by Audrey Faye
“We can’t set any choice aside. Orbit would be far safer than on the surface. It removes atmospheric and temperature problems from the equation.”
Orbit. Floating in empty space. A closed system allowing no waste at all, not one atom of precious carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, or nitrogen to escape. No replenishment of the critical elements except what might be plundered from the planet below or skimmed from its atmosphere.
Blum continued. “We’re rated for forty years, but we could make it work for longer. Far longer. You know that. We would have forty years to perfect our systems. And wait for more ships to come.”
“Once we deploy the bullfrogs and people move into them, we won’t be rated to thrust. In effect, we’ll be cannibalizing the Rubicon.”
“That’s always been a potential outcome, including some of the major planet settlement scenarios.”
“Stranding us here? You can’t possibly be advocating−”
“Oh no,” the mayor assured her. “I’m not taking a position. Just pointing out possibilities.”
Not taking a position. Of course. Amanda expected nothing different from the mayor.
Amanda turned back to her analysis. Forced by Estwing to go back onto the ship’s network, she didn’t know if the program was vulnerable to the same infection which had harmed the original astrogation program. But the simpler she kept each piece, the safer she would be. It was just math.
As she tried to bend her attention to the task, the daymare arrived. “Concentrate,” she told herself, but it was no use. Her mind’s eye was going to force her through the moment. Again.
Her second day at the Mare Nubium base, a year and a half ago. Before she knew any of the people who would be her shipmates. Before she had found her family.
The payload had arrived inside a video. Friends goofing off, sending silly greetings. Gigabytes of inanity, created for a single purpose – to hide a scant few megabytes of code. Pulling it out of the larger file was easy for her.
“Don’t do it!” she tried to scream back at her past self, to no avail. A final action placed it onto the host system. From its landing spot, the virus scuttled away, vanishing quickly from her file system. It was done.
And even then, she was still telling herself it was to help people down on Earth. To strike a bargain that would alleviate suffering. Telling herself lies.
Captured by the memory, Amanda almost lost track of the reality that she was on the bridge of a colony ship, light years from Earth. Long after the event she was living so vividly.
“Hey, are you okay?” She felt a hand on her shoulder. Pulling herself back to the present, she saw it was Deijia.
Amanda had a moment of panic. He must know something. How could he not? She had been so erratic. And Estwing would put the picture together eventually. There was no escaping that fate.
She shrugged Deijia off. “Got lost in the numbers. You know how it is with me.”
There was work to do. Amanda summoned up a measure of clarity. Her project was almost done. She did her best to shut out the discussion around her.
“This is how human knowledge expands,” Hunt was intoning. “In forty three years, people back on Earth will know exactly where that glome goes – to here. With the new technology of the photonic phased array, we can provide information on conditions in this star system. That one accomplishment will make this mission a success.”
“I’m concerned about the rush to send away almost all of our probes,” Blum rejoined. “I think we’ll need them, and deploying the phased array commits eight of our ten probes for more than a year, strung out over hundreds of millions of kilometers. Some of them we might never get back.”
And the last calculation was completed. Amanda brought up the full set of results, carefully calculated with formulas she had individually placed in the mesh of cells, and compared it to the original results of the astrogation system.
There was no difference whatsoever between her hand-calculated results and those from the ship’s system. Both data sets had the same error bars. There was nothing wrong with the astrogation system.
Which was impossible, because the stars were in the wrong places.
Blum was droning on about democratic processes. “I know we are still aboard ship, and I respect your position, captain, but as we transition to making our colony choice and then developing the settlement, I ask to partner in these decisions. Let us write up the plan and place a proper motion in front of the council of settlers. We’ll have a reasoned discussion.”
This would be so much easier to figure out in a quiet place. But then –
What had she just heard?
Proper motion! Of course!
“Remove the datetime constraint!” Amanda realized she had blurted the command out loud, and everyone had heard. But all that mattered was the results, and they were coming back already.
Their position was confirmed, at 42.53 light years from Earth, and the error bars were gone. Every star was exactly where it should be, to within a small fraction of a second of arc.
Then Amanda dared to look at the date.
Abruptly she called out, “I’ve got something you all need to know! First, the sensors are working perfectly and so is the astrogation program. We just misunderstood what they were telling us. We missed the really big news.”
“And that is?” Hunt, to the point, as always.
“The year. It’s 2246. During the 32 milliseconds we spent in the glome, over a century went by.”
“I confirm the analysis,” Deijia added from behind her. “When we add one hundred twenty eight years of elapsed time to the model, the stars are in exactly their correct locations. Simply put, the stars have been on the move.”
In the babble of crosstalk she heard skepticism, wonder, and a measure of sorrow. They were truly separated from their home now. Everyone they had ever known outside the ship was long gone.
Then Amanda realized another implication. “If we deploy the array, will anyone still be looking for the signal?” she asked. “Our messages won’t arrive on Earth until 2288 – a hundred seventy years after we left.”
