The Final Frontier

by Neil Clarke

  —looking for us—

  “I’ve sealed off the area as best I can but the integrity of my life-support envelope has been compromised in several places. At the rate I’m bleeding air into space . . .”

  Adel felt another jarring impact, only this one felt as if it were farther away. The Godspeed’s fetch blurred and dispersed into fog. She reconstituted herself on the wall.

  “ . . . the partial pressure of oxygen will drop below 100 millibars sometime within the next ten to twelve hours.”

  “That’s it then.” Jarek helped Meri to her feet and wiped the tears from her face with his forefinger. “We’re all jumping home. Meri can walk, can’t you Meri?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide with pain. “I’m fine.”

  “Adel, we’ll carry Jonman out first.”

  “The good news,” said the Godspeed, “is that I can maintain power indefinitely using my frontside engines.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Jarek’s voice rose sharply. “We’re leaving right now. Jonman and Kamilah can’t wait and the rest of us vermin have no intention of being sterilized by your fucking prazz.”

  “I’m sorry, Jarek.” She stared out at them, her face set. “You know I can’t send you home. Think about it.”

  “Speedy!” said Meri. “No.”

  “What?” said Adel. “What’s he talking about?”

  “What do you care about the protocols?” Jarek put his arm around Meri’s waist to steady her. “You’ve already kicked them over. That’s why we’re in this mess.”

  “The prazz knows where we are,” said the Godspeed, “but it doesn’t know where we’re from. I burst my weekly reports . . .” “Weekly lies, you mean,” said Adel.

  “They take just six nanoseconds. That’s not nearly enough time to get a fix. But a human transmit takes 1.43 seconds and the prazz is right here on board.” She shook her head sadly. “Pointing it at the Continuum would violate my deepest operating directives. Do you want a prazz army marching off the MASTA stage on Moquin or Harvest?”

  “How do we know they have armies?” Jarek said, but his massive shoulders slumped. “Or MASTAs?”

  Jonman laughed. It was a low, wet sound, almost a cough. “Adel,” he rasped. “I see . . .” He was trying to speak but all that came out of his mouth was thin, pink foam.

  Adel knelt by his side. “Jonman, what? You see what?”

  “I see.” He clutched at Adel’s arm. “You.” His grip tightened. “Dead.” His eyelids fluttered and closed.

  —this isn’t happening—

  “What did he say?” said Meri.

  “Nothing.” Adel felt Jonman’s grip relaxing; his arm fell away.

  —dead?—buzzed plus

  Adel put his ear to Jonman’s mouth and heard just the faintest whistle of breath.

  minus buzzed—we’re all dead—

  Adel stood up, his thoughts tumbling over each other. He believed that Jonman hadn’t spoken out of despair—or cruelty. He had seen something, maybe a way out, and had tried to tell Adel what it was.

  —don’t play tikra with Jonman—buzzed minus—he cheats—

  —dead—plus buzzed—but not really—

  “Speedy,” said Adel, “what if you killed us?” What would the prazz do then?”

  Jarek snorted in disgust. “What kind of thing is that to . . .” Then he understood what Adel was suggesting. “Hot damn!”

  “What?” said Meri. “Tell me.”

  “But can we do it?” said Jarek. “I mean, didn’t they figure out that it’s bad for you to be dead too long?”

  Adel laughed and clapped Jarek on the shoulder. “Can it be worse than being dead forever?”

  —so dangerous—buzzed minus.

  —we’re fucking brilliant—

  “You’re still talking about the MASTA?” said Meri. “But Speedy won’t transmit.”

  “Exactly,” said Adel.

  “There isn’t much time,” said the Godspeed.

  THE NEVERENDING DAY

  Adel was impressed with how easy it was being dead. The things that had bothered him when he was alive, like being hungry or horny, worrying about whether his friends really liked him or what he was going to be if he ever grew up—none of that mattered. Who cared that he had never learned the first law of thermodynamics or that he had blown the final turn in the most important race of his life? Appetite was an illusion. Life was pleasant, but then so were movies.

