by Meridian
He gestured to the holographic projections of a blue planet with a large question symbol superimposed over it. “We have no maps of Mother Earth. However, the accounts of the Carpentaria’s survey party suggest that it was much like Sapphire. The young Survey Secretary of the Carpentaria’s crew
— a man named Joshua Nation, who became the first Colonial Governor-General — makes repeated mention of the mildness of Sapphire’s climate and notes the presence of only one significant desert region.
From this, we may conclude that the climate of Earth was somewhat harsher than ours, and that there were several, perhaps many, desert regions. Joshua Nation’s log also notes that the continental landmasses are similar in size and landmass-to-ocean ratio to the Earth’s. The timeline on the log suggests Earth’s year was longer than ours by forty to forty-eight days.
“Our colonial period began in the last part of a period known as the ‘Great Seeding,’ or the ‘Great Diaspora.’ Wasn’t everything humanity did in those days, ‘great’? Earth and the Inner Colonies explored the galaxy and established thousands of colonies, forming the Human Galactic Commonwealth.” His projection displayed spaceships zooming back and forth among the stars.
“The Great Seeding continued for over two thousand years, and then abruptly stopped, which began the current ‘great’ epoch of human history, the Great Silence. The Great Silence is said to have begun about twelve hundred years ago with the departure from our orbit of the last starship to pay a call on Sapphire, the St. Beryl. In the centuries since, no other ship has called on our system, and the galactic communication network has been silent for almost that long.” Outside in the Quad, a game of Inverted Wally Ball was commencing. He would have to pick up the pace. Once the players began levitating, all bets were off. “So, What happened to the rest of humanity?
Many believe that the human empire was destroyed in war with a Superior Alien Species. One reason this theory is so widely accepted is because it is ‘known’… “ he put finger-quotes around the word, “…that coincidentally with the beginning of the Great Silence, humanity encountered such a highly advanced alien species. They were called the ‘Tarmigans.’
“Did your parents ever tell you, ‘If you don’t finish your ground-nuts, the Tarmigans will get you?’
The Tarmigans were supposedly an advanced race encountered in the course of our expansion in the gal-axy. Some believe the Tarmigans conquered the Commonwealth, and the greater part of humanity was annihilated, reduced to a primitive state, or put into slavery.” The tone of Chancellor Keeler’s voice indicated he did not believe it himself, and no student in his class should either if he knew what was good for him.
“This is a theoretical possibility. But, there is not nearly enough proof that the Tarmigans even existed, let alone wiped out human galactic civilization. In any case, if such a race did conquer Earth and the Inner Colonies, one would expect some word to have gotten back to us, unless every other colony had fallen simultaneously. Quite apart from the logistical demands of executing a swift and coordinated conquest across many light years, why should every other world have been conquered save for Sapphire and Republic? It seems awfully incompetent for an alien master race to have overlooked us.” He looked out to the Quad again. The Wally Ball Game had become co-ed shirts versus skins. Four balls were in play now. Damb! If he was distracted, this was not good. He signaled to his assistant to jump ahead. The top of the room became an animated diorama of bug-eyed, horned aliens over-running screaming human colonists. “A variation of the Conquest of Humanity Theory has the Earth at war with an equally matched species, such as the Theans, or the Garr, a conflict that eventually leads to the collapse of both civilizations. Of course, we haven’t heard from the Theans or the Garr, either. Perhaps, the Tarmigans got them as well.
“Any theory explaining the Great Silence must account for how the disaster could be both simultaneous and complete across all, or almost all, human galactic civilization. The key point to remember here is that simultaneous does not mean instantaneous.” Keeler stepped away from the podium and made a discreet gesture to turn off the projectors. He put on a thoughtful expression and said, “Now, I am going to tell you the disappointing truth of what most likely was the case.”
