The twelve long-range navigation drones were no longer of any value, so Rammix sent out the destruct signal. No sense in having twelve, eight mass-ton objects traveling at point five-nine c colliding with anything. After detonation there would be debris, nothing more than one standard mass-gram, traveling off in all directions. Some would impact somewhere, sometime. That was a calculated risk. Most would wander harmlessly out of the galaxy, some would end up as food for hungry stars or other deep gravity wells, and a small portion would make craters on airless worlds, satellites, and rocks. An estimated one-thousandth of one percent would create spectacular displays as they exploded in someone's atmosphere.
Upon crossing the programmed Gamma system threshold, Rammix jettisoned the forward shield cone that was riding uselessly behind after the braking maneuver had been performed. The cone unit was slowed to what Rammix considered a safe speed, then it, too, was destroyed. Piece by spent piece, Rammix reduced the Hermes to the efficient in-system machine it would need to be to perform its coming duties.
* * * *
Her first awareness was a gentle humming, followed shortly after by a burning pain at her ankles, knees, hips, wrists, elbows and throat where she had been subjected to mechanical manipulation every sixth week for—for what—two hundred and twenty years? Oh, no. No, no, no, that was wrong. Relativistically adjusted it was a mere one hundred and seventy-seven or so years. Pod tests had never felt like this. Had they made it, or was this part of some massive malfunction? A painful beginning to a painless end?
Her eyes were closed, sealed with a protective fluid, but the light filtering through her eyelids filled her head with a stabbing pain. She tried to swallow.
Oh god, bad mistake. Come on, Rammix, let's get this over with before I go nuts.
A voice echoed in from the blinding whiteness, and if she could have flinched, she would have.
“Don't say anything, Alex. It could damage your larynx, and I'd have to build you a new one. If you can hear me, squeeze your eyes a little, okay?"
Lavan. Lavan and her staff had been scheduled to be brought out two months ahead to monitor as Rammix revived the rest of the crew. While she concentrated on closing her eyes harder, she wondered if anyone had thought about what would have transpired if Rammix had made a mistake while bringing out the medical staff. At first nothing happened, then she vaguely felt the edges of her eyes wrinkle in response.
“That's good, Alex. Well, boss, as much as I hate to admit it, that mechanical magpie of ours has done a pretty good job as a babysitter. We've had some problems, but we'll go into that later. In the meantime, remember what I told you. Don't make a sound for at least two days. I'll let you know when it's all right. Now, relax, and I'll be back in a couple of hours to get that gunk out of your eyes."
The sound of Lavan's feet padding away told Pax that Hermes was slowing, and, from the labored cadence, she knew the negative acceleration was still high. Things were going according to the program. She relaxed, and sleep began to sweep through her consciousness. No, she didn't want to sleep. She wanted to be awake, to know what it was like as her body came back from the near-dead. Her protest was too weak, and sleep overtook her—there was nothing she could do to resist. Sedative?
* * * *
“Hello, darling. Where on Earth have you been?"
“Oh, hi Mom. I've been on a long trip to a far, far away."
“Well, I'm glad you could come back, dear. I was beginning to worry. It's getting late in life, you know. Would you like a big, really cold glass of milk and a cookie?"
“Sure, Mom, I'd like that a lot. Where's Dad?"
“Oh, I'm sorry sweetie, your father won't be here tonight. See, he was gutted at the Allenby Outlet last night. Now, be a dear and sit down while mommy gets your milk.
Pax sat in the little wooden chair painted with daisy patterns in impossible colors her father had made for her when she was five. Metal clamps shot out and grabbed her ankles, knees, hips, elbows, and wrists. A braided rope of her mother's hair snaked around her throat and tightened, pulling her head against the high back of the chair.
“Bad move, little girl,” Rammix said.
“Now, try not to scream,” Lavan added. “You'll ruin your larynx."
Her mother returned and set a frosty glass of milk topped with a giant oatmeal and raisin cookie on the table and smiled.
“Oh, now look. Poor dear, you can't reach them."
“Watch out, little girl,” Rammix said. “According to my calculations, this biological entity shows a high probability of wanting to bring your functions to an end."
“Shut up, Rammix,” Lavan said. “You're scaring her."
“Stop it, Mom."
“Stop what, sweetie?"
“Stop trying to hurt me. I won't let you do it any more."
“Oh? And how will you stop me, dear? Run away again?"
“Mom, I'm warning you. Stop it."
“Well said, little girl,” Rammix said. “I must advise you, however, that plans made by biologicals are often flawed. Would you like me to run out some options for you?"
“No, thank you, Rammix."
“Leave her alone, Rammix. This is her dream, and she'll take care of it in her own way. Won't you, Alex?"
“Who's Rammix, dear?"
“A friend."
“You? You have a friend? You never had any friends when you were here, sweetie. Remember?"
“Mom, I'm not going to tell you again. Stop it."
“Stop it? Stop it? You little witch. You steal all my money, fool me with a worthless insurance policy, and you're telling me to stop it?"
“That's right."
