompanied them; carrying belly packs and walking on all fours, they kept their heads down to avoid meeting the gaze of the townspeople who’d emerged from their cottages and workshops to observe Aara’s passage into exile.

  It was a day of shame for her family, and yet Aara maintained an upright stance. Even after a Guardian prodded the back of her neck with his staff, she refused to lower her head or place her fores against the cobblestoned street but instead strode forward on her hinds, gazing straight ahead in almost haughty dismissal of her neighbors. For this alone, Sanjay was proud of his mother. She would obey the Word of Gal, but not with the humiliation expected of her.

  On the beach, a group of Disciples had already gathered to form a prayer circle. They squatted in a semicircle facing the Western Channel, where the sister suns Aether and Bacchae were beginning to set upon the distant shores of Cape Exile. Illuminated by the bright-orange orb of Calliope rising to the east, they cupped their fores together beneath their lowered faces and chanted words passed down to them from their mothers and grandmothers:

  Gal the Creator, Gal the All-Knowing,

  Forgive our sister, who denies your love.

  Gal the Creator, Gal the All-Knowing,

  Guide our sister as you watch from above …

  Their voices fell silent as Aara and her guards approached. If they’d expected Aara to join them, they were disappointed. Aara barely glanced at them as she walked by, and Sanjay had to fight to keep his expression neutral.

  Dayall noticed this. “Don’t smile,” he whispered to his son, “and don’t stand. Everyone is watching us.”

  Sanjay didn’t reply but only gave his father a brief nod. His father was right. This was a sad moment and also a dangerous one. Most of those who’d followed them to the waterfront were Galians, and even if some were friends of the family, a few were pious enough to report the slightest impropriety to the Guardians. Any sign of support from Aara’s family, and the deacons could easily extend the same sentence to her husband and son, as well. It had been many yarn since the last time an entire family was sent to Purgatory, but it had been done before.

  R’beca Circe, the deacon of the Childstown congregation of the Disciples of Gal, stood on all fours beside Aara’s sailboat, accompanied by the deacons from Stone Bluff, Oceanview, and Lighthouse Point who’d traveled across Providence to attend Aara’s trial. The Guardians led Aara to them and then stepped aside, standing erect with their staffs planted in the sand. R’beca rose from her fores to look Aara straight in the eye; the other deacons did the same, and for a long moment, everything was still, save for the cool morning breeze that ruffled their ceremonial capes and Aara’s braided red hair, revealed by the lowered hood of the long black robe she’d been given by the Guardians.

  Then R’beca spoke.

  “On the first day of the Stormyarn,” she recited, “when the Disciples were separated from the Children who stayed behind, Gal told his people, ‘Follow my Word always, and obey the lessons of your Teachers, for my way is survival, and those who question it shall not.’ Aara Arkwright, it is the finding of the Deacons of the Disciples of Gal that you have questioned the Word of Gal and therefore committed the sin of heresy, for which you have refused to repent. How do you plead?”

  “I plead nothing.” There was no trace of insolence in Aara’s voice; as always, when she was given a direct question, she delivered a direct answer. “I am neither guilty nor innocent. I saw what I saw … and there is nothing in the Word that says it cannot exist.”

  R’beca’s eyes grew sharper. She pointed toward the sky. “Clearly, there is no light there save that of Gal and her suns. Even at night, when Aether and Bacchae rise to cast away the shadows and the stars appear, Gal remains in her place, bright and unmoving. Stars do not suddenly appear and vanish, and none may approach Gal.”

  Almost unwillingly, Sanjay found himself following Deacon R’beca’s raised fore with his gaze. As she had said, Gal the Creator hovered almost directly overhead, a bright star that never rose or set but remained a fixed point in the sky. It had been this way throughout the one hundred and fifty-two sixyarn of Eosian history, from the moment when Gal had carried the Chosen Children from Erf to the promised land of Eos.

  None but fools or heretics ever questioned this. Those who did were purged from Providence, sent alone to the mainland to live out the rest of their days in a place where survival was unlikely.

  Yet Aara wouldn’t recant. “I did not lie then, and I’m not lying now. I saw a new star in the sky during my turn on night watch, one that moved in the sky toward Gal.”

  “So you question Gal’s dominance? Her status as creator who cannot be challenged?”

  “I question nothing. This was not an act of blasphemy, Deacon … it was an obligation to my duty to report anything unusual.”

  Hearing this, the Disciples crouched on the beach wailed in bereavement. As they slapped their fores against their ears, R’beca’s mouth curled in disgust. She’d offered Aara a chance to repent and beg for mercy, only to receive a stubborn reiteration of the same defense she’d given during her trial. Again, Sanjay felt pride surge past his sadness. His mother had never been one to back down, and she wasn’t about to do so now.