With the attention of most of his students fixed on him, rather than the hologram, he explained. “One would expect a sudden loss of contact with the rest of human civilization to have been of great concern to people living here at the time. Yet, in what remains of the records of the era, very little is written or said about it. In fact, the term ‘The Great Silence’ was not used until nearly four hundred years after the St.
Beryl left orbit.
“This suggests that the loss of contact was not, in fact, sudden and total. Indeed, records indicate that, prior to the departure of the St. Beryl, it had been six years since a ship from another star system had made orbit here. The flow of starship, and communication traffic to this system had, over the centuries, slowed to almost nothing.
“Transporting people and goods between stars is an enormous undertaking. Space is vast, perhaps infinite. If our sun were a grain of sand, and all the stars were to the same scale, the sun of Republic would be almost a hundred meters away. On average, all the stars in our galaxy would be 10 kilometers apart, stars with inhabitable planets, 200 kilometers apart. It requires vast amounts of energy to move that much mass, that much distance.
“At the same time, the objective of each human colony was to attain self-sufficiency. Given a choice between directing limited resources toward attaining self-sufficiency or maintaining contact with distant, it is logical that most colonies would have chosen self-sufficiency. That is, after all, the choice that we made, and there’s no reason to believe any other colony was any smarter than we were.”
“Presuming self-sufficiency was even the smartest response,” Keeler heard a student mutter. He perked up. One bright kid could make a whole term worthwhile.
Keeler continued, directing his comments at the boy in the third row, the mutterer. “As each colony moved toward self-sufficiency, interstellar travel would have diminished. This is consistent with what happened here. When we were founded, Sapphire traded agricultural goods, arts, and entertainment to Republic for chemicals and minerals. Over time, however, as each colony became self-sufficient, contact went into decline and eventually ceased, only being restored in the last three hundred years, when we had advanced enough to afford the luxury of interplanetary contact.
“And that, I am almost sorry to say, is most likely what happened across the galaxy. This is what I call the ‘They-Just-Forgot-About-Us’ Theory. If I am right, there are hundreds if not thousands of human civilizations carrying on with no knowledge of us.”
He sighed. “This theory is also flawed, of course. It does not explain why Earth or the highly advanced Inner Colonies should have broken off contact with us. Yet in the absence of proof to the contrary, the prudent historian will prefer non-catastrophic explanations.”
“Sophistry,” He heard the boy muttering into his recorder.
Keeler grinned. “I was going to dismiss class early, but since that gentleman-scholar in the third row has expressed skepticism with my theory. I think it fair to give him a forum. Stand up please, Mr…?”
“Terminax, Sloane Terminax,” said the boy, standing. He was thin, with stringy dishwater blond hair, and too-large lips for his thin face. “I have two problems with your theory.”
“Only two,” Keeler answered, arousing an amused twittering.
“First, you say that self-sufficiency of each colony caused the Great Silence, but it could just easily go the other way around. The Commonwealth fell, for whatever reason, and only the self-sufficient colonies
… like ours… survived.”
“I believe self-sufficiency was the only practical choice.”
“That’s a Sapphirean perspective,” the boy argued. “But after the Disintegration, Sapphire went into centuries of decline. Republic
fell into planetary war. We were better off before the collapse when we were part of a galactic community.”
Keeler argued right back, enjoying the challenge. “Only one star-system in tens of thousands contained a habitable planet. The proximity of Sapphire and Republic is a cosmic fluke. Even to Republic, by our fastest liner, near light-speed, nearly five weeks. To another star… years. How can you have a
‘community’ when it takes years to reach your nearest neighbor?” The boy persisted. “What about the communication net? Your thesis is it fell into disuse as colonies became self-sufficient, but colonies surely would have wanted to share news of their advances and their social progress with one another.”
Keeler sighed. The kid had a point, not that he was willing to concede it. “A Tachyon Pulse Antenna is a thousand kilometers across and difficult to maintain. When Sapphire went through its Dark Age and technological retreat, our TPA drifted off into space. We only rebuilt it within the last three hundred years.”
