Gravity Wells (Short Stories Collection)

by James Alan Gardner

  Our construction site was on the dark side, but we lived in dormitory pods on the bright side of the terminator. We worked in shifts, of course. Which is why I'm alive when twenty-three of my people are not.

  It was about an hour before shift change and I was in our cafeteria having breakfast with the crew that would be going out. I planned on going out with them. I often did. And I always did whatever tasks the shift supervisor assigned me, even if I am a prince. A prince must set an example, don't you think?

  Suddenly, in the middle of the meal, we felt a great trembling in the floor beneath us. Water glasses rattled; salt shakers fell over. Without a second's thought, every man and woman there kicked back chairs and ran to the equipment chamber where Vac/suits were stored. We dove into the suits, grabbed extra oxygen tanks, jet packs, Mayday beacons, whatever we could fill our arms with; then we piled into the airlocks in a rush to get out in the open.

  Outside, we were just one of many construction crews evacuating their dormitories, stumbling about in confusion, trying to keep our footing on the quaking surface. Every band on my helmet radio was clogged with cries of panic. I tried to shout against the noise, but couldn't make myself heard. In exasperation, I clicked it off and searched the sky, hoping to see one of the supply ships docked close enough that a jet pack could bridge the gap. But instead I saw the cause of the disturbance.

  The entire dark side of Heaven had split in two, as if we stood on a giant bird, a roc, that was unfolding its wings. The wings rose up higher and higher over the horizon, strong and graceful, the ebony of night now glittering in the sunlight; but as the wings moved, their speed and strength tossed off my workers like seeds scattered across a field. The nightclubs, the carousels, the roller coasters…all wrenched apart as their foundations slid along with the motion of the wings. Gravity seemed to have gone wild out there: some buildings flew off into space with my people; others lodged themselves at the hinge point where the wings met the body.

  Hundreds of people were thrown into the emptiness of the abyss. We formed rescue parties, retrieved those we could. Of my workers we found nineteen: seven alive, twelve dead in their suits. Another eleven have not yet been found. Teams still search—none of us believes the missing are alive, but it's horrible to think of a friend's body drifting forever in blackness.

  And the explanation for this all? It took fifteen hours to get anything out of Laughing Dragon. Then the president's wife—his wife! the man couldn't face us himself—made a statement that the wings had been opened up to expose more collector cells to the sunlight. The management regretted this had happened without warning. Notices were supposed to have been sent around but were inadvertently misplaced.

  All a lie. I've paid a few bribes, and no one, inside or outside Laughing Dragon, knew what was going to happen. Anyway, why would they open the wings when it would cause such damage to their own park? No, someone made a mistake, someone very high up or very well protected, and that person must be made to pay.

  Reasonable damages for the next of kin? Do you think my people weren't insured? The next of kin will be paid handsomely, and if the insurance company wants to reclaim its money from Laughing Dragon, it can file its own suit. I want damage, man, not damages! Make them know they're dealing with something they can't control.

  VARIATION J: LION

  (LAMENTOSO MA DOLCISSIMO)

  (SADLY, BUT VERY SWEETLY)

  CONTACT: SEPTEMBER 2078

  Oh, my darlings! I wish it could be said that your father died a man.

  My grandfather once said to me, "Boy, a man is not a man until he walks with a lion."

  And my grandmother said, "Oh, William, that was long ago."

  "No," he answered. "Long ago, it was said a man had to kill a lion. But guns made killing easy. Too many lions died. Now, no more killing. Walk with the lion. See him. Learn what a man is not. Hear the voice of that which is stronger than you."

  "What nonsense," my grandmother muttered. "If the boy ever does meet a lion, he'll find running is better than walking."

  But my grandfather looked me in the eye, pointed a swollen-knuckled finger at my nose, and said softly, "A man is not a man until he walks with a lion. Maybe a leopard or a cheetah will do too. Or a male rhinoceros…but not a female! And elephants don't count either—they're strong, but now they're tame as dogs."

