Arkwright

by Allen Steele

  “Then Gal … I mean, Galactique”—Sanjay stumbled over the unfamiliar syllables—“is our creator.”

  “Just as the Word says,” Kaile quietly added.

  “Galactique created our people, yes, and also the world as we know it, but it is not a deity. Those of us here in First Town and the other mainland settlements—yes, there are other villages like this one, although not as large—knew this even before Nathan and his companions arrived a few weeks ago. People here have long been aware of the fact that we’re descended from the human seed—the sperm and eggs, as they call it—transported from Earth aboard Galactique and that Eos itself was a much different place before Galactique transformed it over the course of nearly 300 sixyarn into the world we know now.”

  Benjam pointed beyond the open door of the meeting hall. “Those birds you saw, the chickens and turkeys … they were brought here, too, in just the same way. In fact, everything else on Eos—the forests, the insects, the fruit we eat, the fish in our seas—is descended from material carried from Earth by Galactique, which was then altered to make them suitable for life here.”

  “Nathan calls this ‘genetic engineering,’” Aara said, slowly reciting words she herself had apparently learned only recently. “It’s really very complicated. I’m not certain I understand it myself.”

  “It all was done aboard Galactique during the time it circled Eos.” Benjam nodded in agreement. “Nathan and his people have told us that, during this same time—hundreds of yarn, longer than our own history—Galactique also deposited across Eos dozens of tiny craft called ‘biopods,’ which in turn contained the genesis plants. Eos was a much different place back then. Its atmosphere was thin and unbreathable, and the only life here was insignificant—lichen and such. The genesis plants were scattered all over Eos, and as they took root and grew to maturity, they absorbed the atmosphere that was already here and replaced it with the air we breathe while also making it thick enough to retain the warmth of Calliope and her sisters. Once that was accomplished, the plants distributed the seeds of all the other plants we know, none of which existed on Eos before Galactique came. Other biopods followed them, bringing down the infant forms of fish, birds, insects, and animals that had been gestated aboard the ship. Once they were here—”

  “Then came you,” Nathan said.

  He’d entered the room unnoticed, and he wasn’t alone. Looking around, Sanjay saw that he was accompanied by a man and a woman, both walking upright on forward-jointed legs and curiously small feet. This time, though, instead of the hooded cloak that concealed his form on Providence, Nathan wore a strange outfit over his clothes, a jointed framework of pipes and molded plates made of some metallic material that softly whirred and clicked with every move he made. The other two wore similar outfits.

  Nathan noticed that Sanjay was staring at him. “It’s called an exoskeleton,” he said as he walked over to where he and the others were seated. “The surface gravity on Eos—the force that causes you to stay on the ground—is half-again higher than it is on Earth. Without these to help us stand and move about, we’d get tired very quickly. Our hearts would have to work harder, as well, and before long, it would be very unhealthy for us to live here. The exoskeletons compensate for this.”

  Sanjay stood erect to tentatively lay a fore on the exoskeleton’s chest plate. It was hard and cool, reminding him somewhat of a scavenger’s carapace. “Why weren’t you wearing this on Providence?”

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t float. If I’d have fallen out of the boat, it would have dragged me to the bottom. Leaving it behind was the wisest thing to do.” A wry smile. “Fortunately, I’m in pretty good shape. I could handle the stress for a little while.” Nathan turned to the two who’d walked in with him. “Let me introduce my companions. This is Marilyn Sanyal, and he’s Russell Coyne. Like myself, they’re related to people you may already know.”

  “I have a friend named Johan Sanyal. And my father’s family name is Coyne.”

  “Is it really?” Russell appeared to be Sanjay’s age, differences notwithstanding. He grinned as he extended an oddly shaped fore and then apparently thought better of it and bowed instead. “I believe that makes us relatives.”

  Sanjay didn’t return the bow. Instead, he looked at Nathan. “You said on the boat that you and I are cousins. Are you also…?”