“But there were thousands of colonies!” the boy protested.
“Of course…,” Keeler said, gently gesturing him down. “And that’s why the Great Silence remains such an intriguing mystery. Now, does anyone else want to play ‘Match Wits with the Professor.’ If not, then that’s all I have today. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do then absorb knowledge from me. If you have more questions see me during my office hours, or just suffer in ignorance. Class dismissed.” On his way out he noted to his teaching assistant. “Make a note of Mr. Terminax’s arguing with his sage professor. There is no way I’m letting that kid get any grade less than Double Alpha this term.”
“A message came while you were lecturing,” said the teaching assistant, a former Republicker named Herodotus Xerox, exiled from his homeworld after a humiliating, but highly entertaining, scandal involving ‘whorebots.’ He handed the message to Keeler, who read it and frowned.
“There’s been an accident at Odyssey Project.”
“Oh, dear,” said Xerox. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Just the commanding officer of Pathfinder Ship Pegasus. ”
“How awful.”
“It’s worse than that,” Keeler said grimly. “They want me to take over for the poor bastard. They must really be desperate to get me off this planet.”
chapter one
The Republic Outsystem
Titus (All-Environment Excursion Vehicle P3-021, Aves-class) streaked through the outskirts of the Republic system, maintaining course for the Pathfinder ship Pegasus.
Its pilot watched a virtual display of the ship passing into the controlled space of the Odyssey Project Shipyards. When it had passed through, he addressed his single passenger, seated behind him on the command deck. “We’re approaching the outer perimeter of Pegasus’s artificial gravity field.” It was a standard spiel, required by Republic Ministries of Transport, Public Safety, Space Travel, and Human Health. “You may soon experience disorientation and other effects related to entering into the gravitational influence of the pathfinder ship. If you experience discomfort, the standard recommendation is to close your eyes and relax until the feeling passes.”
Pegasus’s commander looked up from the science report he was reviewing, “This is not my first docking, lieutenant.”
The pilot answered, “Aye, sir.” Then, turned his attention to the necessary communications with Flight Control.
“Pegasus Flight Control to Aves Titus. We show you thirteen seconds inside the outer marker, closing at .15c. Confirm?”
“Titus confirms closing at .15c, 20 seconds inside the outer marker.”
“Pegasus Flight Control orders Titus to reduce to docking speed and stand by for approach vector.”
“Titus acknowledges.”
The Aves pitched slightly forward and down like a bob-sled making an easy turn as it encountered an intersection between two overlapping directed gravitational fields. Pegasus was the size of a small city, but in open space, it generated multiple short-range pseudo-gravitational fields, some as strong as a planet. Navigation among them was always at least a mild challenge to the pilot.
Titus slid along the inner margin of one gravitational field, still outside visual range of Pegasus. Titus’s pilot fired braking thrusters. There was another sharp lurch as Titus bumped off a gravitational field, throwing its occupants against their safety harnesses.
“Steady as she goes, Lieutenant.” Prime Commander St. Lawrence wondered if this pilot’s landings were always so rough.
“Titus to Pegasus Flight Control. Titus has encountered a gravitic discontinuity. My instruments did not indicate any GD advisory. Can you confirm?” If the Aves was off-course, he might be encountering the edge of a gravity field outside the normal flight path.
Before Pegasus could answer, Titus smacked hard into some invisible wall, suddenly bucking upward and back, snapping its two occupants hard against their seats.
The pilot reached for his controls. All around him, a bank of readouts that had been calmly glowing blue and green erupted into red and orange flashings as alarms began to wail. Something slammed into the starboard wingblade. Before the pilot could react, Titus was ripped into pieces. There was a small explosion as the main cabin opened into space, then a larger one when the fuel cells tore apart.
The Republic Out-System
Another pilot, another passenger, and another Aves were making the run across the same stretch of space.
