by Ben Bova
Jordan waved one hand in the air. “By all means, start the countdown.”
“Okay,” said Hazzard, “countdown clock is started. You launch in three minutes. And counting.”
Jordan sank back into the chair’s padding and squirmed a little to make the safety harness clasping his shoulders more comfortable. He glanced at Brandon, who was staring straight ahead. Pretending to be a spaceship captain, Jordan thought, smiling inwardly. Bran will never grow up, not completely. That’s my department. I’m the sober brother, all grown up and serious; he’s still something of a boy.
“Pumping out hangar deck,” Hazzard’s voice stated flatly.
Inside the cockpit they barely heard the clatter of the pumps sucking the air out of the hangar. Jordan felt himself tensing, though: excitement, fear, wonder, worry—all of them bubbling inside him.
“Rotating,” said Hazzard.
The rocketplane turned slowly toward the air lock hatch. Out of the corner of his eye, Jordan saw his brother lick his lips.
“Opening air lock hatch,” Hazzard announced.
The massive hatch slid open silently. Jordan saw the infinite darkness of space, speckled by bright unblinking stars. Where’s the planet? he wondered.
“Launch in fifteen seconds.”
As the synthesized voice of the automated countdown system ticked off the seconds, the rocketplane rolled to the edge of the open hatch. Despite himself, Jordan tensed in his chair. Then the rocket engine roared to life and Jordan felt a hard, firm push against his back. The rocketplane flung itself out of the hangar and into empty space.
THE MOON
Then mighty Achilles prayed to his mother, Thetis the Silver-Footed, “Mother, my lifetime is destined to be so brief that ever-living Zeus, sky-thunderer, owes me a worthier prize of glory.”
HOMER,
The Iliad
ANITA HALLECK
Given the choice between long life and glory, Anita Halleck chose long life. She was more than halfway through the second century of her life as she stood beneath the glassteel dome of the observatory atop Mt. Yeager, staring wistfully at the Earth.
The observatory was an empty shell now, a tourist attraction instead of a working astronomical facility, little more than a transparent dome and a set of plush couches ringing the circumference of the circular chamber, with virtual reality rigs for tourist visitors dotting its floor. Almost all of the astronomical studies undertaken on the Moon were done at the Farside observatory, which Halleck had been briefly involved with many years earlier.
The lunar nation of Selene lay buried beneath the worn, slumped mountains that circled the giant walled plain of Alphonsus. Above the barren, airless, pockmarked plain hung the glorious blue-and-white globe of Earth, more than half full at the moment, a glowing beacon of life and warmth set in the dark and sterile depths of space.
Halleck sighed inwardly. Nearly a century earlier she had opted to have her body filled with therapeutic nanomachines, virus-sized mechanisms that destroyed invading bacteria and viruses, cleansed her blood vessels of dangerous plaque, rebuilt damaged cells, acted as a superhumanly efficient immune system to protect and preserve her body.
The result was long life. Despite her years, Halleck was as tall and youthful as she had been a century earlier, slim waisted and long legged with a long sweep of chestnut hair draped dramatically over one shoulder and falling halfway down to her belt.
But the cost was to be exiled from Earth, never permitted to set foot on the planet of her birth, the world of humankind’s origin. Nanotechnology was totally banned on Earth. No one carrying nanomachines in her body was allowed even to visit.
More than twenty billion people crammed in there, Halleck thought. How many crazies, how many fanatics, how many idiots who could turn nanomachines into an unstoppable plague that would destroy everyone and everything? No wonder they banned nanotech.
And now the second phase of the greenhouse warming was sweeping across the world, drowning cities, reshaping continents, killing millions and driving still more millions into refugee camps or aimless migrations across what was left of civilization.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Startled, she turned to see Douglas Stavenger smiling at her. Like her, Stavenger’s body was filled with nanomachines. Like her, he appeared strong and youthful, a handsome man of middle years, broad of shoulder and flat in the middle. Unlike her, Stavenger had filled his long life with service to the city-state of Selene, first as head of its governing council, later as the éminence gris who gently but firmly pulled the strings behind the scenes.
