Analog SFF, November 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "But you could still restrict who comes here, by time of service or a higher residence fee, or both, or more."

  "Ah, but now we are under the scrutiny of outside authorities,” Prahlad said. “If they think our policies are unfair in any particular, they will overrule them, strip our autonomy. We won't be able to decide which navigators may come live here. We won't be able to keep it to navigators alone, if they wish otherwise."

  He sipped some tea. “They could even decide that our skills are too important to allow us to withhold them. We are so crucial to interstellar unity, after all. It would scare them to think that navigators could simply walk away from their duties.” He looked into his cup. “I understand that fear. That is why I don't want to give it a chance to grip them, to make them act out of that fear."

  He put his half-full teacup aside. “So many things can go wrong. We might avoid one hazard, or two. We wouldn't avoid them all. The delicate balance we've struck would vanish. No, we must remain secret.

  "Being navigators set us apart, long before this. Our best hope for safety and security lies in remaining apart. It is not an ideal solution, but it is the best we can reach without risking all.” He smiled. “It requires an act of philosophy. Once you can accept what is possible, you will accept what is."

  Chloe nodded slowly. It was a lot to absorb, and she didn't want Prahlad thinking she had fallen asleep like Pascal. “Well,” she finally said, “that's all about the future, or what it could be. I'd like to know more about your past here. How difficult was it to found this colony? How hard was it to find navigators you could trust to help you with such an undertaking?"

  Prahlad let a sigh escape. “I'm sorry, Ms. Chloe. These questions will have to wait."

  "Why, sir? Are you holding back secrets? Are you uncomfortable?"

  "What I am,” he chuckled, “is tired. My tea always makes me sleepy."

  Chloe rose a beat behind Prahlad, with the same slow care. “I really would like to continue, Captain Shastri."

  "I know. There is always tomorrow.” He chuckled again. “At least there always has been so far.” He patted Chloe's arm. “Go and rest, please."

  * * * *

  Chloe woke slowly to a sunrise that crept into her bedroom. She lingered in the rays cast through the window as she walked to the bathroom. She often had trouble sleeping her first night on a new world, station, or ship, but she hadn't here. Maybe Prahlad's tea had done that.

  She rethought all that had happened last night as she washed herself ... and an unaccountable sense of dread began creeping over her. She dismissed it as stray morbidity, but within moments she was hurrying to finish her shower. Dressing went even faster, and she all but dashed out the front door.

  The guard outside was stunned, briefly. “Hey! Where are you going?"

  "Shastri,” she called over her shoulder. She was running, slowly enough that her sentinel could keep pace, and slowly enough that she didn't feel completely like a fool. She certainly would if she were imagining all this, as she hoped she was.

  Three colonists were outside his door. Chloe recognized Zhang. She hadn't been crying, but she looked ready to start.

  Chloe coasted to a stop a pace from Zhang. “Is he...?” Zhang nodded, shaking the first tear loose.

  There was a shuffle inside. Oscar Menendez and another man gently bore out a sheet-draped form. “The cart will be here in a moment,” Zhang told the men.

  Chloe stared at the shrouded body. She had chased this man all the way from Earth, without knowing it was he she was chasing—and now he was dead. She heard the guard come up next to her, and gasp. She felt the same way.

  "I was so blind,” she said. “I think he knew he was going last night."

  Zhang rubbed at her eyes. “It wouldn't surprise me. There's so much to the—was so much. Was.” She turned away, pulled herself together, and whispered something to Prahlad's bearers before returning her attention to Chloe.

  "The funeral will be in a few hours. We don't procrastinate over such things here. Could you please tell—"

  "Of course.” Chloe walked away, slowly, needing the time to figure out how to break it to Pascal.

  Over half the population had to be there, and they were still streaming in. Chloe watched some coming out of the clinic, two driving themselves in support chairs, a third being pushed along by an attendant. The only residents not coming, she suspected, were a few who would soon join Shastri in death.

