Building Harlequin’s Moon

by Larry Niven

  When Erika tired of new sights and led the way to her room, Gabriel was nearly too tired to make it down the corridor. But of course, she woke him up expertly.

  Afterward, he held her softly and smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning, Gabriel slept far later than usual. He woke and reached for her, and found the bed next to him empty. Erika stood against the wall, checking ship stats, already dressed in a tight yellow pressure suit. He asked, “Don’t you want breakfast first?”

  “I want to fly.”

  Gabriel dressed to match Erika. They caught their hair back in nets, and Gabriel followed Erika up to the docking station, where Erika’s Triumph sat ready in the lock. She had named the glass ball of a ship to balance that misplaced crater; but she called the ship Triumph. “It’ll remind us of what we have to do.”

  All by herself—barring Astronaut—Erika had rebuilt one of the slow Service Armor configurations to make Triumph. Fiddling with the LOX and LH engine, she teased it to use a touch more propellant than it was designed for, adding thrust. She added range with an extra water tank, and scientific usefulness with double the normal complement of cameras.

  The little ship actually handled better than its unaltered counterparts. She claimed Astronaut helped her, but the AI proclaimed that Erika had made all of the design decisions herself. From the outside, Triumph looked like the twenty other Service Armors. It was a round glass ball festooned with robotic arms, just enough interior room for two, guts and controls visible through a clear hull laced with black carbon threads so fine they seemed more like smoke than strength.

  Erika climbed into the pilot’s seat. Gabriel hung back, looking, then used his radio. “Hey, that yellow suit makes you look like a banana in a shake glass.”

  She refused to answer, pulling wraparound sunshades over her eyes and gesturing impatiently for Gabriel to climb in.

  Even modified, Triumph was designed only for travel near John Glenn. Never meant to fly in atmosphere, the little ship launched simply: the lock opened and Triumph puffed out, far enough that problems with the initial engine lightoff couldn’t hurt the parent ship.

  They dropped into open space from the Insystem Service Pod, a drum-shaped warehouse as capacious as the city of Aldrin. The ISP section of John Glenn hadn’t been given spin. They had to fly around it to see details. The arrowhead that made up the front cone of John Glenn protected smaller vehicles clamped to the forward rim of the ISP. Erika took them through a forest of tugs and miners, avoiding tall spikes of attachment legs and huge deflated bags that mining or scooping trips would fill with volatiles. She flew so close and fast that Gabriel reached out to balance himself more than once.

  John Glenn was large enough to fool the eye into seeing a horizon. Erika took them toward it, curving around the giant ISP cylinder. Blue and gold and white rings rose like a rainbow, and then the orb of the planet Harlequin itself. She flew them as far from the ship as she dared and shook her fist at Harlequin, screaming, “I WILL leave you,” into her mouthpiece.

  Gabriel hesitated, thinking of Selene. But he joined her, and they turned it into a chant, and he felt more aligned with his younger self than he had in years. He didn’t tell her so directly, but after they parked Triumph, he held her to him, not wanting to let her go.

  When they went down the corridor to find breakfast, Erika shook her hair free of its netting and said, “Wow I know I’m alive.”

  CHAPTER 33

  THREAT

  MORNING LIGHT STREAMED through the clear greenhouse roof, illuminating a thousand tiny curves of yellow-green seedlings. Rachel and Nick tested and poked at the baby plants, making notes to leave for the students. Three months into her first class, Rachel was grateful for Nick’s help. He came to the school greenhouse whenever his crew was in town and helped her grade work.

  Rachel examined the unevenly planted sprouts, noting that some near the edges were broken at the stem. “I don’t remember ever being as sloppy as these kids,” she muttered.

  “Selene was different then. We had more hope,” Nick said.

  Rachel winced. Nick was twice her effective age, and yet she alone of their graduating class had been allowed to teach. The rest worked hard, raised families, and did what they were told. She’d found ways to fit in since coming back, but no ways to belong. There were so many new tensions.

  She sighed. “When I started this class, I hoped it would make a difference. But look at this work!”