  “Even more so than Russell, yes. My last name is Arkwright … Nathan Arkwright II.” He raised a fore before Sanjay could ask another question. “There’s a lot of complicated family history involved here, but you should know that we both bear the last name of the person who was responsible for Galactique in the first place, and I was given his first name as well.” He touched his hair and then pointed to Sanjay’s. “Same hair color, in fact … it’s hereditary.”

  “So you’re telling us that Sanjay comes from the seed of someone on Erf who was brought here by Gal—” Kaile began.

  “No.” Nathan turned to her. “Not the way you’re saying it, at least. As Benjam just told you, Erf is a world called Earth, and Gal is a starship called Galactique that’s still in orbit above Eos. Over time, their names were shortened, just as their true nature has been forgotten.”

  “Otherwise, you’ve got it right.” Marilyn appeared to be a little older than Kaile, although not quite as old as Aara. Of the three, she alone had skin the same dark shade as the native inhabitants; the others were nearly as pale as the Teacher. “What’s your family name, if I may ask?”

  Kaile hesitated. “Otomo.”

  Marilyn pulled a small flat object from a pocket in the clothes she wore beneath the exoskeleton. Holding the object in her left fore, she tapped her finger a few times against it and then studied it for a moment. “There was a Katsumi Otomo among those who built Galactique,” she said. “A propulsion engineer … never mind what that means. She was your ancestor … one of them, at least.”

  “Everyone you know, everyone on this world, is descended from least two of the two hundred men and women who contributed reproductive material to Galactique’s gene pool,” Russell said. “First, the ship distributed genesis plants across the planet, which in turn introduced cyanobacteria into the atmosphere to reduce the carbon dioxide content, raise the oxygen-nitrogen ratio, and thereby make Eos human habitable through ecopoiesis—”

  “Russ, don’t get technical,” Nathan said quietly. “They’re not ready for that yet.” Russell nodded, albeit reluctantly, and Nathan went on. “The point is, although we don’t look alike, we’re humans just as you are. Galactique altered the embryonic forms of your immediate ancestors so that they could survive this planet’s higher gravity while also making them amphibious—”

  “And you’re telling me not to get technical,” Russell said, raising an eyebrow.

  “So the Word is correct,” Kaile said. “Even if what you say is true, it still means that Gal is our creator.”

  Nathan shared an uncertain glance with Russell and Marilyn. “Well … yes, I suppose you could say that, but not in the sense you mean.”

  “But she’s in our sky every day and every night, watching every move we make.” Kaile remained adamant. “She’s been there for as long as our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers—”

  “A matriarchal mythology as well as a society,” Marilyn said softly. “Interesting.”

  Nathan ignored her. “Once humans were brought down here, Galactique moved into a geosynchronous orbit”—he caught himself—“a place in the sky that is always above the same place on the ground, where it was supposed to function as a … um, a source of information for the original colony. That’s why you can see it all the time. It rotates at the same angular velocity as Eos, so it’s always directly above you.”

  Russell picked up the thread. “The ship also carried with it two … ah, artificial beings, what we call robots … that were meant to be your instructors. They raised the first children who came here, teaching them how to survive.”

  “You mean the Teacher. Th
ere were two?” Sanjay said.

  “Yes, there were.” Benjam had been quiet for a while; now he spoke up. “There was one here in First Town like the one in Provincetown, along with another Transformer.” He looked over at Russell. “Which, as you say, manufactured the first tools used by our people, made from blocks of the material we call Galmatter.”

  “Correct.” Russell was obviously relieved that someone here understood what he’d been trying to explain. “The Transformers are what we call three-dimensional laser manufacturers. They took information stored within Galactique’s data library and—” He caught a stern look from Nathan. “Damn, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  Nathan nodded and then spoke to Sanjay again. “The Teachers, the Transformers, the stuff you call Galmatter … they were all sent down here to help the original colonists—the ones you call the Chosen Children—grow up and survive in their new home. But then, there was an accident.”