  Thus, my grandfather. He died when I was still young…before I thought to ask if he had walked with a lion.

  The only lions I have ever seen were mechanical. There's one back at the amusement park. On a merry-go-round. Ride a lion, ride a unicorn, ride a laughing dragon!

  I bolted the lion in place myself. I pushed past the prince so I could do it with my own hands.

  He probably thought I was trying to impress him with my enthusiasm. I think the truth was I was trying to impress the lion.

  I'm getting cold. I wonder if I'll freeze before I suffocate or the other way around.

  I could take off my helmet and finish it quickly. But there's always the chance if I hang on, someone will find me before I die.

  Besides, most of these helmets are designed to lock in place when there's no air pressure outside.

  Can you hear my thoughts, children? Noliwe? Jobe? Mamina?

  The night my father died, I was asleep an ocean away…and I dreamed of a great plain dotted with every kind of tree in the world. The air was full of the smell of lilacs and the ground had a thick springy cover of pine needles and magnolia blossoms. If I reached up, I could pull down cherries or oranges, even calabashes—whatever fruit or nut I thought of, it was right there. Then my father was there too, and we walked together under the trees, saying nothing. I wanted to hold his hand the way I did when I was a boy, but I knew I couldn't.

  "Son," he finally said to me, "they tell me I have to eat a leaf off every one of these trees. It's going to take a long while, and some of them are going to taste mighty bitter." He smiled. "Well, as penances go, I expected a lot worse. It's nice here, isn't it?"

  "Did you ever walk with a lion?" I asked him.

  He shook his head. "Lions are scarce these days," he said. "You never know, though." He looked around at the forest. "Lots of places here a lion could be hiding. I'll be checking them all out."

  When I left him, he was still walking under the trees: walking slowly, enjoying himself. More relaxed in death than he'd ever been in life.

  I believe I really was talking to him.

  Can you hear me, children? I don't know what time it is where you are. I hope you're dreaming.

  Lately, I've had a recurring dream of standing on the deck of a tall ship on a still night sea. There are many people with me. I feel as if we've been becalmed a long time; but as I watch, wind fills our sails, the mast groans and the canvas snaps taut, and everybody is clambering up to the rigging, laughing, letting out the sails, starting to sing a song of great rejoicing that we'll soon be speeding toward our destination again.

  Children…are you dreaming?

  It's as quiet as a forest here. Soft static on my helmet radio, that's all. For a while, I could hear everyone shouting at each other back on Heaven, but I'm out of range now.

  From where I drift, Heaven is eclipsing the sun. Behind Heaven, the sun's corona is wild with prominences.

  Heaven has a fiery mane.

  Why can't I stop thinking about lions? I could just as easily say I'm walking with the constellation Leo. If I knew which one it was.

  No, I'm walking with Heaven. And Heaven is just a carousel lion: something someone built.

  But it's beautiful. And strong.

  Something a man is not.

  One could learn from it too.

  I'm cold.

  There's a song my grandfather taught me to sing:

  The body perishes, the heart stays young.

  The platter wears away with serving food.

  No log retains its bark when old,

  No lover peaceful while the rival weeps.

  Oh, my childre
n! I never taught you that song. It's a song for the old and the dying, and I thought I would sing it for you when I grew old.

  But now I won't. You'll never learn it. And you won't know a man is not a man until he walks with a lion.

  Soon everyone will forget that. And it's a thing someone should remember.

  VARIATION K: JUGGERNAUT

  (ANIMATO)

  (ANIMATEDLY)

  CONTACT: NOVEMBER 2078

  Recorded video-burst transmission from Dr. Shanta Mukerjhee (Hydroponics Services, Heaven) to John Mukerjhee (San Francisco, CA):

  They tell me you haven't checked to see if I'm alive.

  We've been under strict orders up here for the last few days, not to call friends and relatives to say we're all right. For the first few hours after the construction workers were killed, all the radio bands were clogged with people trying to get messages back home, interfering with emergency communications; so Laughing Dragon clamped down and said no outgoing calls. Incoming calls were taken by the main communications center, and answered curtly: "Yes, she's alive and well." "No, we haven't located him yet."