  “It’s made a difference to me to have you back,” Nick said, smiling at her.

  The first students flew over the greenhouse toward the meadow. “Wish me luck,” she said. “Drop in tonight? At Harry and Gloria’s? I promised Gloria her first history lesson, and you might be interested.”

  Nick smiled wanly. “Sure,” he said. His voice was flat, unenthusiastic. Maybe we are all different now? she thought, I can’t see myself, after all.

  It was the final test day for her first solo class. She would deliver an opening address before the hard work of testing began. Her notes matched classes she and Ursula had taught together. The students were surlier, less excited, and more easily distracted than Rachel remembered from her own classes. She wanted to fail half of them for inattention. They wouldn’t all pass, and that worried her.

  Shane had planned to come and help today, but he’d called to postpone. A crew had rolled a planter onto its side trying to back down a small hill. He’d promised that he or Star would make it back to help her announce the results.

  She glanced around the meadow to be sure she was alone, then spoke quietly into the air. “I’m scared.”

  “I know,” Astronaut responded, its voice speaking softly through the Library bud.

  “Do you get scared?” Rachel asked.

  “I feel concern about negative outcomes. I do not undergo metabolic changes.”

  “You’re being your usual certain self,” Rachel complained. “How about if you tell me if you think you get scared.”

  “What do I risk by teaching you?”

  They might wipe Astronaut’s mind, or edit it down to the level of a planter combine’s autopilot. “Are we safe?”

  “Treesa’s on duty.” Cryptic reassurance that the garden woman was awake and applying her skills to make small changes in the data flow, masking conversations between Rachel and Astronaut, sometimes hiding Rachel’s talks with others. Treesa had little confidence in her work if someone looked closely. Even on Selene, the information flow was too rich for Treesa and her programs to handle every possible camera and sensor. Astronaut had no rights that would let him change data. He helped by steering Treesa to the most important data flows. Rachel spared little worry that Shane or Star had time to watch her, but idle eyes watched Selene constantly aboard John Glenn.

  She pushed her fears way. Lessons with Astronaut were a nightly ritual. She had moved into her own small home near the greenhouses, ostensibly to tend the student greenhouses on off days. Treesa and Astronaut had convinced her she needed to begin teaching others. Her own fears were nothing compared to her fear that Council would fuel their ship and abandon Selene. What if she lost the rich resources of John Glenn, lost Gabriel and Astronaut and Treesa?

  Treesa and Astronaut had Rachel studying Joan of Arc, Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and Hitler. Treesa had told Rachel she needed to understand the impact a single individual could have. Rachel understood that they had all died violently.

  Rachel, Nick, and Harry and his family often met and talked about ways to gain more freedom. She would begin with education, with her opening talk for testing day. Her speech didn’t break any rules she’d been told about. Shane and Star wouldn’t like it, but they wouldn’t be back until later that afternoon, when it was time to announce results.

  Ali had perched on this same dais to lecture Rachel’s graduating class. Rachel sat cross-legged before her fifteen students. She had thought about what to say, had talked to Astronaut and Treesa about it, but now her mouth was d
ry and it was hard to start. She licked her lips, swallowed, and said, “We are important. What we do here on Selene is important. We are building a home.”

  Half the class watched her closely. Some boys in the back were whispering to each other. She raised her voice. “I know it seems like we are working only for Council. We do their bidding, and in turn they feed us and clothe us—”

  One of the boys in the back, Sam, raised his hand. He had been trouble all along, and his surliness reminded her of Andrew. Ignore him?

  “Sam?”

  Belligerently, “We don’t have any other choices. No one gives us any.”

  Rachel remembered Treesa’s words. “We do have choices. We can choose how we react. Even better, we can work smarter than they expect us to. We can ask questions. We can learn as much as possible, and show them how smart we are.”

  Sam interrupted, “Council doesn’t listen to us.”

  He was right. But why? “When they give us opportunities to teach and learn, we can ask questions. We don’t ask enough questions even of ourselves. We accept whatever we’re told. But we—all—every one of you has learned more about what we’re doing just by being in this class.”

