The Year's Best Science Fiction, Thirty-Second Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  Three days after it carried Nathan 2 into space, the cargo rocket returned to Earth. On Jill’s insistence, Matt accompanied the recovery team when they set forth on an old freighter to the spot where the rocket splashed down in the Caribbean about a hundred miles east of Ile Sombre. There they found the Kubera floating upright on its inflated landing bags, looking very much like a giant fishing bob. He watched as divers in wet suits swam out to drag tow cables to the booster; once that was done, the ship slowly hauled the Kubera back to the island, where the freighter docked at Ste. Genevieve’s commercial port. Over the next several days, the rocket would be lifted out of the water by derrick cranes, loaded onto a tandem tractor-trailer, and driven back to the space center, where it would be refit for the Nathan 3 mission.

  Meanwhile, preparations for Nathan 4 were underway. In another white room, Galactique’s incubation module was being checked out for its primary purpose, carrying cryogenically-preserved sperm and egg specimens from two hundred human donors to the ship’s ultimate destination, the distant planet still officially known only as Gliese 667C-e.

  Galactique’s final module, Nathan 5, was still being assembled in northern California. It contained two major segments: the 90-foot landing craft that would transport the newborn infants to the planet surface, where they would be raised by what were affectionately being called “nannybots” until they were old enough to fend for themselves, and the biopods that would precede them, complex machines capable of transforming Gliese 667C-e into a human-habitable world. Next to the vessel itself, this was probably the most challenging aspect of the project, one which was pushing human technology to its farthest limits.

  When Matt’s parents had explained the foundation’s plan many years ago, he’d had a hard time understanding it. Why send sperm and eggs when, with a bigger ship, you could send living people instead? But he was thinking in terms of the science fiction movies he’d seen as a kid, where huge starships carrying thousands of passengers easily leaped between the stars with the help of miraculous faster-than-light drives. Reality was another matter entirely. FTL drives didn’t exist, nor would they ever. Furthermore, the larger the ship was, the more energy would be required for it to achieve even a fraction of light-speed. If its passengers were to remain alive and conscious during the entire flight, such a vessel would have to be several miles long, a generation ship capable of sustaining these passengers and their descendents for a century or more. So even if a ship that large were built—such as from a hollowed-out asteroid, one early proposal—the amount of fuel it would have to carry would comprise at least half of its mass. It would be like trying to move a mountain by providing it with another mountain of fuel.

  Making the issue even more complicated was the fact that no one knew how to build a closed-loop life support system that could keep people alive for such long periods of time. The sheer amount of consumables they’d need—air, water, and food—was daunting, and could not be produced or recycled, without fail, for decades or even centuries on end. Nor had anyone successfully come up with a means of putting people into hibernation and reviving them again many years later. Perhaps one day, but now…?

  The solution to all this was obvious: remove people from the ship entirely, and instead build a smaller, lighter vessel which could carry human reproductive material to the new world, where it would be gestated and brought to term within the extrauterine fetal incubators. This process was better understood and more feasible, and therefore made it more likely that a starship could be built if it didn’t have to devote so much of its mass to keeping its passengers alive. And since Galactique wouldn’t have its own engines, but instead rely on the microwave beamsat in Lagrange orbit to boost the ship to .5c cruise velocity, it would be able to make the voyage to Gliese 667C-e in a little less than half a century.

  Even so, there was nothing simple about Galactique’s EFI module. Just as large as Nathan 2 and 3, the heavily-shielded cylinder was an AI-controlled, robotically-serviced laboratory. From the observation gallery, Matt watched as clean-suited technicians worked on the module through its open service ports; there was only a small crawlspace running down its central core, and that had been provided more for the spidery robots which would maintain the ship than for the humans who’d built it.

  Matt liked visiting this place, and often stole time from writing press releases or making travel arrangements for visiting journalists to view Nathan 3 being prepared for its journey. But it wasn’t just his growing interest in Galactique that brought him to the gallery. It was also being able to watch Chandi at work. Her outfit should have made her indistinguishable from the rest of her group, but nonetheless he could always tell who she was; she just seemed to move just a little differently from her colleagues. And although she acknowledged his presence only once with a brief wave, even that small gesture was enough.

  They’d see each other in the evenings, after dinner when the launch team would get together on the patio for drinks and perhaps a joint or two. By then, Matt had become better acquainted with some of the other people working on the project. They’d come to accept him as a non-scientist who had his own role to play, and he made an effort to keep his skepticism to himself in order to assure their friendship.

  Yet one evening, something slipped out of his mouth that he hadn’t meant to say. And that got him in trouble with Chandi.

  Matt was sitting at a poolside table with her and a couple of other team members: Graham Royce and his husband Rich Collins, both of them British space engineers who specialized in beam propulsion systems. The three men were sharing an after-dinner joint—Chandi didn’t smoke, but politely tolerated those who did—and watching the crescent moon come up over the palms. By then, Nathan 3 was on the launch pad, with countdown scheduled to commence in just four days. The Brits were relaxed, knowing that their job was done for a little while; they wouldn’t have to go back to work again until Nathan 3 was docked with Nathan 2 and the orbital assembly would attach the sail’s rigging to the service module.

