To Save the Sun

by Ben Bova

  She forced herself to calm down, pushed the thoughts of losing Javas and Eric out of her mind and concentrated instead on Montero's lecture.

  "… the major landmass is divided longitudinally by an enormous fault system," he was saying, absently pulling on one corner of his thick brown moustache, "consisting of high ridges thrust up through the planetary crust and deep canyons stretching hundreds of kilometers. As on the rest of the planet, this fault system is very active, and weekly, even daily, tremors are not uncommon. The entire planet is highly active tectonically, a condition caused by the planet's relatively young age, as well as its higher gravity and vast amounts of heavy metal deposits. According to Imperial records, there has been some effort by the citizens of the eastern portion of the continent to reconfigure the entire planet's coordinate system based on this fault line, making it, in effect, longitude zero, which would add an emotional and psychological division to the continent as well. It is not surprising that the Eastland natives are the most adamant about not wishing to cooperate with the Empire. The natives call this major fault 'Arroyo,' and many of their location names are based on the given fault name even when the intent seems to refer instead to the proper longitude. Terms and phrases like 'dawnside Arroyo' and 'one hundred kilometers west Arroyo' are quite common, although the actual significance of the name itself is unclear. The major cities are separated—"

  "Is there water in this fault system?" Adela called out. She wasn't sure why she had felt the need to speak up just now. Perhaps it was the lingering anger from her thoughts of Rihana Valtane moments before. Or the cavalier attitude with which Montero seemed to view their entire purpose here. More likely, the underlying reason was a combination of both.

  Commander Montero stared open-mouthed at her, the look on his face frozen somewhere between surprised anger at being interrupted and frantic indecision at not being able to answer her question. It didn't help that everyone in the room not asleep was now staring at him, waiting for him to respond to the Emperor's chosen representative. He forced a smile, then, "Say again?"

  Adela leaned back in her seat and felt everyone shift their attention back to her. "The fault system. Does water periodically fill portions of it?" Ignoring the stares of the others at the briefing, she crossed her arms and waited for him to reply.

  "Well… They, uh…" Montero keyed the info screen mounted in his podium, searching for the information. It took a few moments before he found what he was looking for. "Our reports indicate that portions of the fault do hydrate from time to time." Another pause as he read. "As the edges of the major plates running the length of the fault rise and fall with tectonic activity, both the northern and southern seas occasionally flood into the depression caused by the seismic tremors. According to what we've been able to glean from our probing of their libraries, the fault has, on two occasions since Pallatin was colonized, been a continuous waterway from the Grande Sea on the north to the Gulf of Caldonia to the south. Although subsequent activity drained most of the water after each occurrence."

  "That's almost exactly what the word means." Several of those attending pivoted and gazed at her with renewed interest and she addressed them, rather than Montero, as she spoke. "It's an Old Earth term from an area of the North American continent called American Southwest. It refers to a gully or trench that, while normally dry, occasionally fills with water."

  Montero cleared his throat loudly. "Thank you, Dr. Montgarde." There was just the hint of sarcasm behind his gratitude.

  Adela had to remind herself as she listened to Montero resume his rote delivery that the experienced Imperial officer had been hand-chosen by Supreme Commander Fain for his military and spacing abilities, and not his outgoing personality.

  "As I started to say before, the cities are widely separated. The more densely settled population centers, those with populations ranging from twenty-five thousand on up to four hundred thousand, are frequently surrounded by smaller communities—mostly agricultural or light industry in nature—that continue to spring up as the population spreads out. However, most of these main 'hub cities' are separated from each other by many hundreds of kilometers, and are sometimes connected by a single main road or air traffic only. This is not unusual. In fact, we've seen that on many colony worlds it takes centuries for the open spaces between population centers to 'fill up,' for lack of a better word."

  "That's not always true," Adela put in. "They don't always 'fill up.' How about Australia?" Again, all eyes turned to her.

  Again, Montero's face reddened, but more in mild impatience this time than in frustration. "How about where?"

  She stood, addressing the room at large. "Australia is a continent in the southern hemisphere of Earth, settled and colonized much the same way we bring planets into the Hundred Worlds. But most of Australia has an incredibly harsh environment, and although many of its cities became metropolises they still were separated by tremendous distances with little between them even at the height of its population in the late twenty-third century. Pallatin is the same; although you're beginning to see individual settlements in the intervening spaces between centers, the rough environment here—the hot summers and almost constant seismic activity—will most likely keep this world on the same level as Australia. I doubt seriously that Pallatin will ever 'fill up.' "

  Montero's jaw tightened as if he were gritting his teeth, which he probably was. He was aware of her place of importance, not only to the mission but to the Emperor himself, and he spoke in carefully modulated tones as he addressed Adela. "I fail to see what Old Earth history has to do with our current mission here."