  Yet her courage wasn’t met with sympathy. As the other three deacons lowered themselves to their hinds and cupped their fores together, R’beca reached beneath her cape and produced the symbol of her office, a large white knife she carried with her at all times. Made of the same material as the large block of Galmatter that, along with the Teacher, resided within the Transformer inside the Shrine, it was one of the few remaining relics from the yarn before the Great Storm, when the Chosen Children had first come to Eos from Erf. R’beca clasped the pale blade in her left fore and, raising it above her, intoned the words everyone expected to hear:

  “In the name of Gal, creator of Eos and mother of her children, I send you, Aara Arkwright, into exile. May Gal grant you safe passage to Purgatory, where you shall live the rest of y
our days.”

  Then she brought the knife forward and, with one swift stroke, whisked its blade across the right side of Aara’s face. Sanjay’s mother winced, but she didn’t cry out when the blade cut into her cheek; it would leave a scar that would mark her as an outcast for the rest of her life, making her a pariah to any community on Providence to which she might try to return. She could be put to death if she was ever seen on the island again.

  R’beca turned her back to her and, still on her hinds, walked away. “You may say farewell to her now,” she murmured to Dayall and Sanjay as she strode past. “Be quick.”

  Sanjay and his father were the only ones to approach his mother. By custom, everyone else who’d witnessed the ceremony stood erect and silently turned their backs to her. Through the crowd, Sanjay caught a glimpse of Kaile Otomo. Her long black hair was down around her face, making it hard to see her expression, yet she briefly caught his eye and gave him the slightest of nods. Then she turned away as well.

  Dayall stood erect to pull off his belly pack. It was stuffed with clothes, a couple of fire starters, fishing tackle, and his best knife, all permitted by the Guardians to be given to someone facing banishment. Aara took it from him and then let her husband wipe the blood from her face and take her in his arms. Sanjay couldn’t hear what his father whispered to her, but he saw the tears in her eyes, and that was enough. After a few moments, Dayall let her go, and then it was Sanjay’s turn.

  “Aara…”

  “It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”

  He wasn’t expecting the wan smile that crossed her face as she accepted the belly pack bulging with food he’d taken from their pantry. She dropped it on the ground next to his father’s.

  “I’m even sadder about this than you are,” she said, “because I won’t be around to see you and Kaile become bonded, but—”

  “It’s not fair!”

  “Hush. Keep your voice down.” She glanced over his shoulder, wary of being overheard by the Disciples or the deacons. “Of course it’s not fair. I was only doing my duty. But the Guardians have their duties, as well, and R’beca”—another smile, this time sardonic—“well, she would call it blasphemy if winter came late. My only sin was not realizing this before I opened my mouth.”

  Sanjay started to reply, but then she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. “This is not the end,” she whispered. “We’ll see each other again.”

  Sanjay knew this wasn’t true. Once someone was sent to Purgatory, he or she never returned from the other side of the Western Channel. Yet perhaps his mother wasn’t facing reality or she was speaking of the afterlife promised by the deacons, when all who believed in Gal would join once their souls had departed Eos. So he simply nodded and told her that he loved her, and she borrowed his fish-bone knife to cut a lock of his red hair to take with her, and then a Guardian stepped forward to impatiently tap the sand with his staff.

  It was time for her to go.

  The catamaran was sound and sturdy, its outrigger hull constructed from cured umbrella palm, its mainsail woven from bambu threads. Sanjay had built the boat with his own fores, with help from his friend Johan Sanyal; they’d done this while Aara was under house arrest, awaiting the arrival of the other deacons and the commencement of the trial whose outcome was all but certain. They’d made the boat quickly but carefully, taking time from the spring fishing season to fashion the small craft for his mother. The master boatbuilder, Codi Royce, hadn’t objected when the two boys didn’t work on the fishing fleet’s boats for several precious days; as Sanjay’s mentor, he knew just how important this was.

  Although it wasn’t strictly permitted, no one had objected when Sanjay discreetly hid a harpoon beneath the oars. It wasn’t likely that Aara might encounter an ocean monarch while crossing the channel. The leviathans were nocturnal; along with the receding tide, this was a reason outcasts were sent away at dawn, to give them time to reach Cape Exile before the creatures rose to the surface and started hunting. Nonetheless, it might give her some measure of protection if she encountered one during her journey.

  Like all Providence inhabitants, Aara was an expert sailor. Once she’d stowed the packs, she didn’t immediately raise the sail but instead used the oars to push herself away from the beach and out into the Childstown bay. As a small measure of respect for her, none of the fishing boats set out when they were supposed to. On the nearby docks, their crews silently waited as Aara paddled away, allowing her a chance to begin the long, sixty-kilm journey from the island to the mainland.

  Aara was a small figure sitting in the catamaran’s stern when she finally lowered the outrigger and raised the mainsail. As it unfurled to catch the morning wind, there was a single, long gong from the watchtower’s bell, the ritual signal that an islander was being sent into exile. As it resounded across the waters, Aara raised a fore in a final wave.

