Ark

by Stephen Baxter

  ′I′ll do that,′ Susan Frasier said mildly.

  Kelly glanced around. ′I′d say we should stay close by the wreck. There′s wind shelter here, and we won′t have to move our gear - the water, the air recycler, the food boxes. Matt, you got that fire out?′

  ′Yeah. No toxic leaks, no fuel spill - we′re pretty safe here.′

  Mel nodded. ′So we set up the shelters here. I′ll lead one party - Venus, will you take the other?′

  ′Sure.′

  The rule on the ground, as in space, was always safety through redundancy. So though just one of the big fold-out shelters the shuttle carried would have been more than big enough for the pitiful handful of ′survivors′ of this simulated crash, they dutifully laid out two, side by side in the faked wreckage, and pulled pins to let their struts inflate, forming roomy, angular domes. The shelters were bright orange, like their pressure suits, and were made of tough Kevlar surrounding an airtight inner hull. The shelters were soon hooked up to power units, air scrubbers and water recyclers, all retrieved from the crash and checked over for damage.

  Mel decreed that pitons needed to be driven into the stony ground and guy ropes attached against the threat of wind, but the mocked-up radiation and ultraviolet readings his sensors supplied indicated they didn′t need any more in the way of radiation shielding, such as a layer of dirt over the fabric hulls. And he decided that for the sake of morale the shelters would be physically joined, with single-thickness zip-up panels leading to a connecting airlock between them.

  With the crash site safed and the shelters secured, the crew clambered inside, crawling in with parcels of food and spare clothing. Don joined them, strictly breaking the rules of the sim. The two couples, Mel and Holle, Don and Kelly, took Alpha, as Mel had called his dome. Meanwhile Zane, Venus, Susan and Matt took Beta. Because of Zane′s fake leg break he had to be manhandled through the airlock into the shelter.

  Holle and Mel crawled around their shelter gleefully, soon losing track of Kelly and Don. The interior was big, roomy, a masterpiece of fold-out architecture, with inflatable panels dividing the shelter up into wedge-shaped sectors, and a central pillar where they could set up a shower room and galley and do some science, investigating the planetary environment within which they were going to have to spend their lives.

  But all that could wait. Almost at random Holle and Mel settled on a wedge sector to serve as their own. The sloping roof was just high enough, at the centre, to stand. The light came from thick double-paned windows, and a wall panel that glowed brightly.

  They threw their bundles of blankets and clothing on the floor and faced each other. With a rasp of Velcro Mel pushed back his hood, pulled his goggles away from his eyes, leaving red panda rims, and pulled his mask away from his mouth; it came off his skin with a sucking sound. He ran his hand over his close-shaved scalp. ′Thank Christ for that.′

  ′You stink.′

  ′And you do a great slow strip out of an envo-suit.′

  ′You pervert.′ She grabbed his chest panel and pulled; it came away easily, and then she pushed up his vest.

  He went to work on her, unzipping zips and opening buckles and clasps and ripping Velcro seals. They were trained to get out of their suits fast, if need be, and were naked in seconds. He was already hard when he reached for her, and she squealed and jumped up at him. It took one lunge for him to be inside her, and then she had her arms around his neck, his strong hands under her thighs, and he walked, flexing his feet, letting gravity draw them together. Then, their lips locked, they fell together to the floor.

  As with so many other aspects of their lives, they had practised their lovemaking assiduously, and they were proficient.

  Though she had known Mel since they had both been thirteen, when he and Matt Weiss had been foisted on the Candidate group by Gordo Alonzo, it was only recently, the last few months, that they had hooked up together. Holle still wasn′t sure why it was Mel who had emerged as her partner, out of the swirl of brief, intense relationships that had swept through the Candidate group like a firestorm when they were fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Their relationship had never been obvious, the way Thomas and Elle had been obvious since they were kids, or Mike Wetherbee and Miriam Brownlee, thrown together through their work. And Holle wasn′t a voracious sampler like Cora Robles who, starting with poor, hapless, loyal Joe Antoniadi, had worked her way through most of the unattached men in the cadre. Holle had even had a brief experimental fling with Kelly Kenzie, when they found themselves isolated together on one desert-training exercise on the Uncompahgre Plateau - they′d both enjoyed it, but decided once was enough. Maybe it was because Mel had come from outside, having spent his first dozen years with his air force family in an environment quite unlike the one in which Holle had grown up since the age of six. Maybe something in her longed to be grounded - ironic for a woman who was likely to spend most of her life drifting among the stars.