  Adela had enjoyed baiting him, prodding at his pompous nature, but every bit of pleasure drained from her at the remark. "Commander Montero, everything we do here relates to Earth. Our whole purpose for being here is because of Earth's importance." She retook her seat before continuing, taking in the others in the briefing room as she went on. "The more all of us know about Earth, the better the chances of our success here. Everything I've talked about is available in the ship's files, of course, easily accessible to anyone with an interest in learning more. In fact, I'll be happy to give the code numbers for the files to anyone who—"

  "Dr. Montgarde—" The sudden timbre of his voice silenced her immediately, and several of the uniformed people around her instantly—if not involuntarily—sat straighter in their chairs. It was obvious that while Montero may not enjoy protocol-required briefings, he still was in command aboard the ship. "Not everyone on board this ship is as convinced at the necessity of saving your precious Earth as you." He lowered his gaze on her, one eyebrow arched, and a look in his eyes told her more than his words that he was here because he was ordered to be. It became clear to Adela that his interests concerned forcing Pallatin back into line as a member of the Hundred Worlds, and not as a means of furthering the project.

  She leaned back in her seat and tried to read the faces on those around her. Who among them agreed with Montero, and who believed that Emperor Nicholas' dream was a worthy goal? She had no way of telling, but decided that until she found out just who was on her side it might be better not to antagonize Montero further.

  "The politics of the two halves of the continent," he went on as if nothing had happened, "seem as ideologically divided as their geography. Those in Eastland remain as uncooperative as they were at the time of Emperor Nicholas' address. Those in Westland, however, appear to be leaning toward a normalization of relations with the Hundred Worlds. This, after our long voyage, is a pleasant surprise…" He continued his briefing, taking questions as they came, until finishing up a half hour later. Leaving the holoscreen set on a view of the planet itself, he dismissed the meeting. The uniformed members of the team snapped smartly to attention as he left the room without a word, either to her or to anyone else.

  Several people asked politely for the code numbers for the Old Earth history files before they left. As she spoke briefly to them, Adela got the impression that many of the contact te
am cared no more for Montero or his ways than she did, although she had spent so little time out of the tank on this trip that she hadn't gotten to know any of them well enough that they actually said anything specific to her in that regard. As to how the crew members scattered around the briefing room felt about their commanding officer, she could only guess.

  A chime sounded, indicating that the ship's mess had opened, and the room cleared quickly. As she made her way to the starboard corridor a uniformed crewman approached her. Not unhandsome, he was of medium build with dark, almost black skin, brown eyes that peered intensely out from beneath a thick, low brow, and wavy black hair that, like many of his crewmates, was pulled back and tied into a short ponytail that just touched the high collar of his uniform. The tabs on his collar indicated that he was a Lieutenant. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties—but then, so did she. "Dr. Montgarde, may I walk with you for a few minutes?"

  She knew little about him, other than the fact that he was a specialist in Imperial law, and that he had spent only half the trip in cryosleep. She had met him at one of the pre-embarkation meetings, but had spoken to him only momentarily and couldn't remember his name. "Certainly. Lieutenant… ?"

  "Woorunmarra."

  "Lieutenant Woorunmarra, of course. I'm sorry. I'm usually better at names."

  "Don't apologize," he said, smiling, flashing very white teeth, "it's not an easy one to remember." As he spoke, she tried to place the odd accent. She'd heard many accents in the last several decades as she traveled from planet to planet among the Hundred Worlds since the beginning of the project. But this one seemed stranger than most: harsh, guttural, and yet, each word perfectly formed and melodically enunciated. "I wanted to thank you, back there," he went on, nodding over his shoulder in the direction of the briefing room.

  "Thank me?" Adela responded, not understanding. "Thank me for what?"

  "Perhaps I should explain. I'm an Earther. I signed on with the Imperial forces when the Empire began its resettlement on Luna." He stopped, looked at her. "Not everyone on Earth is against the Emperor's plan. I wanted to do what I could to help, if only in a small way, so I enlisted." They resumed walking, taking the corridor leading to the officers' mess.

  "But what did I do that—"

  He silenced her with a raised hand. "You know Earth, spoke well of her." He stopped, a smile spreading across his face. "And you spoke of my homeland as though you knew it."

  "Homeland… You're from Australia?"

  "I am Aborigine. My people, the Arunta, are among the oldest civilizations on Earth, and the only people who remain unchanged."

  "Unchanged?" Adela looked at him dubiously, and without talking down to him, said in a friendly tone of voice, "You're an officer aboard one of the Empire's fastest starships, approaching a planet sixteen and a half light-years away from Australia. I'd say that qualifies as change."

  The Lieutenant smiled again, the sound of his laughter as melodic as his words. "You take the word too literally, Dr. Montgarde. I speak of not changin' here"—he lightly touched his forehead—"and here." He placed the palm of his hand over his heart. "While Earth grew, and her population went out, first to the solar system and then the stars, her people became different. Their values, their lives. Sometimes, I think their very souls changed. But it was different for us. In the outback, our lives continued as they always did. The family group was always central. The land. The sky. All a part of the Dream Lines and at the heart of who we are. Do you understand?"

  "I think so." They reached the entrance to the officers' mess and stood to one side of the doorway as they spoke. There was little traffic in the corridor now; the two of them had taken their time and most of the officers were already inside.

  "But then the world changed back," he said, tilting his head. There was a distant look on his face, as though his eyes were watching the scene he described so very far away. "Most of Earth's people left, and those who remained returned to many of the same old values the Aborigine tribes never abandoned."