“Most sensible thing I’ve heard since we arrived,” pronounced Estwing. “The array won’t help us. We can use those probes to increase our chances here. There’s no doubt we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Here? No, not here!” Amanda was surprised to hear her own outburst. “We can leave! The new glome! We haven’t passed it yet!”
Possibility beckoned. Surely anything else would be better than a dismal struggle to survive on a hostile planet, or stay stuck in its orbit forever.
“We can’t do that! Further glome entries are not in the charter.” Estwing, of course.
Amanda had the answer ready. “It’s there. Emergency recourse. If there is no reasonable choice in the star system where we arrive after the first glome entry.”
“First glome entry? You mean the glome entry, don’t you? The entry, from our home solar system. One. As planned. Because when you say ‘first’ that makes me wonder how many you have in mind. Every trip into a glome is a chance to die. And we don’t even know the odds. Maybe it’s a chance in a hundred that delivered us here. Or a thousand.”
“The physicists say–”
“The physicists!” Estwing scoffed. “Easy for them to tell us all about it, from their labs safely back home. I don’t see any physicists here to welcome us. If they were so sure, where are they?”
“I’m a physicist,” put in Deijia. “Do I count?”
“The physicists say,” Amanda plowed ahead, “that in a high percentage of cases, the glome emergence will have a similar gravity well profile as the originating glome. That means a similar distance to a body with similar mass. And we have one data point which is in agreement. We started from a glome trailing Earth by three million kilometers. And we emerged less than a million kilometers from a somewhat smaller planet. In gravity well terms, a perfect match, even if it looks like the ninth circle of he
ll.”
“And there are any number of places matching that profile that are inside a gas giant. Inside! Wouldn’t that be fun? And the attack on our systems–”
“We just imagined that,” Amanda explained. “The motion of the stars created the appearance of an error, and in our paranoia we blamed it on a virus. Yes, there was a virus in the systems at the Mare Nubium base, but there's no evidence it was ever on this ship.”
Hunt addressed everyone. “The organizers of this mission appointed me captain, and gave me authority to make all decisions on this ship until we find a place to settle. But now, all we have is ourselves. And some instructions from over a century ago. I ask each of you to say your piece about the proposal to go into the new glome. Mayor Blum, will you begin?”
“I have had some conversations with selected fellow colonists,” Blum pronounced. “No time for anything formal, and nothing about the glome, as that was not even suggested until a moment ago. And my direction is that we will follow the decision of the captain of this ship. You, Captain Hunt, are in command.”
The mayor never made a decision if he could avoid it, Amanda thought to herself. If they even got as far as settling a planet, could someone like Blum actually lead?
“But I do have one note,” the mayor continued. “A consensus, or perhaps a sentiment, if you will. We want to live.”
“I think that’s a given,” Hunt answered.
“To live. Not just to survive. That is the sense of the colonists, and of myself.”
As everyone was pondering Blum’s cryptic message, Estwing spoke up. “It’s total insanity,” he pronounced. “If the glome really is the best action, we can come back in a few weeks, or months, when we have considered everything. We lose nothing by putting in some time for careful consideration. We should go to orbit, deploy a couple of the bullfrogs for living space, and run all the scenarios. That planet looks tough, but between the crew and colonists we can solve any problem. Once we get the ideas flowing, I bet our options here will start to look way better.”
It sounded so sensible.
But Amanda knew that Estwing was completely wrong, even where he was right. Things would indeed start to look better, if they stared at them long enough.
She cut in. “Problem solving – that’s exactly what we shouldn’t do! When we set out to find a solution, like colonizing that planet, we start to accept it as our reality. We can talk ourselves into normalizing anything, no matter how absurd. Believe me – I’ve lived it! Over the weeks and then months, we’ll get comfortable with the idea of living in domes under an acid bath, or scraping by in orbit, until we have forgotten that anything else is possible.”
She felt a moment of doubt. Who was she to lecture the captain or anyone else on the ship about good decisions? But no matter what, she was going to provide the best ideas she could in every situation. It was all she could do now.
Captain Hunt continued around the key bridge crew. “Mister Deijia?”
“What Bowen said,” Deijia replied. “Better the devil we don't know.”
All eyes were on Captain Hunt.
“Mister Estwing,” she said, “Set course for the new glome.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“The decision has been made.”
“But Captain–”
“Never mind, I’ll do it myself. Ship, set course to align precisely with the Omega Entry of the glome. Thrust now.”
Amanda felt a sensation of shifting, as attitude adjusters tweaked the orientation of the Rubicon, and then an increase in gravity as the main thruster kicked in.
In that moment she caught a set of expressions ranging across Estwing’s face. Stopping himself from forming up an angry remonstration. Concentration. Then his features slackened as he looked at a screen only visible to him.
Only one person on the Rubicon had the ability to override an order to the ship from the captain. To lock everyone else out. That person was the chief security officer. Commander Estwing.