  “Asking questions isn’t going to help,” Sam said. She heard not belligerence now, but frustration. “They never listen to us. Even most of the Earth Born won’t answer questions.”

  “Sam, let me finish. Council has a problem. There aren’t enough of them to do everything here. They need us to help. They will never say so. But some of us have been doing the math. Council can’t meet their goals if they don’t use more of us to run teams. We have to be ready. We have to learn well, and work hard, and show them that we can do more than they let us do now.”

  Sam had turned away from her and was whispering to his friends. Rachel kept talking. It was important for her to have control, but at least some of the Children must understand what she was telling them.

  “I’ve seen how much some of you have learned. One way to learn more is to watch. Be careful, be smart. I’m taking the top three students with me into the field for two days. I hope that those of you in that group will think about what I’ve said, and be willing to talk about how to make ourselves more useful to Council while we’re gone. Not for Council’s sake, but for our own. We are the Children of Selene.” She noticed which students listened. It was enough . . . a beginning. Maybe it would make some of them think.

  She moved the class on to final testing. There were no student plots to review; Rachel wasn’t allowed the extended curriculum Gabriel had used with her.

  The afternoon passed, the students with their heads down over their pads. Rachel set them playing and carefully graded everything, watching constantly for Shane or Star. She stood on the edge of the field watching the students. They were restless, watching her.

  Rachel sighed and climbed onto the dais, doing her best to look official. She called the students over to give them final scores. She’d agreed to this role, but she didn’t like it. Not unsupported. Shane or Star should be here.

  “First, the top three students are Beth Rachel, Kelly, and Eric.” Then she read off a list that included all but three of the other students. “All of you did well enough to pass, although some of you barely squeaked by. That means Shane or Star will assign you to work crews. But in the meantime, you’ve got three days off.”

  The children got up and left, all except Sam, Rudy, and Antonia. Beth waited at the edge of the field, and Rachel gestured to her to stay. It made her feel a little better to have Beth waiting for her. She looked around for any sign of Shane or Star. This speech was as hard to start as her first one had been. “Sam, Rudy, and Antonia. I’m sorry, but you three simply didn’t do enough of the work to pass. You may petition Shane or Star to take the class again, or you can join the planting crews as failed students, which means you won’t get very good job assignments. I’d suggest the first choice, but I can’t speak for Shane or Star, and I don’t know what they’ll let you do.”

  Antonia stood up and left, walking fast, as if she didn’t want Rachel to see she was disappointed. Sam and Rudy looked at each other and stood up slowly. Sam glared at her, not moving, not saying anything. Rachel tensed for a problem. She breathed out a slow sigh of relief when they turned and walked away. They didn’t look back at her, but she heard an angry edge to their words as they talked to each other, even though she couldn’t tell what they were saying.

  Beth and Rachel walked back from the test with the light falling to gray, talking about how to pack gear into small packs they needed for the trip.

  Trees at the side of the path rustled and Sam and Rudy stepped in front of them, barring their way. Sam’s eyes darted around, looking for other people, and then he focused on Rachel, letting his rage show.

  Rachel stopped and said, “Beth, why don’t you go on, and head home to get your gear packed.”

  Beth’s voice quivered, but she said, “No, I’ll wait for you.”

  Rachel stayed quiet, forcing the boys to take the offensive or leave.

  Sam glared at her. “You’re not supposed to be here. We don’t want you to be our teacher.” Rudy said nothing but stood behind Sam, arms crossed. Sam continued. “You should have passed me. If you were really one of us, you would have passed me. It’s not right to pretend you’re on our side, and then betray us. You need to—to go back to John Glenn. We don’t need your kind here.”

  “My kind? There’s only one of me, Sam.” It dawned on her that John Glenn’s, spin gravity had made her stronger than he was. One blow would knock him sprawling. Was he armed?

  “I believe I’m a lot like you.” She was pleased that her voice sounded strong. “You know we’re watched,” she warned.

  “Council doesn’t bother to watch much,” Rudy said from behind Sam.