  "I've studied Earth a great deal," Adela said, "but you're obviously much more than a simple tribesman."

  "Ah, that." Again he laughed. There was a long, cushioned seating area that ran for ten meters on each side of the mess entrance and he indicated they should sit.

  He seemed so at ease with himself, so satisfied with his life. Further, his pleasant manner was infectious, and she found herself finally letting go of the anger and frustration she had felt at the briefing.

  "Many of my people are educated; many are not. It's an individual decision. But understand something: Even those who go away from the tribe for very long periods of time return to the outback unchanged. After my graduation from the University at Canberra, I returned home and it was as if I'd never left. My belongin's and city clothing put away, I was in the bush hunting turkey and roo with my brothers within an hour after my arrival. Even though my brothers could barely read and write, it was as if there were no differences among us in the outback. In our home."

  "I would love to see your home one day."

  He looked at her, his head cocked to one side, and nodded. "Yes. I think you'd like it." He looked away suddenly, his features at once serious. "We have a legend that tells of those who protect us. It is said that they're responsible for keepin' my people whole, and that they'll be with us in the Dream Time, to keep us as one in the time of fire. We called them the Sky Heroes."

  Adela was fascinated by his tale and motioned for him to continue.

  "It is well known, even among many of my people, what will happen to the Sun—we have the broadcasts from the nets—but it is foretold that the Sky Heroes will protect our way of life."

  "Is this a…" She hesitated, not wanting to offend him. "Is this a religion, a matter of faith?"

  He turned to her again, his face less serious. "For many Aborigine, yes. For others, it's only legend and campfire stories for the young. For me?" He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows where legend stops and fact begins, ay? But ask yourself somethin': Who's goin' to stop the Sun from dying? Who's goin' to stop the great fire?"

  "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

  He took one of her hands in his. The skin of his hands was rough and calloused, but his touch was warm, strong. "You are. Your scientists, your star captains, your mighty ships. Come to Earth to help us remain whole."

  Adela nodded in understanding. "We are the Sky Heroes," she said softly, feeling not a little embarrassment. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

  Again he shrugged, and released her hand. "To be honest, I needed to share it with someone. You see, many of those in my settlement—who believe the old legends—feel that I've gone to join the Sky Heroes, that I've become one of them. Most know I'm on a starship, that it's nothin' more than an extension of the same technology that gives us refrigerators, electric lights and communication. But the others—It's a big responsibility for me."

  Yes, she thought. It is a very big responsibility.

  Amasee Niles stood outside Kip Salera's cabin, contemplating whether the course he was about to pursue would violate Dominion protocol. No, that wasn't true, he reminded himself—he already knew that meeting Salera in an unofficial capacity in this manner was a breach of procedure.

  Despite his best efforts, they had barely spoken since Thunder Child had left Pallatin, and on the rare occasion when they did talk directly to one another it was only with the most officious manner during meals or briefings where others were present. But with only days remaining before their rendezvous with the Imperial ship, Amasee felt the need to try to establish at least some small amount of personal rapport with the Eastland representative.

  He cleared his throat, the sound echoing softly in the deserted passageways, and rapped on the door.

  "It's open, Niles," came a muffled reply from inside. "Come in."

  The door slid open, revealing a comfortable stateroom that was—although oddly mirror-imaged—identical in both design and furnishings to his own
quarters on the port side of the ship. Salera was at his desk on the far side of the room, his back to him, and made a point of ignoring Amasee as he shuffled several folders and data sticks into a zippered case. The desk was next to the bed, and Amasee could see more than a few identical folders scattered over the bedspread. The door closed behind him, and he waited patiently inside the doorway for the man to finish before speaking.

  "Be with you in a moment, Niles," he said, still without turning. Salera leaned the case against the side of the desk, then pivoted about in the chair and proceeded to gather the folders from the bed, stacking them one atop the other in a growing pile placed to one corner of the desk. He glanced up once as he reached for a folder on the side of the bed opposite him, meeting Amasee's eyes for the first time since he'd entered. "Where are my manners? Please, be seated." He nodded to a seating group on the other side of the stateroom and continued stacking, selecting each folder one by one in accordance with whatever order of importance he was assigning them.

  "You knew it was me." In spite of the heavy sarcasm obvious in Salera's comment about manners—and in spite of the distrust and misgivings he felt for his Dominion counterpart—Amasee kept his own delivery light and noncommittal.

  "I expected you, you know. You Westlanders are nothing if not predictable." He finished his stacking and, picking up a tall glass from the desk, sat in the sofa across from Amasee. He took a long drink from the glass, rattling ice cubes as he lowered it, and made no offer of a similar refreshment to his guest. "Besides, you knocked on the door, instead of ringing. Your Westland farmer's habits seem very hard to break."

  Amasee shrugged, ignoring the remark. Since becoming a Dominion representative, he had grown used to the ridicule often directed at Westland traditions. Even small customs like knocking, considered a simple act of politeness at home, seemed to delight Salera and his fellow representatives to the Joint Dominion.