“I don’t know why I torture myself staring at it,” Halleck admitted.
Stavenger cocked his head slightly to one side, his version of a shrug. “It’s home,” he said. “It always will be, no matter how long we stay away.”
She knew that he had not made his way to this observatory and bumped into her by accident.
“Felicia Ionescu called on me this morning. She’s come here, to Selene,” she said.
Stavenger said, “So I heard.”
“She wants to get the second mission to Sirius C funded.”
With the ghost of a smile, Stavenger said, “I wish her well, but…” He let the thought dangle, unspoken.
“Chiang is dead set against it,” Halleck said, knowing that she was telling Stavenger a fact he already knew.
“He has a lot of responsibilities on his hands,” said Stavenger.
“I don’t know what Ionescu thinks I can do,” Halleck said. “I haven’t been active in IAA affairs for years. Decades.”
For a couple of heartbeats, Stavenger said nothing. Then, “Maybe she thinks you could help.”
Halleck shook her head. “It’d be foolish to send the backup mission before we hear from the first team. And that won’t happen for another eight years.”
“Still,” Stavenger said mildly, “it would take eight years or more to get the next mission ready to go.”
Halleck walked across the observatory’s empty floor, her steps clicking on the concrete, and sat wearily on one of the couches. Stavenger followed her, almost silent in his softboots.
“Scientists,” she said, almost scoffing. “They’re always pushing for more.”
“It’s a big universe,” said Stavenger.
“But what good is it?” she demanded. “What does it accomplish? So they explore another planet. Does that help anybody? Does that solve any real problems?”
Stavenger looked amused. “Strange question to ask, here, in this place.”
“You mean on the Moon? So what? So we’re living on the Moon. What of it?”
“We wouldn’t be here if scientists hadn’t pushed to explore.”
She looked into his handsome, fine-boned face and saw that he was amused—and dead serious.
“You think they should start the backup mission now? With all the problems on Earth? The flooding and all?”
“There are always problems on Earth. And here in Selene, too. That shouldn’t stop our push to explore.”
“Where will it end?”
“It won’t end. We keep on exploring, keep on learning. That’s where new knowledge comes from, the frontier. And new knowledge always leads to new wealth, new benefits for everyone.”
“Very philanthropic.”
“Very practical,” Stavenger corrected.
“Ionescu will never be able to convince Chiang and the others.”
“That’s why you’ve got to help her.”
“Me?”
“You. You know the political ropes. You have the energy and the drive. Do you have the guts to get back into the fight?”
Halleck stared at him.
Stavenger added, “What good is long life if you don’t work for something worth doing?”
ENCOUNTER
It’s only fully modern humans [not Neandertals] who start this thing of venturing out on the ocean where you don’t see land. Part of that is technology, of course; you have to have ships to do
it. But there is also, I like to think or say, some madness there. You know? How many people must have sailed out and vanished on the Pacific before you found Easter Island? I mean, it’s ridiculous. And why do you do that? Is it for glory? For immortality? For curiosity? And now we go to Mars. We never stop.
SVANTE PÄÄBO
Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology
Leipzig, Germany
LANDING
All feeling of weight dwindled away as the winged rocketplane established a tight orbit around Sirius C. Jordan’s eyes flicked from the windscreen to the displays on the control panel while he struggled to keep his stomach from floating up into his throat. Sirius C loomed huge and lushly green outside, sliding majestically below them.
“We’re approaching the night side,” Brandon said. Needlessly, Jordan thought.
“Copy night side,” said Hazzard, from the display screen in the center of the control panel.
The planet disappeared in darkness. Not a light to be seen. Not even the laser, which was over on the daylit side now. It was as if the planet had been swallowed by some monstrous dragon, Jordan thought. Then he realized, There’s no Moon! New Earth doesn’t have a moon, not even a tiny speck of rock orbiting it. That’s a major difference from Earth. Funny I hadn’t thought of that earlier.