  “Enough.” Kaile raised her fores in protest. “You tell us these things and ask that we believe them, but you offer no proof.” She cast an angry glare at Nathan. “Perhaps you’ve managed to fill their minds with lies—”

  “We’re not lying,” Nathan said, his voice flat and steady.

  “—but I refuse to accept what you’re saying on your word alone. Prove it!”

  No one said anything for a moment. Then Benjam stood up. “Then I’ll give you proof. Something that’s been here since the beginning of our history, which we’ve long accepted as evidence that life began out there.”

  “And you’ll also see what caused that light you saw in the sky,” Nathan added. Marilyn opened her mouth as if to object, but he shook his head. “No, she needs to see this. It’s the only way.”

  “Follow me,” Benjam said, and then he dropped to all fours and began to walk toward the door.

  9

  Another path, this was on the far end of town, led uphill into the dense forest at the base of the mountains. As Benjam led the group through the black woodlands, Nathan picked up where he’d left off in the meeting hall.

  “First Town was the original colony, and for the first few years—um, sixyarn—it was the only settlement. During this time, the Teachers nurtured the hundred children who’d been gestated and born aboard Galactique … building shelters for them, providing them with food from the mockapples, roseberries, and vine melons that they cultivated, and educating them as they raised them from infancy to childhood. It helped a great deal that Eos has very short seasons. Unlike Earth, your winters last only three weeks, and the equatorial region is relatively mild.”

  “Have you ever seen snow?” Marilyn asked.

  Sanjay and Kaile shook their heads. “What’s that?” Sanjay asked.

  “It’s … um…”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Nathan said to Marilyn. She grinned and became silent, and he went on. “The colony was approaching self-sufficiency when an unforeseen occurrence happened, one that changed everything … your sun, Calliope, underwent a variable phase.”

  “Calliope is what’s known as a red dwarf.” As Russell spoke, he turned to walk backward on his curiously shaped hinds. Sanjay was amazed by the improbable and yet so casual movement, but Russell didn’t seem to notice the way he stared at him. “They’re generally smaller and cooler than Earth’s sun, but every now and then—a few thousand years or so—they tend to spontaneously enter phases in which they grow hotter and brighter due to solar prominences—”

  “Russell.” Again, Nathan was concerned that Sanjay and Kaile wouldn’t understand him.

  “No, don’t stop,” Sanjay said. “I think I understand what you’re saying.”

  “You do?” Russell said. Sanjay nodded, and after a moment, Kaile reluctantly did, as well. “All right, then. Anyway, when Calliope started to undergo one of these variable phases, Galactique detected the change that was about to occur—”

  “Of course she did,” Kaile said. “Gal knows all and sees all.”

  Marilyn sighed, shook her head. “Please try to understand … Gal isn’t a deity. It’s a machine.” Seeing the confused expression on the young woman’s face, she tried again. “It’s like a tool, just far more complicated than anything you’ve ever seen. One of the things it can do is think and reason for itself, just as you can.”

  “This tool has a mind?” Even Aara was startled by this revelation.

  “Of a sort, yes.” This time, Russell made a stronger effort to speak in terms the islanders could understand. “Not exactly like your own, but … yes, it can observe, gather facts, and make its own decisions. Galactique also provided the Teachers with information and instructions, just as it provided the Transformers with their own instructions.”

  “Unfortunately, it can also make mistakes.” Nathan had become pensive. He walked with his head down, gazing at the ground as he spoke. “When it saw that Calliope was entering a variable phase, it calculated the probable effects upon the planetary climate and realized that severe storms—typhoons, we call them—would occur in this region. The colonists were still quite young, and the settlement had been established in a coastal area that would probably experience high winds, flooding, perhaps even forest fires.”

  “The Great Storm,” Sanjay said.

  “We know all about that.” A vindicated smile appeared on Kaile’s face. “This was when Gal separated those who believed in her and took them to Providence, leaving behind those who’d sinned.”