  You'd know this if you called. But you didn't. I suppose you were too busy getting injunctions against mining companies that want to despoil the pristine Martian landscape; your mother isn't environmentally relevant.

  That's a cheap shot. I'm sorry.

  Anyway, things are returning to normal. We're each being allowed one ten-minute transmission to anywhere in the solar system, all expenses paid by Laughing Dragon. And I wanted to tell you I'm safe; our hydroponics dome was nowhere near the accident, and I didn't lose so much as a bean plant.

  There. Well. I guess I still have nine minutes of free air time.

  This is hard for me.

  Look, John, there's something I want to tell you. Show you. It's important.

  I'll just get the camera turned…okay. You're looking at one of the hydroponics chambers up here. Leaf lettuce on the right, radishes on the left. Good growth, I'm sure you can see that. We've built quite a sophisticated system, very productive. I know you look down on me because I'm growing salad for rich tourists when I could be feeding the poor, but really—Laughing Dragon has given us a substantial research budget. Some of the designs we've developed could improve the yield of hydroponics systems everywhere, make more food for everyone….

  I promised myself I wouldn't keep apologizing to you. I've done important work up here. I don't have to feel guilty I'm not fighting drought in Africa. We can't all live up to your standards, John.

  The plants you're looking at are normal strains, designed for Earth-normal gravity. I suppose you've read that Heaven's gravity is almost exactly equal to Earth's: within a few thousandths of a percent of gravity at sea level on the equator. It's touted as the greatest engineering feat in the construction of Heaven: getting the right density and distribution of mass to mimic one Earth G, over almost the entire surface.

  Well. You'll see.

  Now I'm taking the camera into the next room. This is an experimental chamber—black-eyed peas biologically engineered for growth in the Luna colonies. Laughing Dragon lets each of us senior researchers conduct small personal experiments; we get publications out of it and Laughing Dragon basks in any resulting prestige. There's nothing wrong with that, it's no different from a university or a…

  I'm apologizing again. Sorry.

  All right, you can see the peas are growing well. Good greenery, excellent pod production. I never expected anything like this. After all, these are low gravity plants; I only set up this chamber because I wanted to experiment with the design of water delivery systems, and I never thought I'd get significant yields. You just shouldn't see this kind of growth under Earth-normal gravity.

  Now, watch as I drop this pencil.

  No, I didn't change the camera to slow motion. That's precisely the speed things fall in this chamber. I haven't done any elaborate tests, but I'm fairly certain we have lunar gravity in here.

  Needless to say, this is none of my doing. A month ago, I would have said it was impossible to have gravity like Earth in one room and like Luna right next door. But now let me go into the next chamber. I'll just…you can probably see the camera bouncing, because I'm bouncing as I walk. Have you ever been to the moon colonies, John? Walking in here is exactly like walking down the streets of Tycho. I suppose it would be fun, if it weren't so bewildering. And scary.

  All right, through the hatch to the next room and…yes, I'm floating toward the ceiling. Weightless. I've got zero-G soybeans growing in this chamber—you know, engineered for nonspinning orbitals. Zero-G plants, zero-G chamber.

  Believe me, the gravity here was Earth-normal two months ago. Back then, these beans could scarcely germinate. But over the course of a few days, the gravity dropped to nothing. Just dropped of its own accord. To precisely the level the plants found ideal.

  It gives me the creeps, John. It did the first time I noticed, and it still does now. I haven't told anyone about this because it's too spooky to talk about.

  Do you know what I think is happening? It's a feedback loop between these plants and Heaven. Heaven is artificially controlling the gravity on every square millimeter of its surface, in accordance with the preferences of those affected. In here, the soybeans want it weightless. Out on the rest of the surface…well, I don't think it's an accident the gravity is exactly what humans like it to be.