  “You’re hoping on a lot, aren’t you?” Matt asked, passing the joint to Rich. “I mean, the way I understand it, the beamsat has to fire constantly for … what is it, two and a half years?”

  “Pretty much, yes,” Rich said.

  “Nine hundred and twenty days.” Graham was the older of the two—although with retrotherapy, it was hard to guess his true age—and had a tendency to be annoyingly precise.

  “Whatever … so for two and half years, the sail has to catch a microwave sent from Earth even as it’s moving farther and farther away. Meanwhile, the ship’s moving faster and faster…”

  “Acceleration rate is 1.9 meters per second, squared.”

  “… until the ship is about half a light-year from Earth.” Graham took a brief drag from the joint, gave it to his mate. “By then it’ll be well out of the solar system and travelling half the speed of light, so we can turn off the beamsat and let the ship coast on its own. Any course adjustments will be accomplished by the onboard AI, using maneuvering thrusters. When it reaches Gliese 667C-e…”

  “Eos.” Chandi smiled. “I think everyone’s pretty much settled on that name.”

  “Until the International Astronomical Union approves,” Graham said, “it’s officially Gliese 667C-e.”

  Rich coughed out the hit he’d just taken. “You’re … hargh! hargh!… such a prick, you know that?” Graham smirked and Rich went on. “So what’s your question … or did I miss something?” His eyes narrowed in stoned confusion.

  “Well,” Matt said, “it’s just that it seems like you’re counting on everything going exactly the way you’ve planned. The beam not getting interrupted or missing the sail the entirely…”

  “That’s why the sail is so bloody big,” Rich replied. “The beam spreads as it travels outward, so the sail has to be large enough to receive it.”

  “But if something punches through it, like a meteorite or…”

  “Meteoroid,” Graham said. “It’s not
a meteorite until it passes through Earth’s atmosphere. The sail is large enough it can take a few punch-throughs without losing efficiency.”

  “The reason why the beamsat is being located in Lagrange orbit is to minimize the number of occasions the beam will be interrupted by Earth’s sidereal orbit around the Sun.” Rich handed the joint back to Matt. “Everything is being automatically controlled by synchronized computers aboard both the beamsat and Galactique, so there’s little chance of the beam getting lost.”

  “But you’re still putting everything on faith.” The joint was little larger than a thumbnail by then, and Matt had to gently pluck it from Rich’s fingers. “I mean, it’s almost like religion for you guys.”

  No one said anything. Although it was a warm evening, it seemed as if the temperature had suddenly dropped a few degrees. “Is that what this seems like to you?” Chandi asked after a moment. “Religion?”

  “Sometimes, yeah.” Matt carefully put the joint to his lips, inhaled what was left of it. “I used to call it the Church of Galactique when my mom and dad were talking about it.”

  “Oh, bollocks.” Graham shook his head in disgust. “No wonder they tossed you out of the house.”

  Matt glared at him. “I left on my own. They didn’t…”

  “There’s a difference between religion and faith,” Chandi said. “Religion means you’ve accepted a set of beliefs even if those beliefs would appear to be irrational to anyone who doesn’t buy into them. Faith means you’ve chosen to accept something that you’ve given yourself the chance to question. It might still be something greater than you, or even God if you decide to go that way, but it’s not irrational. So, yes, we’re operating on faith … but it’s faith in something we’ve done ourselves, not divine providence.”

  Matt was already regretting what he’d said. Especially since he’d spoken while under the influence of Ile Sombre marijuana. “But at some point, it’s still something that’s no longer under your control. Once Galactique gets away from here, by the time you hear about anything going wrong, there won’t be much you can do about it.” He grinned. “Doesn’t make much difference if it’s not God … you’re still praying to a machine, right?”

  “Oh, Holy Galactique, please render thy blessings…” Rich began, then shut up when he caught Chandi scowling at him. “Sorry.”

  “That’s why we’re working so hard to make sure everything aboard checks out while we’ve got a chance to lay our hands on it.” Chandi was no longer looking at Rich; her dark eyes were angry as they fastened on Matt. “And that’s not just a machine I’m working on. It’s a vessel carrying what will one day be a human colony … my descendents included.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. Mine.” Chandi continued to stare at him. “I’ve donated my eggs, too. So far as I’m concerned, I’m sending my children to Eos. So I’m doing everything I can to make sure they arrive safely, and I’m placing faith in my efforts and everyone else’s that they will. So, no, this isn’t religion to me … and I’ll thank you to keep your bullshit analysis to yourself.”

  An uncomfortable silence. Rich broke it by clearing his throat again. “I could use some ice cream. Anyone care to…?”

  “Love to.” Chandi stood up from her chair, crooked her elbow so that he could take it. “Lead the way.”

  Matt watched as Rich gallantly escorted her across the patio, heading for the dining room where desserts were customarily laid out at the end of the meal. He might have been jealous if he didn’t know Rich was gay, but nonetheless he disliked seeing her being taken away by another man.

  “You rather stepped in it there, didn’t you?” Graham idly folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Word to the wise, lad … never accuse a scientist of practicing religion with his or her work.”