What was he doing?
There was only one way to find out. If he would allow her.
From her seat, Amanda created the thought and reached out with a link request. If the link was granted, she would be able to see an identical copy of the display that floated invisibly in front of him.
Suddenly Estwing’s eyes came back into focus. He stared directly at her, interrogating. Amanda held her ground, looking back at him, as impassively as she could. The link request hung open.
And now she could see Estwing’s virtual display. See, but not touch, a read-only view. Navigation controls. And yes, lock-outs. He had not yet executed any commands. If he acted, Amanda would not be able to do anything.
Amanda tried to ignore the sensation of ants crawling all over her body. Just this one time, she had to stay with the link.
She glanced over at Estwing. He had returned his attention to the console, staring into space.
Amanda began to unfasten her safety belt.
“Do not get up. Do not come this way.” The linked thought arrived in her mind, in Estwing’s voice.
On the virtual display she saw him assemble the new course, away from the glome. Plotted but not yet ordered. Ready.
What could she do? Run over and tackle him? Scream and yell? She knew those measures would have no effect. Without touching a button or saying a word, Estwing could control the course of the ship.
There was only one option.
Amanda formed up the thought. Gritting her teeth and mentally clenching to keep her mind on just the message, and nothing else, she sent into the link the only thing she could think of.
“I will care for and protect my shipmates, always working with them and not against them. Always working with them and not against them. Always.”
The console in front of her was still. The new course awaited the final order to be activated.
And then it was gone. Erased from the console.
She heard the anguished exhalation. Estwing had turned toward her. There was no reading his expression. Anger? Guilt?
It didn’t matter, as long as they stayed on course. She composed an expression that she hoped conveyed understanding. There was no telling what he would see in her face.
She could stand the link no longer, and so she let it drop. It was such a relief to have her own skin back.
After another minute the thrust ended and with it the appearance of gravity. They were on course, with no further adjustment required to go directly into the Omega Entry of the glome. And thence to an unknown destination.
There was nothing for anyone to do.
Amanda unbuckled herself and pushed off toward Estwing’s station. As she floated his way, she saw him change from defense to acceptance, opening his hands to receive hers.
“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.
“The course I set, it’s all there on the worm drive,” he returned, equally quietly. “Are you going to–?”
“Oh, no. Forgive, that I may be forgiven.”
At that moment she experienced the briefest flash of possibility. In some unknowable way, in some future she could not guess, she imagined, just for a fleeting instant, forgiveness.
“And where would we be without our mother hen?” she added.
The captain broke in. “All right, everyone. It’s time to stop passing messages in class, and return to our stations. You know the drill. When we enter the glome, everyone is to be perfectly still. Make sure you’re seated comfortably for that.”
The Rubicon approached and then passed the point of no return. Any deviation from the path directly into the glome would only steer them into its spatial envelope, and certain destruction. The die was cast.
“The Omega Entry – do you think that’s the best one?” she asked Deijia.
“Flip a coin,” he replied. “It’s been in fashion these days, after so many attempts with the Alpha Entry.”
“But we have a little more information now, from the trip that got us here.”
“We know that the Omega pushes you forward in time. We have no idea what the Alpha does. I’ve always been an Alpha man, myself, but all things considered I’m happy to go with the Omega again. Who cares what year it is as long as we arrive safely?”
“We’ll be the longest lived people ever!”
At her workstation, Amanda played with different false-color visualizations of the glome. It had no signature in visible light, so there was no right answer. After experimenting with several views showing a crackling and pulsing fireball, she settled on a more pedestrian look – a tunnel, in a gently blending rainbow of colors, beckoning the ship into the Omega Entry of the glome.
As the last moments counted down, the question welled up, far too late. Was it better to be sure to survive? Not risk death today? Their current course, the unfathomable hazard in front of them, was entirely self-induced.
When everyone on the ship could have lived for years, orbiting, or perhaps colonizing the planet they had found, the decision to go into the glome had put them all at risk of immediate death. The same risk they had all accepted for the first glome trip, certainly, but having lived through that trip, they had come back for another turn at the roulette wheel.
Amanda turned back to her left. Tau Deijia seemed to be at peace, welcoming what would come.
“In any place we find ourselves,” she recited to him.
“We will care for each other,” Deijia replied.
Three, two, one…
At the precise moment predicted, the starfield in front of them changed. They were once again not destroyed, and they were somewhere else. Just like that.
And again they were a few million kilometers from a planet. Three point two million kilometers this time. Without any order required, Estwing brought up a visual on the big main screen.
In glorious detail.
Were those colors real? Nothing could be that perfect. Wisps of white over expansive blue seas. Grey and brown land masses, smaller than those of Earth but still more than mere islands. Was that a tinge of green?
The sidebars displayed data as quickly as it could be acquired. Oxygen, nitrogen, and water vapor, likely breathable. Surface gravity zero point eight nine.