  Sanjay and his father waved back, and then they stood together on the shore and quietly waited until her boat couldn’t be seen anymore.

  2

  In the days that followed, Sanjay did his best to put his mother’s banishment behind him. With only two weeks left in summer, there was much that needed to be done before the season changed: fish to be caught, dried, and preserved, seeds planted and spring crops tended, houses and boats repaired. He and his father put away Aara’s belongings—they couldn’t bring themselves to burn her clothes, a customary practice for the families of those sent to Purgatory—and accepted the sympathy of those kind enough to offer it, but it took time for them to get used to a house that now seemed empty; the absence of laughter and the vacant seat at the dinner table haunted them whenever they came home.

  Sanjay didn’t feel very much like attending the Juli service at the Shrine, but Dayall insisted. If he didn’t make an appearance, the more inquisitive Disciples might wonder whether Aara’s son shared her blasphemous beliefs. Dayall was an observant Galian if not a particularly devout one, and the last thing they wanted to do was draw the attention of the Guardians. So Frione morning, they joined the Disciples in the dome-roofed temple in the middle of town. Once they’d bowed in homage to the sacred genesis plant that grew beside the Shrine, they went in to sit together on floor mats in the back of the room, doing their best to ignore the curious glances of those around them. Yet as R’beca stood before the altar, where the boxlike frame of the Transformer stood with its inert block of Galmatter in the center, and droned on about how the souls of the Chosen Children were gathered by Gal from the vile netherworld of Erf and carried “twenty-two lights and a half through the darkness” to Eos, Sanjay found himself studying the Teacher resting within his crèche behind the altar.

  Even as a child, Sanjay had often wondered why the Teacher didn’t resemble the Children or their descendents. Taller than an adult islander, his legs had knees that were curiously forward-jointed and hinds lacking the thin membranes that ran between the toes. His arms, folded across his chest, were shorter, while the fingers of his fores were long and didn’t have webbing. His neck was short, as well, supporting a hairless head whose face was curiously featureless: eyes perpetually open and staring, a lipless mouth, a straight nose that lacked nostrils. And although the Teacher wore an ornate, brocaded robe dyed purple with roseberry, every youngster who’d ever sneaked up to the crèche after services to peek beneath the hem knew that the Teacher lacked genitalia; there was only a smooth place between his legs.

  These discrepancies were explained by the Word: the Teacher had been fashioned by Gal to resemble the demons who ruled Erf, and the Creator had made him this way to remind the Children of the place from which they’d come. This was why the Teacher was made of Galmatter instead of flesh and blood. According to the history everyone diligently learned and recited in school, the Teacher and the Disciples had fled the mainland for Providence just before the Great Storm, leaving behind the unfaithful, who’d ignored Gal’s warning that their land would soon be consumed by wind and water.

&
nbsp; The Teacher no longer moved or spoke, and he had not done so in recent memory. Yet his body didn’t decay, so he was preserved in the Shrine. Along with the Transformer and the Galmatter block, they were regarded as holy relics, reminders of the Stormyarn. In her sermons, R’beca often prophesized the coming of the day when the Teacher would awaken and bring forth new revelations of the Word of Gal, but Sanjay secretly doubted this would ever occur. If it did, he hoped to be there when it happened; he’d like to see how someone could walk on all fours with limbs and extremities as misshapen as these.

  Kaile kept a discreet distance from Sanjay after Aara left. He missed her but understood why; her parents, Aiko and Jak, were strict Disciples who’d become reluctant to have their daughter associating with a heretic’s son. And while she wasn’t as rigid in her beliefs as her parents, nonetheless, Kaile was a Galian who did her best to adhere to the Word. So he saw her only on occasion, sometimes in town but more often in the morning on the waterfront. While Sanjay was a boatbuilder—indeed, his family name, which his father had taken after he bonded with his mother, was an old Inglis word for those who built watercraft—Kaile was a diver, trained from childhood to descend deep beneath the channel to harvest scavengers from the seafloor. When they spotted each other during those days, they’d exchange a brief smile and a wave, a sign that she still cared for him and would return once her parents let her.

  Dayall, on the other hand, retreated into himself. As Juli lapsed into Aug and then Sept, Sanjay watched as his father became increasingly morose. He seldom spoke to anyone, let alone his son, instead adopting a dull daily pattern of getting up, having breakfast, opening his woodworking shop, and puttering around in it all day until it was time to close up and go home, where he’d eat and then go to bed. Although he was still bonded to Aara, it was understood that this no longer mattered; other women could come to him as prospective suitors, and he could bond with them and take their name if he so desired. But Dayall was approaching middle age, and it was unlikely any woman in Childstown would want to take as her mate someone who’d once had a heretic as a wife. So Sanjay could only watch as his father came to terms with his loss; he was helpless to do anything about it.