  “I’ll make it up to her.”

  “Sure you will. May I suggest how?”

  “I’ll apologize. Maybe some roses, too.”

  “Apologies would be proper, yes, although I doubt you’ll find a florist in Ste. Genevieve. Besides, I was thinking of something a bit more … um, symbolic, shall we say?”

  “Such as?”

  Graham smiled. “Donate a sperm sample.”

  Matt stared at him. “You gotta be kidding. Do you know what that sounds like?”

  “I know what it would sound like if it was anyone else but her. In Chandi’s case, though, it would mean that you’re willing to believe in the same things she does … that you’ll take the same leap of faith she has.”

  “That’s too weird for…”

  “Just an idea.” Graham shrugged. “Think it over.”

  VII

  Graham’s suggestion was strange, and Matt might have disregarded it as the sort of thing someone might have said while buzzed. Yet he remembered it the next morning, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. There was a poetic sort of appeal to the idea of donating sperm to the mission; as Graham said, it would mean that Matt had come around to Chandi’s way of thinking to the point that he was willing to send his genetic material on the same journey. Together with an apology, it might go far to heal the wound he’d made.

  Yet when he went to his father and told him what he wanted to do, Ben turned him down. “Sorry, son,” he said, “but your seat’s already taken … by your grandparents.”

  “What?”

  Ben Skinner stood up from his desk and walked over to the coffee maker. “Grandpa and Grandma were two of the very first people to donate sperm and egg specimens to the mission, way back when the Arkwright Foundation was getting started. In fact, I think they did it right after they got engaged. You know the story about the Legion of Tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “That’s the club my great-great-grandfather belonged to, isn’t it? The one with all the science fiction writers?”

  “Umm … sort of.” His father poured another cup of coffee for himself, then held up the carafe and raised an eyebrow, silently asking Matt if he’d like coffee, too. Matt shook his head and he went on. “There were only four people in the Legion, and just two of them were writers, both of them your great-great-grandfathers. We named you after Grandpa Harry’s pseudonym, in fact.”

  “I know, but what does this have to do with…?”

  “Because your grandfather and your grandmother both made donations, their genomes are already represented in Galactique’s gene pool. They’re carrying the seed, so to speak, for three members of the Legion … Nathan Arkwright, Margaret Krough, and Harry Skinner. If any of their descendents were to also donate egg or sperm specimens, this would introduce an element of uncertainty to the colony. What if your descendents met and fell in love with your grandmother’s descendent, and they decided to have kids?”

  “I don’t see how that would … oh. You’re talking about inbreeding.”

  “Right. They wouldn’t even know it, but they’d be effectively marrying within the family … and that would cause all sorts of problems in a small founding population.” His father walked over to a bookcase, pulled out a thick binder, and held it up. “This is our record of everyone who’ve made donations. We’ve spent many, many hours making sure no one who did is directly related to anyone else. Your mother was allowed to make a donation because she doesn’t belong to our bloodline, but I wasn’t, as much as I’d love to. So I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

  “Oh, well … it was just a thought.” Matt tried to hide his disappointment with a shrug.

  “Nice to see that you’ve taken an interest in this, though.” Ben returned the notebook to the bookcase. “May I ask why?”

  Matt was reluctant to explain his reasons. He was afraid his father would have found them childish. “Never mind. Just something I thought I’d like to do.”

  “Yes, well…” His father sighed as he went back to his desk. “Believe me, I wish I could help you, but the EFI system is going to be dicey enough as it is. I’m a little afraid of how things are going to work out once Galactique r
eaches Eos and it gets a closer look at the lay of the land. The genetic alterations that may have to be made…”

  His voice trailed off, but not before Matt’s curiosity was raised. “What sort of alterations?”

  Ben said nothing for a moment. Standing behind his desk, he turned to gaze at the launch pad. “It’s not something we’re really talking about in public—we’ve had enough trouble with the fundamentalists already—but it’s possible that the specimens may have to be genetically altered in the pre-embryonic stage to suit the planetary environment. Gliese 667C-e is a M-class red dwarf, smaller and cooler than our sun, while Eos itself is about one-third larger than Earth, with an estimated surface gravity about half again higher. We know that it probably has a carbon dioxide atmosphere with traces of water vapor, but even after Galactique drops the biopods and the place becomes habitable, in all likelihood any humans we put there will have to be changed in some very basic ways in order to survive.”

  “What sort of ways?”

  “The AI will make that determination once it surveys the planet. We’ve supplied it with the necessary parameters and given it some options which we believe are suitable, but…” His father paused. “Well, what comes out of the EFI cells will be probably different from what most people normally think of as human beings.”

  Matt felt a chill. He tried to imagine the sort of people his father described, but could only come up with a race of deformed children, shambling and monstrous. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Remaking humans, I mean.”

  “Really?” His father turned to give him an inquisitive look. “What do you think you’d see if you went back in time … say, four million years … and met your earliest ancestors, the australopithecines who were living in northern Africa? They didn’t look very much like us, either. And they’d probably by shocked by us, too. But evolution changed them. They adapted to their environment. That’s much what we’d be doing here … just a lot faster, that’s all.”