In the back of the command deck was one William Randolph Keeler, who sat with his legs up on the aft navigator’s station, gin and tonic in one hand, a copy of Significant Galactic Archaeological Finds of the Colonial Era in the other. The pilot of this Aves, Flight Lt. Matthew Driver, gave no thought to the fate of the last ship to make this run. “You might want to secure yourself, sir. When we enter into Pegasus’s gravity well, it can be disorienting. The standard recommendation is to secure yourself in and close your eyes.” Keeler nodded, set his book aside, and drained the last of his beverage. Then, he rose from his seat and leaned over Flight Lieutenant Driver’s chair, catching the last of a conversation between the pilot and Flight Control.
“Pegasus Flight Control to Aves Prudence. We show you thirteen seconds inside the outer marker, closing at .15c. Confirm?”
“Prudence confirms closing at .15c, 20 seconds inside the outer marker.”
“Pegasus Flight Control orders Prudence to reduce to docking speed and stand by for approach vector.”
“Prudence acknowledges.”
“Hoy,” said Keeler brightly, tapping the side of the command chair with his walking stick.
Driver bristled. “Sir, I would recommend that you remain seated during the approach…” The young pilot offered Keeler the seat next to him. Keeler declined, choosing to kneel on one knee behind him, which he sensed gave the young man some further discomfort. Still, how much worse could it be than the flight interface, that reef of bright obsidian plastic that seemed to grow out of the cheek and jaw of the young man. He wondered if it hurt. He wondered what it felt like to be plugged into a machine that way. He should build up to it before asking, he decided. “What is your name, lieutenant?”
“Flight Lieutenant Driver, Matthew Driver, sir.”
“Where are you from, Flight Lieutenant Driver Matthew Driver?”
“Midlothian settlement … Republic, sir.”
Keeler gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder with his walking stick. “Driver… I took that for a Sapphirean name.”
“My great-grandparents emigrated from Sapphire.”
“Good God, man! Why?” Keeler exclaimed. “Did they abhor sunlight, fresh air, and deciding things for themselves, or did they just want to live in a cube of a three-hundred story tower micromanaged by adminicrats?”
The piloted fidgeted uncomfortably. “They were democratists.” Keeler held up a hand. “Enough said.” Some centuries earlier, when Sapphire and Republic regained contact, the democratists had sought to replace Sapphire’s system of Go
vernment – which consisted mainly of picking people at random for single five-year terms to serve in the planetary legislature, called
“The Thing”– with an electoral democracy like Republic’s. They were never numerous, and, when space travel became practical again, hundreds emigrated to Republic. One of Keeler’s ancestors had had most of the rest shot. “Is Midlothian a nice place?”
“Midlothian is in the antarctic region of Republic, built into the side of a mountain range. The air turns to liquid in the winter.”
“Most people don’t like that. Lieutenant,… May I call you Matt?” His pause was not sufficient to give the pilot time to respond. “Za, of course I can. I’m the Captain… I can do whatever damn well pleases me. I was only trying to make conversation. I intend to command Pegasus just the way I ran my University. My students always knew where I stood and knew they could approach me. I intend to have that same rapport with the crew of this ship.”
“I understand, sir. I am just trying to concentrate on delivering you safely to your command.” He ran a final system status review. Just his luck, everything was fine.
Keeler sighed. The pilot of the liner that had transported him from his homeworld to the Odyssey Station on Colossus IV had not been conversationally gifted either, and that journey had been a three-week trip. Granted, relativistic speed had made it seem like three days, but Keeler had spent his whole life in New Cleveland, the very capital of Sapphire in every sense except the governmental one.
Spending three days without an opportunity to skewer the pompous, self-satisfied twits that made up most of his faculty was like being deprived of air. He had hoped commanding a ship on which half the personnel were Republickers would provide a range of new targets for his sharp wit and eccentric behavior. But so far, the Republickers attached to the Odyssey Project had not proved very sporting.