  She and Pascal walked together toward the gravesite. Pascal was looking better now, after having been almost catatonic at one point. He was crushed at losing the chance to talk more with Shastri, a man he had admired before coming here, and now all but worshiped. He hadn't said those things, but the texture of his self-recriminations had made them plain.

  Pascal plucked at his tunic, and looked reproachfully behind him. They still hadn't been allowed to enter their ship, even for a change of clothes in which to attend the service. The guard who had been watching the ship was a couple of dozen paces behind them. He'd be at the funeral, as long as they were.

  They arrived at the plot adjacent to the administration building. Through the bodies circling it, Chloe could see five plots of native plants, and one fresh, shallow grave. “I just need to see something,” she whispered to Pascal, and started threading through the crowd.

  She found the plaques she had seen before, and could now read them. They were no surprise: “Kantaro Koizumi/2257—ZD 6,” “Aliyah Qawi/2260—ZD 18,” and the like. The rest of the Original Six.

  Chloe started back toward Pascal, only to find he had accompanied her. He reached out to touch the space without a plaque, where one would soon go. Then they shifted back, ceding that prime space to the others.

  Soon the pallbearers came, four of them carrying the shrouded body of Prahlad Shastri. Zhang and a few others followed at a respectful distance. The pallbearers laid the body next to the grave, and one of Zhang's companions stepped forward. Chloe recalled him from dinner, but she couldn't think of his name before he spoke.

  "I can say little about Prahlad Shastri that you don't already know, and if I said all that I could say, it would take me until nightfall.” There was a rustle of something close to laughter.

  "He was a man of layers. There was the everyday man of quiet, unassuming wisdom. Just beneath that was the man of daring and determination, taking big chances for a big dream. Beneath that, there lay the man of rock-hard work ethics, who poured his labor into building that dream into reality, for as long as his body would let him. There were so many other parts to him, but those are the ones we will always remember, because they—he—made a world for us.

  "He was our Moses, only he did not die with merely a sight of the Promised Land to comfort him. His forty years in the wilderness, he spent making that wilderness into a home and haven."

  He swallowed to clear his throat. “We owe him everything, but as he often told us, he considered the debt paid in full. In creating what we needed, he found what he needed: a life lived in balance. May we all be as fortunate."

  The pall-bearers unwrapped one layer of the shrouds, then carried Shastri until he was positioned just over the grave, two of them holding the shroud on each side. As they knelt to start lowering him, the eulogist began a recitation.

  "Forasmuch as it hath pleased God of his great mercy to take unto himself the life of our dear friend here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground: earth to earth, ashes to ashes..."

  Chloe knew the words, but it was strange to find them spoken here. They continued as Shastri settled into the ground, and his bearers draped the ends of the shroud they had used to lower him back over his body. Once that was over, a woman put a spade into the mound of soil mounted up near the grave, and pitched in the first clod.

  Chloe heard the sob. Others had been crying, but Pascal had been quiet until then. She found his cheeks already wet, and he trembled with every breath. She pulled him close, letting him weep on her shoulder, holding him li
ke they were part of the same bereaved family.

  Several people were filling the grave, but nobody had left the service. Chloe found that strange, but said nothing. By the time Pascal cried himself out, the ground over Prahlad was level.

  The eulogist stepped forward, pulling two small objects from his pockets. The first he tore open, sprinkling its contents on the soil. By the time Chloe realized they were seeds, he had knelt to plant his second object. It was a small flowering plant, with two bright yellow blooms growing Janus-headed from the same stalk.

  He stood up again, slowly with his age. “Thank you all for coming,” he said, and that fast, it was over. The crowd began milling, some drifting closer to the grave, some gathering in knots, only a few leaving.

  Chloe gave Pascal a squeeze. “Come on, let's get you back to your quarters."

  He resisted her pull. “I ... actually, I'm going to stay here a while.” He slipped out of her arm, and hesitantly approached a trio of navigators. He caught their attention, which was rather wary of the obvious outsider. Pascal coughed. “Could you ... tell me about Captain Shastri?"

  Three faces brightened. “Where do we start?” one of them said. They pulled him into their circle. Chloe slipped away. Pascal didn't need her now.