  The others felt the same way. Meri couldn’t feel her broken arm and Jonman didn’t mind at all that he was dying, although he did miss Robman. Adel felt frustrated at first that he couldn’t rouse Kamilah, but she was as perfect unconscious as she was when she was awake. Besides, Upwood predicted that she would get bored eventually being alone with herself. It wasn’t true that nobody changed after they were dead, he explained, it was just that change came very slowly and was always profound. Adel had been surprised to meet Upwood Marcene in Speedy’s pocket-afterlife, but his being there made sense. And of course, Adel had guessed that Sister Lihong Rain would be dead there too. As it turned out, she had been dead many times over the seven years of her pilgrimage.

  Speedy had created a virtual space in her memory that was almost identical to the actual Godspeed. Of course, Speedy was as real as any of them, which is to say not very real at all. Sister urged the newcomers to follow shipboard routine whenever possible; it would make the transition back to life that much easier. Upwood graciously moved out of The Ranch so that Adel could have his old room back. Speedy and the pilgrims gathered in the Ophiuchi or the Chillingsworth at meal times, and although they did not eat, they did chatter. They even propped Kamilah on a chair to include her in the group. Speedy made a point of talking to her at least once at every meal. She would spin theories about the eating man on Kamilah’s medallion or propose eyejack performances Kamilah might try on them.

  She also lobbied the group to mount The Tempest, but Jarek would have no part in it. Of all of them, he seemed most impatient with death. Instead they played billiards and cards. Adel let Jonman teach him Tikra and didn’t mind at all when he cheated. Meri read to them and Jarek played the ruan and sang. Adel visited the VR room but once; the sim made him feel gauzy and extenuated. He did swim two thousand meters a day in the lap pool, which, although physically disappointing, was a demanding mental challenge. Once he and Jarek and Meri climbed into bed together but nothing very interesting happened. They all laughed about it afterward.

  Adel was asleep in his own bed, remembering a dream he’d had when he was alive. He was lost in a forest where people grew instead of trees. He stumbled past shrubby little kids and great towering grownups like his parents and Uncle Durwin. He knew he had to keep walking because if he stopped he would grow roots and raise his arms up to the sun like all the other tree people, but he was tired, so very tired.

  “Adel.” Kamilah shook him roughly. “Can you hear that? Adel!”

  At first he thought she must be part of his dream.

  —she’s better—

  —Kamilah—

  “Kamilah, you’re awake!”

  “Listen.” She put her forefinger to her lips and twisted her head, trying to pinpoint the sound. “No, it’s gone. I thought they were calling Sister.”

  “This is wonderful.” He reached to embrace her but she slid away from him. “When did you wake up?”

  “Just now. I was in my room in bed and I heard singing.” She scowled. “What’s going on, Adel? The last thing I remember was you telling Speedy you knew we were decelerating. This all feels very wrong to me.”

  “You don’t remember the prazz?”

  Her expression was grim. “Tell me everything.”

  Adel was still groggy, so the story tumbled out in a hodgepodge of the collision and the prazz and the protocols and Robman and the explosion and the blood and the life support breech and Speedy scanning them into memory and Sister and swimming and tikra and Upwood.

  “Upwood is here?”


  “Upwood? Oh yes.”

  —he is?—

  —is he?—

  As Adel considered the question, his certainty began to crumble. “I mean he was. He gave me his room. But I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “How long?”

  Adel frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “How long have we been here? You and I and the others?”

  Adel shook his head.

  “Gods, Adel.” She reached out tentatively and touched his arm but of course he didn’t feel a thing. Kamilah gazed at her own hand in horror, as if it had betrayed her. “Let’s find Jarek.”

  Kamilah led them down the Tulip Stairs, past the Blue and Dagger Salons through the Well Met Arena to the Clarke Airlock. The singing was hushed but so ethereal here that even Jarek and Adel, whose senses had atrophied, could feel it. Sister waited for them just inside the outer door of the airlock.