“I'll stop it when I'm damned good and ready. Now, where did I put that knife?"
“Mother, listen to me. You—are—dead. D-e-a-d. You have been dead at least a hundred and thirty years. Do you understand? Dead. You're past tense. Bones and dust. Crap to crap. R-I-P."
“Oh, ho-ho, trying to fool mommy again—aha, here it is—with nonsense? Well, I've got you where I've always wanted you. Don't you think I saw how David looked at you when you were born? How his attention always went to you before me? You seduced him with those big gray eyes and curly yellow hair when you were a baby. Then you wiggled your rotten little fanny at him later. Well—he's gone, and you can't get away with that any more."
It had been there in her subconscious all along. The why of her mother's violent behavior toward her was a stew of lousy, psychotic jealousy. A jealousy reaching out over a hundred and thirty light years to kill her spirit and smash her will. She wasn't going to be successful this time. Not this time, by God.
Pax conjured up the entrance to the Undercity, and they were transported to a dense eucalyptus grove. A huge mound of dirt and leaves rose in the center, and a rusted steel door sealed the opening in the mound. Scattered before the massive metal door the skeletal remains of a man stood out in sharp contrast—stark white against the browning leaves.
She reached down and retrieved the skull reverently, cradling it tenderly in her palms. Tears streamed from her eyes as she gently laid a kiss on it, then thrust it out toward her mother. Her mother recoiled to avoid being touched by it. She was still clinging to the knife.
“This is my father. He loved us both. Did you know that?"
“He loved you—not me."
“If that's true, why did he stay with you? He could have taken me any time and left you to wallow in the muck of your self-pity. He didn't have to stay."
“You little snot. You can't ... talk to me like that."
The knife fell to the ground.
“I'll talk to you as I please. You're mine, damn you. A memory. A complex set of electrochemical connections. An imagining. A nightmare from a dead past as dry as the bones of my father. I'm going to a new life. A new world."
“And what do you plan to do with me?"
“Something I should have done a long time ago. I intend to put you where you belong, Mother."
Pax toss
ed the skull to her mother, who, taken by surprise, involuntarily caught it and instantly burst into searing white flame. The light from the flame drove shots of unbearable pain into Pax's head as it burned brighter, hotter. The image of her mother writhing in the flame collapsed and melted into the sand at the mouth of the Undercity entrance, but the white brilliance persisted for a time before dulling to a deep red.
“All right, Alex, you can try opening your eyes. I warn you, don't expect too much for a few minutes, and it's going to be painful, even in this red light. Don't say anything."
* * * *
Pax looked out over the neatly arranged rows of crisp brown and yellow dress uniforms assembled on the shuttle deck and smiled.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back."
Some feet shuffled and hundreds of smiles were beamed back at her.
“I gathered you here for three reasons. The most important of them is to pay our respects to the ones who are no longer with us. As was expected, we have suffered stasis casualties. We have eighteen dead. Their names have been posted in the Rammix. To those of you who were near to them, I want you to know that I'm truly sorry about your personal losses.
“SESC protocol dictates the dead be consigned to space. We are not going to do that. All of my crew is going planetside, and our dead will be given proper burial there. We'll all land together."
A quiet, respectful applause rose from the group, then subsided as Pax raised her hand.
“We have an additional thirty-one organ failures who are awaiting regrowths, and six more for appendage replacement. Dr. Lavan has advised me that most of them will be back among us before we make planetfall, and the others will follow shortly after.
“Damage to Hermes has been relatively minor on the whole. We will have to put up with zero g conditions for about a month after negative acceleration is completed, unless one of our more clever engineers can come up with a way of spinning the rings before the thrusters are repaired. We're also going to have to double up some of you because K-section has been holed and will require about five months to repair."
That comment brought some mumbling and a lot of head-turning from those scheduled to be berthed in K-section.
“People, please. It's only temporary until we can reconfigure some of the other areas on board. Thirty days—no more, I promise. Now, I've saved the best for last. The Rammix report on this system shows five planets around Gamma One. The fourth planet is our destination. Life has been confirmed, technology confirmed, human signature confirmed. However, the eccentricity of orbits in this system is high, and we are going to be making insertion near the planet's apoapsis, so get out your warm clothes. Rammix tells us that, even though the planet is under an active greenhouse, it's going to be very, very cold when we touch down. Any information you may want or need may be obtained from the Rammix. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gamma One component of Volans. Dismissed."
* * * *
“You wanted to see me, Alex?"
Pax peered over the top of her desk monitor where information on the planet was being continually revised as new data became available. Lavan was standing in the door, her loose-fitting fatigue blouse open to the fourth button revealing that the spray of freckles on her face was, in fact, the prelude to a waterfall that washed down over her chest.
“Yes, Marta. Please, come in and close the door. This is just for the two of us."
“Oooooo, I smell mystery. I love mysteries. What's on your mind?"
“I ... I want to be a mother, Marta. I want a baby of my own."
“You what?"
“Seriously. I know I can do it."
Lavan leaned back against the bulkhead and rubbed at her chin.