  She made her way toward Zhang, who had a lot of people around her. Chloe was ready to be patient, but Zhang spied her, made excuses, and joined her. “You look like you have questions, Ms. Roberts."

  She hadn't, but Zhang's gambit revived one. “Was Shastri really Christian? He struck me as ... something else."

  Zhang got them walking away from the crowd. “Early on, the original colonists settled on this way of handling the dead: the gardens, I mean. Shastri was brought up Hindu, where they immolate bodies. He gave that up. Christianity was, I think, an aesthetic choice: returning to the earth, a rebirth into a gentler life. If he truly believed, well, that's something only he knew."

  Chloe nodded, filling the time so she could think. “Shastri told me last night that he chose Pascal to come here, when the time was right. I don't imagine he had a chance to convey that decision to you, so I'm doing it now."

  "Really,” Zhang said. “We'll honor that, naturally. Of course, there's an assumption that goes with that, one that isn't quite confirmed yet."

  "Shastri mentioned it himself.” Chloe sighed and looked at the ground. “I'll keep your secret. I'm sure Pascal will, too."

  Zhang waited for Chloe to look up. “What convinced you?"

  "I don't know. I was still a skeptic when I went to bed last night, but now ... I know what burying this story could mean for my career, but it doesn't seem to matter. I guess Shastri convinced me after all.” Her eyes fell again.

  Zhang patted her shoulder. “He had that effect on most people. I'll speak to Pascal about this, but I'm sure he'll be with you."

  "So am I,” Chloe said. “We won't impose any more on your hospitality, not at a time like this. We'll leave as soon as you like."

  "Tomorrow, I think. We need to vote on letting you depart, but with me behind it, it'll pass.” She looked past Chloe. Pascal was still talking with the trio, more animated, a smile peeking out on his face for a moment. “And he'll appreciate the extra time, don't you agree?"

  Chloe said the only thing she could. “Of course."

  * * * *

  The previous night's rain persisted as a morning drizzle, so the car driving them back to the landing field was closed-topped. Zhang drove, so Andrei could keep an eye on the departing guests in the back seat.

  They were still cautious. Before leaving her guest house, Chloe had been searched and scanned for recording devices, data storage, even biological samples like a grain of redgrass or a splinter of local wood that would help confirm a story of a secret colony. She assumed Pascal had gotten the same treatment.

  "Remember, Pascal,” Zhang said, “don't try to identify any of our recruiters. When the time comes, they'll find you."

  "I know,” Pascal said in a monotone.

  They pulled up close to the scout ship. It still had a guard at the hatch, who didn't move while the car emptied. Chloe walked around the back to get to Zhang.

  "Even if I can't tell people about this world,” Chloe told her, “I'm glad I got to see it. Thank you for your hospitality."

  "And thank you for your decision. Have a safe trip. Orson, you can come away now."

  The soaked guard cleared the way. Chloe and Pascal climbed the ramp, and placed their right hands on the ID plate at the hatch. The combination worked, and the hatch eased open. She half expected them to ascend the ramp after them, to search the ship. Instead, they were already in the car, turning around.

  Chloe headed off Pascal going to the bridge. “I'll launch us. Get some new clothes."

  "That obvious?” Pascal said, but he obeyed. Chloe got into the pilot's seat and checked the computer logs. No sign of entry since their arrival, and no sign of tampering in the log. That settled, she ran her checklist, gave Pascal an intercom warning, and lifted the ship.

  She kept the forward view and flight data on the main viewer, but had the departing angle on a sub-monitor. Overcast as her view was, the beauty of the place was undiminished.

  Pascal arrived in a fresh jumpsuit while the ship was still in the upper stratosphere. “I'll take over piloting,” he said, “and let you get your own change."

  "Thank you.” She gladly yielded her seat, went to her cabin, and got rid of her own overly familiar jumpsuit. She took a moment picking a new outfit, something not quite as lifeless.