For more than half an hour the four men sat in silence while the control panel’s displays beeped and winked at them. Utter darkness outside, as if the planet had disappeared. Then they crossed the terminator into the daylit side. As the blazing star Sirius rose above the curved horizon they stirred into conversation again.
“It’s all forest, from pole to pole,” Meek said.
“That’s what Earth would be like,” said de Falla, “when the full effect of the global warming takes hold.”
“If it weren’t for us,” Brandon said.
Yes, Jordan thought. The human race has altered the face of Earth far beyond nature’s strictures. Even the tropical rain forests that were once thought to be untouched Edens have been shaped and transformed by human tribes for long millennia.
Looking past the curving rim of the planet, with its sliver of bright blue atmosphere, Jordan squinted at distant Sirius, this world’s sun, glaring a hot blue-white against the darkness of space. Not far from the star was a smaller sphere, little more than a brilliant dot, but almost as bright as Sirius itself. The Pup, Jordan realized. Sirius’s dwarf star companion.
“Retroburn in one minute,” said Hazzard, all business.
“Copy retroburn,” Brandon answered, aping the astronaut’s clipped manner.
One of the screens on the control panel lit up to show Thornberry’s jowly face. “Good luck, lads,” he said, his usual grin replaced by utter seriousness.
“Thank you, kind sir,” Jordan replied, trying to mask his own inner tension.
The retrorockets fired and the sudden feeling of weight was welcome. Jordan watched through the windscreen as the heavily forested planet came up to meet them. He remembered the first time he had flown an airplane solo, how suddenly menacing the trees around the airport became.
“Plasma blackout coming up,” Hazzard warned.
They were entering the planet’s atmosphere now, dipping into the upper fringes of the air at hypersonic speed. Lights flickered out there, Jordan saw, dancing little fireflies at first but within moments the ship was engulfed in the blazing reds and yellows of air heated to incandescence. He heard the ferocious roar of wind even through the heavy insulation of the cockpit as the ship began to shudder and buck.
It’s all right, Jordan told himself, gripping the edges of his seat. Perfectly normal. We’re using atmospheric friction to slow us down to a safe landing speed. Still, the craft bounced and rattled as the wind screeched into a long wailing banshee whine. Jordan felt perspiration beading his brow and upper lip. He glanced at Brandon, who sat rigidly, his fists clenched in his lap, fighting the temptation to grab the controls.
The air cleared and the ride smoothed out. No engine noise now; the air rushing past reminded Jordan of the soarplane flights he had taken. The forest was gliding by beneath them, coming nearer, nearer.
“You’re through the blackout,” Hazzard said. The wide smile on his face told Jordan that Geoff had been uptight, too.
“We’re going straight down to the glade,” Brandon said, his smile looking a little forced.
Hazzard nodded once. “Almost. You’ll make one forty-degree turn to get her nose into the wind, and then in you go. No sweat.”
Not much sweat, Jordan amended silently.
“There it is!” Meek called out, his long skinny arm pointing between Jordan and Brandon to the open glade where they were to land.
It looked like a green postage stamp to Jordan. As it grew bigger, closer, he could make out the other rocketplane sitting smack in the middle of the field.
“Wheels down,” Hazzard announced as the sudden rush of air filled Jordan’s ears.
He swallowed hard as the ground rushed up to meet them. Not all that much room for us, he thought.
The ship hit the ground hard, bounced, then settled onto its landing gear and rolled bumpily along the grassy ground. Jordan saw the earlier plane flash past.
“Plenty of room,” Brandon said shakily.
“Braking,” said Hazzard.
Jordan felt his body strain slightly against his shoulder straps. Then everything stopped. No sense of motion. No noise. No vibrations.
“We’re down,” Brandon said, almost in a whisper.
“Copy landing,” said Hazzard. “You stopped eleven point six meters from the calculated stopping point. Not bad for a bunch of amateurs.”