“You are serious, aren't you? Okay, stop by the lab tomorrow and we'll get started on it."
“No. Not yet. I want to do it on planet, after we have established ourselves there. And I want to do it the old-fashioned way."
“What? You mean with a man and all that?"
“I don't think so, no. Let's say I'm undecided on that part of it. What I meant was, I want to carry it. Give birth, breast feed and all that. What do you think?"
“Professionally, or personally?"
“Both."
“Professionally I can see nothing wrong with it, although I don't see why you'd want to subject a perfectly good body to all that stress when it isn't necessary. On the personal side, I think you ought to turn yourself over to the psych people for an evaluation."
“Why? Because I want to do something that's been perfectly natural for who knows how many millions of years? Not fashionable, right?"
“No, it's because you're talking about something that's been perfectly unnatural for over seven hundred years."
“Ridiculous. When I was growing up, I remember quite a few who did it."
“Uh-huh. Out of carelessness, ignorance, or both. Of course, that's just my opinion. What you want is the important part. Besides, we can transfer it if you change your mind. There is one thing that's puzzling me, though. Why do you want to do something you told me you'd never do? And why are you thinking about it now?"
“The wicked witch is dead, Marta. I feel better about myself than I have in over two hundred and fifty years. That's why, and don't bother asking, because I'm not going to tell you about it."
“Nice joke, but you're really only thirty-five and a half. Is it the ‘bittersweet’ thing?"
“Mm-hmm."
“Okay, I won't ask. Shall I change the subject now or go away?"
“A change of subject would be nice. I'd rather not be alone for a while. Not yet."
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
“Anything. You pick it and I'll follow along."
“All right. I've been watching the data coming in on this planet that we're headed for, and it sounds like a close approximation of a hellhole."
“Hellhole or not, we're committed. This is it."
“True. That is, unless the locals have developed enough to help refit Hermes for another trip."
“The locals could turn out to be a bigger problem than the planet, Marta."
“Oh?"
“Think about it. We can assume they have to have been engineered to make it easier for them to survive in what you called a hellhole, but we don't know how or to what extent. They could be almost anything within the available spectrum of imagination. We may be treated as invading aliens. That's something we won't be able to say until we try to make contact with them."
“Wonderful. Okay, let's assume the natives are not delighted to see us. What's our response?"
“There are a number of possibilities. Technologically we should be several long strides ahead of them. Perhaps enough to tip the balance, even though they undoubtedly will outnumber us. Our technical advantage should enable us to establish a base somewhere on the planet. From there we could work toward some sort of accommodation satisfactory to the locals and us."
“Uh-huh. Let me make it more difficult. Suppose they have comparable capabilities and are really put off by our arrival. What then?"
“If it's that bad, their larger moon has an atmosphere with almost Earth-standard constituents. It's thin, but we can survive without resorting to pressure gear. There is surface water and plenty of ice locked up in the poles. Rammix says it's probably a lot like Mars after all the terra-forming, just bigger, warmer, and with liquid water already available on the surface. We could set up on that moon and raid the planet for things we can't get or make out there."
“Oh, that's good. We make it so there may never be an acceptable relationship. I thought we came out here to establish contact with a colony, provide information to move them ahead, and generally be the good guys to our long lost family—not to be the raiding alien horde from THE BIG MOON."
“And that may be how it plays out, Marta. Our status at the moment is that we can't predict much of anything until we have more information to work with."
“Well, at least there's one
thing worth celebrating."
“What's that?"
“We haven't been greeted by any of Whitaker's worst-case scenario disasters. Someone is home, after all."
“You're right. That one is worth a toast. On the other hand, we still have to make that first contact, and all we can do in the meantime is play speculative games. I have Rammix working on a reasonable number of possible ways this might play, and producing solution sets weighted toward peaceful resolution. That way, whatever this first contact turns up, we'll have a ready and rational plan for our response."
“You know, Alex, when we started all this I would never have put that much confidence in the Rammix, but now—I caught myself referring to it as ‘him’ yesterday. It's almost as if it's developing a personality."
“Interesting. I've done the same thing more than just a few times."
Pax's attention was taken by new information rolling out on the monitor between them. At first she was so shocked she could say nothing, but as it began to fill the screen, she found her voice again.
“Oh my god. I don't believe this."
“What? What is it, Alex?"
“Rammix has detected another vehicle that appears to be setting up for orbit around the planet."
“A ship?"
“That's what it says. And it's a big one."
“So much for our technological advantage."
“Not necessarily. Rammix?"
“Yes, Alex."
“What's the nature of the vehicle?"
“There is not enough information available for identification. I have determined the propulsion system to be hydrogen fusion, and it is responding to fixed base telemetry emanating from the surface of the major planet of the Delta element. If the trajectory of the vehicle remains unchanged it will make orbit in twenty-four days."
“Size?"
“Minimally, five hundred meters long by thirty-five meters in diameter."
“Do you know anything else about it?"
“The telemetry is consistent with Old Earth signals. I do not have enough information to decipher the code being employed. I am building a data base for detailed analysis."
Seeds of Memory Page 16