  "Altitude nine hundred kilometers,” Pascal reported when he heard her reenter the bridge. “Just getting us on course for Zeta Reticuli. There."

  He relinquished the seat, to move over to the navigator's port. Chloe saw him give her a quick up-and-down look before opening the chair. She remembered to look aside while he got himself settled.

  "Thanks,” he said, and she looked back. “FTL engines need to complete charging, then we can drop into underspace.” He worked for a moment before his eyes slipped back toward her. “Is that for my benefit?"

  "Uhh, not entirely,” she improvised. “I felt like showing a flourish of youth, no offense to them."

  "Hm.” Pascal went deep into thought, almost looking like he was linked when he wasn't. “You must have been persuasive, telling Zhang you wouldn't expose the settlement."

  "I suppose I was."

  "You had to be.” Pascal looked over his console. “You were lying, weren't you?"

  Chloe was stunned. She began to answer, then checked herself. “Yes,” she finally said. “We could never have gotten away otherwise. They would have had to silence us somehow."

  "'Silence?’ Your way of saying ‘kill?’ They wouldn't have done that."

  "You haven't been around many people whose deepest secrets you've uncovered."

  "Yes, that's right. You have a way of getting into people's confidences.” Still Pascal would not look at her. “Why are you going to expose them? Or should I say, what do you gain?"

  Chloe got angry despite herself. “Pascal, they didn't have the right to do what they did, however worthy their aim. Planets that can support open-air colonies—planets that similar to Earth itself—aren't so common that humanity isn't going to miss one. People won't be so indifferent that they wouldn't care if they weren't permitted to live there. I half want to live there, after two days!"

  "So that's it? You want it, so you're going to take it from us?"

  "They took it! They didn't ask, or propose, or lobby. They took it, and put lies into the public record to cover up the fact. They used their professional positions—they abused their power—to profit themselves.

  "And please,” she said, cutting him off, “don't plead the worthiness of their cause. If all it takes to disregard duties and violate trust is to think you have a good reason, that can justify almost anything. It usually has, all through history, ancient and recent alike."

  Pascal's face was a hot red. “Well, if some
old navigators are a bad example to criminals and tyrants, that settles the matter. No point in trying to dissuade you."

  Chloe felt his mockery like acid in her gut. “Pascal, I'm sorry. Navigators may have a hard life, but it doesn't mean they deserve a whole planet to compensate. Or maybe it does, I don't know, but they aren't the ones who get to decide that."

  Pascal's eyes remained resolutely forward, and his jaw was clenched hard enough to crack his teeth. Chloe felt a sense she had learned during the Kuiper Revolt, that someone was turning dangerous. “Pascal,” she said, “I need to know that you aren't going to do something rash."

  He shot her a deadly glare. She froze under it. Then he blinked, turned away, and brought the inductance helmet down to his head. “You don't have to worry, Ms. Roberts. You hired me for a job, and I'll complete it. Navigators do their duty."

  "Pascal, I—"

  "Engines charged. FTL transition ... now.” His eyes went glassy, looking at nothing but the gray infinity of underspace.

  Chloe gave up and let him sit in silence. Further talk now would only isolate him more. She would wait for him to say something first.

  Twelve hours later, when she finally went to bed, he still hadn't spoken.

  Sleep wouldn't come for Chloe. She lay in bed for over an hour, waiting for it. She thought she finally drifted off, but awoke again with sleep more distant than before. She sat up, massaging the dull ache in her temples, wondering how she would get through the night.

  She heard something. She kept still, waiting, and heard it again. Was that coming from the bridge? Better than a strange noise from the engines.

  She left her cabin, quietly as she could, and tiptoed toward the bridge. Rather than open the door, she slipped up to the bulkhead and put an ear against it. She heard a muffled voice, droning, exclaiming, and once moaning.

  Now Chloe was worried. She stepped through the hatch, in mid-sentence for Pascal. He didn't notice.

  "—lost, lost ... could've waited ... forty, fifty years, I could have ... knowing it was there ... given me strength ... how will I endure now? How...?” Words gave way to a trembling sigh.