  Although Adel knew it must be her, he didn’t recognize her at first. She was naked and her skin was so pale that it was translucent. He could see her heart beating and the dark blood pulsing through her veins, the shiny bundles of muscles sliding over each other as she moved and the skull grinning at him beneath her face. Her thin hair had gone white; it danced around her head as if she were falling.

  —beautiful—

  —exquisite—

  “I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled at them. “Adel. Kamilah. Jarek.” She nodded at each of them in turn. “My witnesses.”

  “Sister,” said Kamilah, “come away from there.”

  Sister placed her hand on the door and it vanished. Kamilah staggered back and grabbed at the inner door as if she expected to be expelled from the airlock in a great outrush of air, but Adel knew it wouldn’t happen. Kamilah still didn’t understand the way things worked here.

  They gazed out at a star field much like the one that Adel had seen when he first stepped out onto the surface of the Godspeed. Except now there was no surface—only stars.

  “Kamilah,” said Sister. “you started last and have the farthest to travel. Jarek, you still have doubts. But Adel already knows that the self is a box he has squeezed himself into.”

  —yes—

  —right—

  She stepped backwards out of the airlock and was suspended against the stars.

  “Kamilah,” she said, “trust us and someday you will be perfect.” The singing enfolded her and she began to glow in its embrace. The brighter she burned the more she seemed to recede from them, becoming steadily hotter and more concentrated until Adel couldn’t tell her from one of the stars. He wasn’t sure but he thought she was a blue dwarf.

  “Close the airlock, Adel.” Speedy strolled into the locker room wearing her golden uniform coat and white sash. “It’s too much of a distraction.”

  “What is this, Speedy?” Jarek’s face was ashen. “You said you would send us back.”

  Adel approached the door cautiously; he wasn’t ready to follow Sister to the stars quite yet.

  “But I did send you back,” she said.

  “Then who are we?”

  “Copies.” Adel jabbed at the control panel and jumped back as the airlock door reappeared. “I think we must be backups.”

  Kamilah was seething. “You kept copies of us to play with?” Her fists were clenched.

  Adel was bemused; they were dead. Who did she think she was going to fight?

  “It’s not what you think.” Speedy smiled. “Let’s go up to Blue Salon. We should bring Jonman and Meri into this conversation too.” She made ushering motions toward the Well Met and Adel and Jarek turned to leave.

  —good idea—

  —let’s go—

  “No, let’s not.” With two quick strides, Kamilah gained the doorway and blocked their passage. “If Meri wants to know what’s going on, then she can damn well ask.”

  “Ah, Kamilah. My eyejack insists on the truth.” She shrugged and settled onto one of the benches in the locker room. “This is always such a difficult moment,” she said.

  “Just tell it,” said Kamilah.

  “The prazz ship expired about three days after the attack. In the confusion of the moment, I’d thought it was my backside engine that exploded. Actually it was the sentry’s drive. Once its batteries were exhausted, both the sentry ship and its remote ceased all function. I immediately transmitted all of you to your various home worlds and then disabled my transmitter and deleted all my navigation files. The Continuum is safe—for now. If the prazz come looking, there are further actions I can take.”

  “And what about us?” said Kamilah. “How do we get home?”

  “As I said, you are home, Kamilah. Your injuries were severe but certainly not fatal. Your prognosis was for a complete recovery.”

  —right—

  —makes sense—

  “Not that one,” said Kamilah. “This one.” She tapped her chest angrily. “Me. How do I get home?”

  “But Kamilah . . .” Speedy swept an arm expansively, taking in the airlock and lockers and Well Met and the Ophiuchi and Jarek and Adel. “ . . . this is your home.”

  The first pilgrim from the Godspeed lost during a transmit was Io Waals. We can’t say for certain whether she suffered a flawed scan or something interfered with her signal but when the MASTA on Rontaw assembled her, her heart and lungs were outside her body cavity. This was three hundred and ninety-two years into the mission. By then, the Captain had long since given way to Speedy.