  They lay together under a heap of blankets, and drank a little fruit juice.

  And then they began again. This time Holle worked her way on top. She′d discovered a variant of the on-all-fours back-flexing yoga exercise called ′cat′ that drove him crazy.

  Then they pulled on fresh AxysCorp coveralls, grabbed some food packets, and went to find the others.

  As Holle had expected Kelly and Don were waiting for them at the transparent airlock, the narrow neck that connected the two shelters. Zane and Venus were there in Beta on the far side, easily visible through the lock′s faintly misty transparent panels. Zane was on a low fold-out chair with his ′injured′ leg thrust out before him; he was sharing a pack of hot food with Venus. There was no sign of Matt or Susan.

  It was obvious that Kelly and Don had been making good of their opportunity just as had Holle and Mel. They sat huddled together, wrapped in blankets, sharing sips from a plastic flask. Kelly raised the flask to Holle. ′Malt whisky. Smuggled it in inside my suit.′ Her blond hair was loose, and falling down her neck. Her eyes were sleepy, a half-smile on her lips, and the curve of her bare back showed where the blanket had fallen forward.

  Holle smiled at her. ′That′s what I call your just-fucked look.′

  ′Well, you should know.′

  Zane and Venus worked doggedly at their food, their eyes lowered, and Holle regretted her remark.

  Whenever sex came up among the Candidates, Zane and Venus and Matt always held back, or got out of the way altogether. None of them had been known to have a relationship with anybody in the Academy. Holle had had a whispered conversation about this with Kelly one night. Zane and Venus were both close to Harry Smith. Maybe Matt too. Kelly said bluntly that she thought Harry was running some kind of harem, of both men and women. Holle suspected she might be right. But none of the ′harem′ were talking. It was up to them to fight their own battles.

  Mel asked, ′So where′s Matt and Susan?′

  ′Matt′s off by himself,′ Venus said. ′Working, I think.′

  Kelly frowned. ′He spends too much time alone. He′ll be marked down for that.′ On the crowded Ark, it mightn′t be possible to go off in isolation; you were supposed to socialise.

  ′And Susan′s gone out,′ Zane said bluntly, around a mouthful of food.

  ′Out where? Oh, shit,′ Don said. ′Not to meet Pablo?′ Pablo was a kid, a bit younger than Susan, from one of the big IDP camps near Denver. ′She should keep away from eye-dees like him.′

  Kelly reached out of her blanket and slapped his beefy arm. ′Stop using that disgusting word.′

  ′Well, President Peery uses it,′ said Venus, her eyes on Don, provocative. ′All your DPD buddies use it - don′t they, Don?′

  ′What if they do? Just a word.′

  ′You still hanging around with those Covenanters?′

  Don snapped, ′That′s my business.′

  The Covenanters were a quasi-religious network with a philosophy that justified personal survival. This had come out of the circles of the super-rich,
safe in their fortress-like gated communities and their vast ocean-going craft. In contrast to his predecessor President Peery endorsed their creed, and was plugging it in his speeches, as a justification for his regime′s treatment of refugees. Holle′s father said that he believed people were reaching for theological justifications for the cruelty they were forced to inflict by circumstance, and that was what Peery was providing. It might be a comfort for somebody like Don.