  Laughing Dragon didn't engineer the gravity here; Heaven is doing this itself.

  I get cold chills just thinking about it, John. Heaven can't be human-made. Humans don't know how to play games with gravity. Humans don't know how to establish this kind of feedback communication with plants.

  And I haven't told you yet about the dreams. More and more people up here are having vivid dreams…and coherent ones, not the usual sort of vague, disjointed images. The dreams leave a lingering feeling of…I guess the word is spirituality. "Like touching the mind of God," one of the other researchers said this morning…which I'm sure you'll dismiss as maudlin sentimentality, but if you ever had one of these dreams yourself…a sort of quiet wonder…

  No, I'm not going to tell you what I've dreamt about. I'm tired of you sneering at me.

  But the point is, I don't think these dreams are just coincidence. This thing we're on, what Laughing Dragon calls Heaven—I don't know whether it's touching our minds or we're touching it, but if there's such a thing as telepathy with soybeans, why not with humans?

  I don't sound much like a professional scientist, do I? No detachment. I can't feel detached when I'm constantly swinging between extremes of fear and awe. Because even if this creature sends inspiring dreams and nurtures our gardens, it killed dozens of people when it casually opened its wings.

  It's like…do you know what the juggernaut is? I never tried to teach you the old ways, but maybe your grandmother told you. The juggernaut is a wagon used to carry a huge statue of Krishna Jagannatha through the city of Puri during the Rathayatra festival. The wagon is gigantic—it takes several hundred people to drag it along. On one hand, the juggernaut is beautiful and serene: it's decorated with flowers and surrounded by pilgrims singing hymns, not to mention that it carries the statue of the compassionate Lord Krishna; but on the other hand, a huge crowd mills uncontrollably around the wagon, and all too often, someone falls under the wheels. People even throw themselves under. The juggernaut doesn't stop; it represents benevolence and goodwill, but it can leave crushed bodies in its wake.

  Do you understand, John? Yes, I imagine you do. You're a juggernaut yourself, on occasion.

  I've been trying to build up my courage to tell someone what I've found out. I'm sure you'd do it without a moment's hesitation: summon the media, make a statement, proclaim your moral outrage at what's going on. Deceit. Criminal negligence. Cover-up.

  But I'm no crusader. I'm just a woman who knows a secret.

  And now you do too.

  Help me, John. Call that prince, the one who's suing Laug
hing Dragon over the death of his workers. Say I'll testify. But keep my name secret, just for the time being. I still have a job up here with Laughing Dragon. I still have a reputation as a scientist, and if I start talking about artificial gravity, telepathy…I promise I'll take the witness stand when the time comes, but I don't want to declare war on Heaven just yet.

  I want to stay here a little while longer. Even if it sometimes terrifies me.

  I want to hold on to my dreams.

  VARIATION L: WHITE ELEPHANT

  (ALLEGRO POMPOSO)

  (AT GOOD SPEED, POMPOUSLY)

  CONTACT: DECEMBER 2078

  Excuse me, Miss, uhh, Ms., uhh, Verhooven. Is your father in?

  This, uhh, it's a business matter at the presidential level. Oh, no. No, it's not…of course, you're every bit the banker your father is, but I think—

  Yes, ma'am.

  Yes, ma'am.

  No, ma'am.

  Well, it's related to Laughing Dragon Entertainment Industries. As you know, their company has loans with this bank well in excess of…uhh, I have it written down…yes, ma'am, that's the figure I have here. Very good. You have an excellent memory, miss, uhh, ma'am.

  At any rate, when our bank has that much invested in a firm, you may or may not know it's standard policy for us to, uhh, approach someone on their staff and make arrangements to be informed if and when something of interest…we prefer not to use the term "spy," ma'am. That term hasn't gained acceptance in traditional banking circles.

  Certainly, I'll get to the point. Our, uhh, contact has informed us Mr. and Mrs. Naruki are considered missing. Ma'am.

  Three days.

  Our contact thinks the Narukis may have decided to, uhh, fly into the sun.