  Sam pressed on. “If you were like us, you’d be the same age as our parents. You’re almost like Council.” Sam drew himself up, looking more confident now that he’d gotten most of his message out. He finished by repeating himself “You don’t belong. Go live forever somewhere else. We didn’t ask you to come teach us.”

  “She does too belong!” Beth’s voice was stronger, although she remained behind Rachel.

  “Sam, you get your wish. I won’t teach you. Don’t ever come back to my class. Excuse us,” Rachel said, taking Beth’s hand and stepping toward the pair.

  Rudy moved next to Sam, removing any chance the women had’of snaking past the young men. “Not until you agree that you don’t belong here.” His voice was edgy, and Rachel checked her wrist pad. Yes, it was sending to Astronaut and Treesa.

  Sam reached toward her.

  CHAPTER 34

  FIGHTING WORDS

  RACHEL SIDESTEPPED, TRYING to watch Sam and Rudy at the same time. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Beth.

  A new voice spoke from the side of the path. “Sam, is that what you want?”

  Sam stopped in midstride. His hand fell to his side.

  “They’ll bring more newly warmed Earth Born to help guide and teach you. I’d have thought you had enough of that already.” The speaker, a tall man about Nick’s age, stepped onto the path between Sam and Rachel.

  Sam immediately lost the defiance in his voice. “Hhh-hello, Andrew.”

  Rachel would have known him anywhere. The cold anger on his face looked just like it did the last time she saw him, defiant and tough and confident.

  Andrew’s eyes flicked toward Rachel. “Tell him why you failed him.”

  She didn’t want to follow Andrew’s orders—she had to retain control of the situation somehow or she’d never succeed with Sam or Rudy. “He knows. Sam can tell you how much he studied, or not.”

  No one responded. Rachel used the moment to study Andrew. He was thin and tall, and muscles stood out in cords along his neck and arms. A scar snaked down the side of his left arm. He still wore metal armbands. His hair was cropped short. With a start, she realized that Andrew had grown into an attractive man.
He was much more physically powerful than most Children. A moment ago, she had expected to outface the two students. Now, she didn’t know what to do. She focused her gaze on Andrew’s face.

  “Well,” he said, “aren’t you happy to see an old friend?”

  Rachel stepped backward, pushing Beth Rachel behind her again.

  Andrew looked at Sam and Rudy, and said, “Don’t ever let me catch you bothering Rachel again. Leave us.”

  They vanished into the brush.

  Rachel heard footsteps crunching on dry leaves and caught herself wishing they hadn’t gone. Andrew worried her more than Sam and Rudy.

  Beth spoke from behind her, sounding happy. “Hi, Andrew, thanks. They were being bullies again. They make me so mad when they act like that! I don’t know what they have against Rachel.”

  Andrew spoke gently to the younger girl. “Rachel has more power than they do, and they don’t understand her. When I was Sam’s age, I used to get mad at her too.”

  What did he mean? “Sam reminds me of you,” Rachel said.

  “I was like Sam.” His voice sounded tight, controlled, and this time when he looked at her she saw naked longing. It scared her. What did he want?

  His voice was oddly gentle as he said, “Run along, Beth—I need to talk to your namesake.”

  Beth smiled hesitantly at Rachel, but she obeyed Andrew as quickly as Sam and Rudy had, walking away down the middle of the path. She looked back once, as if to say “It’s okay,” and then she rounded a bend and was gone.

  Rachel was alone with Andrew. Why did everyone, even Beth, do what he wanted?

  He looked at the ground, shifted, and finally looked back up at her, searching her eyes for something he didn’t seem to find. “I’m sorry. I’ve owed you this a long time. A real apology. I replanted the tree, Rachel, but it died. I didn’t mean for the tree to die—I asked Harry to tell you that. It would have been just a joke if the tree hadn’t died.” His eyes bored into hers, deeply black and intense. He seemed to be waiting for something more, and then he just said, “Rachel, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of the things I was to you, and to everyone. I . . . I missed you when you were gone. I didn’t come find you right away, because I didn’t expect you to come back the same age as when you left.”