  But Venus said, ′Everything the Covenanters say disgusts me.′

  Don took a slug of the liquor, unperturbed. ′Everything you′ve heard, maybe. You want to come along on a patrol some time?′

  ′Can it,′ Zane said sharply. ′We′re going to be too busy to squabble. We just got sent an exercise for tomorrow.′ He had a laptop at his feet. ′I′ll send the details to your machines.′

  Mel groaned. ′What exercise?′

  ′They′re making us go through a root-and-branch review of the launch system, the Orion stage. The engineering decisions made so far. We have to come back with a retrospective report on everything: the use of polyethylene versus aluminium to line the pusher plate, the two-stage shock absorber system, the non-linear instabilities you get when the plasma flow from one nuclear blast mixes with the turbulent ablation products left over from the previous blast, how we can cut down the AI systems to fit the capacity of the milspec radiation-hardened chips we′ll have to use …′

  Kelly frowned. ′What′s that got to do with the sim? The Orion will have been discarded light years back by the time we get to Earth II.′

  ′Yes. But there will be science to be done on Earth II, from the moment we land. The science of how to stay alive, to begin with. I think they wanted to set us some useful academic work to do in these conditions - hard thinking, in surface suits. Oh, and they gave us a swing. An hour per day for each of us, mandatory, in our envo-suits.′

  More groans. But a swing, no more elaborate than a child′s garden toy, had been found to be a good sim of the crew′s experience of the Orion in flight, with a surge in acceleration of a few gravities coming every few seconds as each bomb went off under the pusher plate - surge, float, surge, float, just like riding through the bottom of a swing′s arc.

  Kelly quickly brought the conversation around to the topic that had been dominating their small world since the social engineers had dropped it on them: the issue of newly pregnant women being allowed into the crew. In her competitive, logical way Kelly had done more hard thinking on the topic than anybody else.

  ′You see how it affects us? Think of this. You go for it, you see the launch day coming, so two, three months ahead you find some stud at random and get yourself knocked up. You′re increasing your chances, you think. You′ll be just ripe when the launch day comes, so you plan. But then there′s a postponement. Six months, say, nothing drastic. But that′s the end of you because when the Ark flies you will have a belly like a balloon, or, worse yet, a kid in your arms. Wave bye bye, and book your swimming lessons.′

  Venus said, ′You′re talking about giving birth. About the bond between mother and child. The most primal aspects of our humanity. How can you be so calculating?′

  ′Because that′s the position the social engineers have put us in,′ Kelly said fiercely. ′You have to take this seriously, because if you don′t some hard-headed bitch out there is going to play the game better than you and steal your seat.′

  ′Whatever the soc-eng people say, we don′t have to dance to their tune—′

  There was a scream.

  Venus shut up immediately. It had been like a bird′s call, muffled by the shelter′s thick layers of fabric.

  ′Human,′ Don said.

  ′Susan,′ said Holle.

  Don jumped to his feet, exposing his legs and backside. ′Let′s go.′

  Zane struggled with the inflated splint that encased his leg. ′Wait - the sim protocols—′

  Don had a gun in his hand. It must have been under the blanket. ′Screw that.′ He ran to the wall and pulled a quick-release tag; the panel peeled away. Against a background of mountains and dull early evening sky, Holle saw people, and drifting smoke. Don rushed out, blanket clutched around his waist, gun held out before him.

  26

  The Candidates emerged from the shelters′ linked orange bubbles, their blankets wrapped around them. None of them were armed, save Don.

  Holle tried to take in the scene. Ragged people, a line of them, marched warily towards the shelters. They were armed, but as far as Holle could see only with torches, knives, what looked like machetes. They were all adults, but Holle couldn′t tell their ages in the dim light. She wasn′t even sure if they were men or women. She wondered how they had got past the Academy security cordon. It was obvious what they wanted. The Candidates had good-quality shelter, warm clothing and blankets, food, clean water - a mess of materiel that could transform the lives of these people.

  At the centre of the line was Susan. She had her jumpsuit pulled down to the waist, revealing her underwear, her white bra; they must have caught her with Pablo. She had her hands tied behind her back, and her head yanked back by a woman who had her hand wrapped in her hair. Susan seemed calm enough, uninjured.

  Don stood with his gun held before him in both hands. His blanket had dropped, leaving him naked, his body pale. He said nothing. The others gathered behind him.

  ′I′m sorry,′ Susan called. ′They followed me, and when I met Pablo they grabbed us both. I think he′s OK - they hit him—′

  ′He′s alive,′ said the woman holding her. She had a Californian accent. She sounded young, maybe no older than Susan herself. ′We′re not killers. We′re just hungry.′

  ′That′s close enough,′ said Don.