Meek blew out a gust of breath somewhere between a sigh and a snort. De Falla grinned weakly.
“Checking ship’s systems,” Hazzard said. “Nobody get up yet.”
“Everything’s fine,” said Brandon, scanning the control panel. “All green lights.”
After a few seconds Hazzard agreed. “You’re clear to leave your seats.”
Thornberry spoke up from another of the display screens. “The ship’s sensors are sampling the air. Looks grand, so far.”
“Let’s suit up and go outside,” said Brandon.
“By all means,” Meek agreed.
He and de Falla unbuckled, got out of their seats, and headed aft. Jordan thought they made an almost laughably odd couple: Meek bone thin, all gawky arms and legs, so tall he had to bend over; de Falla barely as high as Meek’s shoulder, built as solidly as a little truck.
Brandon swung around and got up from his seat before Jordan could. With a placating smile, Jordan made a sweeping gesture and said, “After you, little brother.”
They clumped down to the cargo hold, where their six-wheeled excursion buggy waited. Two humanform robots, gleaming metal, sat silent and inert on the rearmost seats. De Falla handed out the nanofabric transparent biohazard suits, which looked to Jordan like plastic raincoats that included leggings, booties, gloves, and inflatable bubble helmets. They began to pull them on, over their clothes.
As he closed the neck seal on his suit, Brandon asked, “When do we decide that we can breathe the air out there?”
Meek said, “Not until we’ve done a thorough analysis.”
“The ship’s sensors are sending data up to Longyear,” de Falla added. “He’ll analyze the data and give us a decision as quickly as he can.”
As he picked up one of the air cylinders, Meek said, “It will be far better to be cautious about breathing the local air. Far better to err on the side of caution.”
Jordan took the cylinder from his hands and helped Meek to worm his arms through the shoulder straps.
“Damned inconvenient, these suits,” Brandon complained.
“Better inconvenient than dead,” said Meek, as Jordan connected the cylinder’s air hose to the plug in the biosuit’s neck ring.
“Besides,” said Jordan, picking up another cylinder and gesturing Brandon to turn
around, “these suits aren’t all that bad. They’re flexible, easy to move around in. They even smell rather flowery, don’t you think?”
Brandon, his back to his brother, grumbled, “I don’t like them, perfumed or not.”
Jordan helped de Falla get his air tank connected, then let Brandon connect his for him. At last they were all ready.
De Falla scrambled into the driver’s seat of the buggy; Jordan sat beside him while Brandon and Meek took the next two seats, in front of the stolid robots. The rear deck of the buggy was already packed with sensors and field equipment.
While de Falla checked out the buggy’s drive motors, Jordan turned on the communications link. Thornberry’s face took form on the control panel’s central screen.
“All your buggy’s readouts are in the green, Jordan,” the roboticist reported.
“Good,” said Jordan. “Thanks.” Turning to the others, he asked, “Everyone ready?”
“We’re ready!” Brandon exclaimed.
“Mitch, we’re ready to go outside,” Jordan said into the microphone built into his suit’s neck ring.
“Godspeed, lads,” said Thornberry’s tiny image on the display screen.
De Falla pressed a gloved thumb against the keypad that controlled the air lock. The hatch swung slowly open. The four men saw a beautiful green swath of grass and, beyond its edge, tall straight-boled trees swaying gently in a slight breeze. Through the trees, in the distance, rose steep mountains, green with forest growth almost to their bare, rocky peaks. A waterfall tumbled brightly down the sheer flank of one of the mountains.
“Here we go,” de Falla breathed. Then he nudged the buggy’s throttle and the cart lurched forward. It bumped over the edge of the hatch and down the ramp that extended to the ground of New Earth.
INTO THE FOREST
“It’s like a park,” Brandon marveled as they drove toward the edge of the glade. “A beautiful, well-tended park.”
Jordan agreed. The glade was wide and level, no large stones or knolls to mar its smoothness. As if it had been prepared to be a landing field.