  “Again, you’re only half-right.” As Nathan said this, Sanjay could tell that he was trying to be patient. “It wasn’t a matter of who’d sinned and who hadn’t. Galactique determined that the odds of survival would be increased if the colony was divided, with half of the children sent elsewhere while the other half remained here to protect the settlement. So it instructed the Teachers to build boats to take fifty children to the nearby island, whose western coast Galactique calculated would be less vulnerable to storm surges from the east, where they would remain until the variable phase came to an end and the climate restabilized.”

  “My ancestors were among the fifty who stayed here.” Benjam walked slowly, turning his head to Kaile and Sanjay. “They were given a Teacher and one of the Transformers, just as your ancestors were, and then they relocated to higher ground away from the beach—the place where First Town stands today.”

  “It was supposed to be only temporary,” Marilyn said, “but then—”

  “We’re here,” Benjam said.

  The path came to an end in a clearing where the slope was level and only chest-high grass and clumps of dreamer’s weed grew. From its center rose a tall object, off white and partially covered with vines, that Sanjay first took to be a large, tooth-shaped boulder tilted slightly to one side. As they walked a little closer, he saw that it wasn’t a natural object at all. Darkened on the bottom, tapering upward as a conical shape with mysterious markings along its sides, it had a round opening midway up, a rope ladder dangling from it.

  Whatever it was, clearly it had been made by human fores.

  “This is where it all began.” Benjam stopped and stood erect. “This is the craft in which all our ancestors were brought down to the surface.”

  Nathan pointed to dark-blue markings along its upper surface, just visible through the clinging vines. “See? G … A … L…” He shrugged. “The rest got rubbed off some way or another.”

  “Probably atmospheric friction during entry and landing,” Russell said. “Sun and rain too. Still, it’s in amazing condition, considering how long it’s been here.”

  Walking a little closer, Sanjay rose on his hinds to peer in the direction Nathan was pointing. All he saw was something that looked like a snail, something that looked a little like a harpoon tip, and a right angle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You can’t see that?” Marilyn asked. “How can you not—” Then she stopped and stared at him. “Oh, my god. You can’t read, can you?”

  “No,” Benjam said quietly. �
�For the islanders, Inglis—what they call English—is entirely a phonetic language, with no written counterpart.” He regarded Sanjay and Kaile with a pitying expression. “The children who were sent to Providence lost their ability to read and write when their Teacher was disabled and they lost communications with Galactique. It’s the main reason their understanding of history became diluted by myth.”

  “Oral history.” Marilyn nodded with sudden understanding. “Unwritten, malleable, and all too easy to be misunderstood. Everything they know, or they think they know, has been—”

  “What are you saying?” Sanjay glared at them, annoyed by their condescension but also confused. “Are you trying to tell us that everything the Deacons have told us is … is…?”

  “Wrong,” Nathan said, finishing his thought for him. “I’m sorry, but that’s what we’ve been trying to explain.” Stepping past Benjam, he slowly walked through the high grass, approaching the craft as respectfully as if it was a shrine. “You wanted proof,” he said over his shoulder to Kaile. “Well, here it is. Want to come closer and see?”

  Kaile hesitated. Then, visibly shaken but nonetheless curious, she followed Nathan and Benjam, walking on her hinds so that she could see the craft more clearly. Sanjay and Aara fell in behind her, with Russell and Marilyn following them. As the group made its way across the clearing, Nathan continued.

  “When our ship arrived a few weeks ago—that’s the light your mother saw, Sanjay—one of the first things we did was rendezvous with Galactique and access its memory … talk to it, if you will. We learned a lot of what had happened here over the last hundred and sixty years—sixyarn, I mean—but there were still some mysteries that remained unsolved until we came here and made contact with Benjam and his people.”

  “By then, I’d been told the truth, as well,” Aara said quietly, looking at Sanjay. “Like everyone who’s been exiled here, the first thing that I learned was how wrong the Disciples are. Our whole history, everything we know…” Her voice trailed off.