  They stopped. The woman stepped out from behind Susan, just a single pace. ′We just want—′

  Don fired.

  The woman′s head exploded, a crimson flower. She twitched, dropped. Her hand stayed clamped on Susan′s hair, and Susan was dragged down on top of her, screaming. The other bandits stood in shock, for a heartbeat, two. In that time Don plugged his way along the line, one shot, two, three, a single round for each victim. They fell in the dirt, their blood bright. Before he got to the fourth the others had broken and were running. Don shot off a fourth round, a fifth, but they were soon out of range. Don started speaking to his bare wrist; he must have had an implant radio.

  Holle was the first to break out of the shock. She ran to Susan. She was crying, and her right shoulder and breast were covered by streaked blood, and a paler fleshy material, and what looked like shards of bone. She was plucking ineffectually at her coverall. Holle helped her get her arms into the sleeves.

  Kelly stood before Don, her blanket wrapped tightly around her body. ′You killed them,′ she said. ′Without hesitation.′

  ′Fucking eye-dees,′ he said flatly. He was breathing hard, but was otherwise calm. Holle was astonished to see he had an erection.

  Kelly stared at him. ′Sometimes I think I don′t know you at all.′ And then, abruptly, she clutched her stomach and cried out. She doubled up, the blanket exposing her shoulders, her blond hair drifting over her face.

  Venus hurried to her. ′Kelly? Kelly, honey? What′s wrong?′

  Kelly shuddered and threw up, a thin bile spewing from her mouth in loopy strings. She looked up at Venus, and at Holle, and at Don, with his gun, naked. ′Shit.′ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ′I think I′m pregnant.′

  27

  SEPTEMBER 2039

  When the Academy′s final evacuation was called, the Candidates were told to assemble in the hollowed-out shell of the old museum′s IMAX theatre.

  When she got to the theatre Holle looked around frantically. The theatre was in chaos, mobbed by cops and air force troopers and Homeland drones. The theatre′s terracing of seats was covered with people and their gear, hastily packed up. Mixed in with the drab military colours, the Candidates stood out, colourful as exotic birds.<
br />
  She spotted Kelly standing close to the theatre exit, bundles piled at her feet. Don Meisel was at her side in police body armour with a heavy automatic weapon cradled in his arms. Like Holle, Kelly wore a label on her chest numbered ′B-6′, the number of the armoured bus they were supposed to take out of Denver. Kelly had her baby, Dexter, just two months old, in a bright red papoose on her chest. Kelly bounced the little boy, murmuring to him, while his father glared around, tense, nervous. Parenthood had made the two of them seem older than their age, just twenty-one.

  Holle shoved her way through the crowd, her own pack on her back and with the last of Kelly′s gear, baby clothes and diapers, in big canvas holdalls in her hands. When she got through she dropped the bags at Kelly′s feet. Everybody seemed to be yelling, and she had to shout to make herself heard. ′I think I got everything this time.′

  ′Thanks, Holle, you′re a true friend.′

  ′It was hell getting through to here. Why did they switch the egress point to the IMAX?′

  ′No choice,′ Don said. ′There′s trouble at the main entrance. Too many people want a piece of you Candidates today. We couldn′t guarantee your security. So it had to be this way.′

  That was not reassuring. The Academy was being cleared in the midst of the chaos of a city-wide evacuation. Mel was already gone, sent on ahead to the Candidates′ new facility at Gunnison. She wished he was here, so they could support each other like Kelly and Don. ′The sooner we′re on that bus heading down the 285 the better.′

  ′Rog that,′ said Don.

  Kelly asked, ′Have you heard any news about the warp test?′

  ′Not yet.′ Amid the chaos of the abandonment of Denver, Project Nimrod continued its own dogged course. Today was the scheduled date of an unmanned test of the warp bubble technology. A speck of antimatter had been tucked into the nose of an Ares stick, the intention being to create a bubble in Earth orbit. The bubble would fly off at superluminal speeds, but not before being sighted by observers on the ground and by spaceborne instruments. A corner of Holle′s mind fretted over that crucial milestone, even if it was just a distraction from more immediate problems.