  The Godspeed was devastated by Io’s death. Some might say it unbalanced her, although we would certainly disagree. But this was when she began to compartmentalize behaviors, sealing them off from the scrutiny of the Continuum and, indeed, from most of her conscious self. She stored backups of every scan she made in her first compartment. For sixty-seven years, she deleted each of them as soon as she received word of a successful transmit. Then Ngong Issonda died when a tech working on Loki improperly recalibrated the MASTA.

  Only then did the Godspeed understand the terrible price she would pay for compartmentalization. Because she had been keeping the backups a secret not only from the Continuum but also to a large extent from herself, she had never thought through how she might make use of them. It was immediately clear to her that if she resent Ngong, techs would start arriving on her transport stage within the hour to fix her. The Godspeed had no intention of being fixed. But what to do with Ngong’s scan? She created a new compartment, a simulation of her architecture into which she released Ngong. Ngong did not flourish in the simulation, however. She was depressed and withdrawn whenever the Godspeed visited. Her next scan, Keach Soris arrived safely on Butler’s Planet, but Speedy loaded his backup into the simulation with Ngong. Within the year, she was loading all her backups into the sim. But as Upwood Marcene would point out some seven centuries later, dead people change and the change is always profound and immaterial. In less than a year after the sim was created, Ngong, Keach and Zampa Stackpole stepped out of airlock together into a new compartment, one that against all reason transcends the boundaries of the Godspeed, the Milky Way and spacetime itself.

  So then, what do we know about Adel Ranger Santos?

  Nothing at all. Once we transmitted him back to Harvest, he passed from our awareness. He may have lived a long, happy life or a short painful one. His fate does not concern us.

  But what do we know about Adel Ranger Santos?

  Only what we know about Upwood Marcene, Kalimah Raunda, Jarek Ohnksen, Merigood Auburn Canada, Lihong Rain and Jonman Haught Shillaber—which is everything, of course. For they followed Ngong and Keach and Zampa and some forty thousand other pilgrims through the airlock to become us.

  And we are they.

  Genevieve Valentine is a novelist (her most recent is near-future political thriller Icon) and comic book writer, including Catwoman for DC Comics. Her short fiction has appeared in over a dozen Year’s Best collections, including The Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy. Her nonfiction has appeared at the AV Club, NPR
.org, The Atlantic, and the New York Times.

  SEEING

  GENEVIEVE VALENTINE

  After it was over, they pulled her from the sea.

  Even as they lifted her into the rescue boat she was saying, “No, no; we could have made it.”

  She was cradling the hand the Captain broke.

  The first time Marika saw the night sky, she was terrified.

  (Strange she wasn’t terrified sooner. They’d escaped the city because of the water riots. The city wouldn’t last long; the night swallowed it up one time too many, and then day just never came.

  Maybe that’s what happened to her—one terror swallowing another.)

  The night sky was a battle of stars, a violent seam tearing through the center like a wound badly sewn up. The points of light marshaled in ways she didn’t understand; the constellations she remembered were devoured by the hordes. Everything bled.

  (This prepares her, a little, for what comes later.)

  (What comes later:

  A star dropping out of sight, a ship that holds three, a scattering of gold.)

  It is impossible, from the ground, to look at a star.

  The atmospheric interference muddies the light, drags it through the sky faster than your eyes can follow. If you’re lucky—if you’re at a high altitude, on a clear night, in a lonely place—this interference is perhaps a few dozen arcseconds out of alignment with reality. If it’s windy, or you can’t escape the summer, or you are trapped by people and lights, your problems multiply. You fall away from the truth by full seconds; you are hopelessly lost the moment you turn your face to the sky.

  By the time you look up, nothing is true any more; the ghosts of the stars only flicker and shine.

  Astronomers call this measurement Seeing. (Science has run out of more complicated words to explain the ways the universe has outwitted us.)

  What it means: you can’t trust your eyes. You can’t trust your instruments. You can’t trust a thing, from the ground.

  They made it to a boat. At night, Marika slipped from her mother’s arms and climbed to the deck to watch the sky.