by Nathan Dodge
“They don’t feel the same,” she said, flexing her arms. “It’s like I borrowed them. The legs feel fine, but the arms—”
“They’re trickier,” I said simply. She nodded. “That’d cost big money planetside. You’re a million-coin woman.” She laughed. I sat down heavily beside her.
“You heard, right?”
“Yeah.”
It was quiet for a moment as we both digested our mutual knowledge.
“I’m going to send everyone thirty and under back,” I said, trying to show only certainty. “I’m still ranking officer, even if everyone’s afraid of me now.” I continued before she could argue the truth. “They can say they were part of the saboteur’s crew. I doubt they kept rosters. Or they can ask China for refuge, I suppose. The rest can decide if they want to float out with us.”
“They all should choose,” Fil argued.
“They should walk in a forest. Get a chance to have kids. To fight back.” I paused. “Even I had that.”
“This ship was built to stand a thousand years.”
“With that damage? We’ll be lucky to make fifty. Long enough for us, I guess. But not them.”
“But Mareka’s only—”
“I know how old Mareka is,” I said. “No one under thirty.”
I had no memory of my room before Mareka had led me to it, but it was pleasant and peaceful and full of strange, hand-drawn art that I unsurprisingly found soothing. But best of all, there was the window: wide, and tall, and full of stars. Fil reached out and dimmed the lights without another word. Arm in arm, we stared out that window. The distant stars before us glittered seductively, calling us forward.
“I always wanted to see Proxima Centauri,” she said. “Up close and personal. See another planetary system.”
“It’d be fun, running one of our little cruisers down planetside. See what there might be. Think we could make it?”
“The ship was never meant for such speeds.”
“But we could try.”
“We could try.”
Fil’s pale hand reached for my dark one, and we held together tightly as we stared out into the void, wondering what would come next.
Intelligence
Nathan
Arilla swirled around her Complement, impatient. “Hurry, Iriel, we’re late for Gathering.”
Iriel surprised her by hesitating, then pulling away, moving swiftly, disappearing from sense. She could barely make out his angry, infrared reply as he vanished, a trail of ionized particles marking his departure. “I’m not going.”
Frustrated, she followed him. He had become so touchy lately, so irritable. It was the same old story, his dissatisfaction with the course of the Group’s discussions and studies. Still, she pursued him, determined to try to change his mind.
The soft, lazy flow of the Cloud bubbled with turbulence as Iriel passed, so he was easy to follow. Nearing the Outer Edge, Arilla accelerated, passing through the final tenuous layers. Free of the Cloud, she slowed, sensing Iriel above her. He twisted slowly, a spiraled trail of mist, scattering complex molecules and hydrogen atoms about him.
Arilla had not followed too closely, as galaxies pinwheeled behind them and the Cloud drifted onward. She stopped some distance away, letting him discover her presence.
He stirred, acknowledging her. “I wanted to be alone.”
“I know. I came anyway.”
He spun twice more, shedding swarms of particles.
“I suppose I should thank you for putting up with me.” The radiation that made up his voice became softer, less energetic.
She surveyed the nearer stars, the farther galaxies, the distant quasars, the wisps of dust and gas that lay interspersed between the bright lights. “You don’t have to thank me. We are Complements; our duty is to each other. I know you are frustrated, but I wish you’d come to Gathering.”
“It’s the same old story. They’ll discuss, and argue, and settle nothing.” He continued to rotate as though exploring, sensing the many things that the density of the Cloud hid.
Moving toward him, Arilla showed her discomfort with bursts of ultraviolet. “Please come back. I don’t like it out here. It’s so….”
He descended to join her. “So exposed? So open? So terrifying?”
She spun around him, matching his rotation. “We live in the Cloud, Iriel. This isn’t our place. There is nothing here.”
“Not true. There is a great deal here—the very stuff we are made of. More tenuous, true, but you can sense it if you try. You can absorb it. We could live here if we wished.”
“We could not! The Cloud nurtures us; it sustains us. Out here only the barest trace of our subsistence exists. We would starve!”
His emissions radiated amusement. “It’s what we were told as we matured. The thing is, it’s not true—at least, not totally true.”
“But the Cloud is a safe and nurturing place for us to live, Iriel.”
“Here’s the problem, Arilla: the Cloud isn’t a very interesting place in which to live.”
“How can you believe that?”
“How can you not believe it? There are countless things to sense and to explore out here, but in there, we have only the Group.”
“The Group is the center of our life. We exchange ideas, we interact, we debate the structure of the universe, we consider the possibilities of intelligent life outside the Cloud.”
“Exactly!” He radiated bright infrared and microwave emissions of frustration. “We debate, we consider. I want to explore, to visit the unique structures that we perceive outside. Instead of debating questions, why not seek real answers?
“Look at what lies around us: that impressive collection of suns and the galaxy that spreads beneath us. While over there, that bright ball of metal hangs alone, like a tiny moon, probably a traveler from some solar explosion.”
Arilla slowed their rotation, searching. “Of course the galaxy is beautiful, as is that cluster of suns. I do not deny that out here the vista is remarkable. Although I have no idea what shiny object you refer to.”
“Strange. It was there just as I spoke. No matter—the point is that here we perceive what is invisible within. Why stay inside when we can come here and see so much more of our universe?”
She broke away, moving down toward the hazy, translucent edge of the Cloud. “We have no choice. We must go where the Cloud takes us. You can spout all you wish about exploration and investigation in this naked, exposed nothingness, but if you stay here, you know that you will cease to exist before long.”
Iriel exhaled a bright spout of charged ions. “Well, maybe eventually, but don’t you understand the possibilities? We could use the great numbers and power of the Group to steer the Cloud, take it where we wish, explore the vastness of our universe. Perhaps we could find other Clouds.”
“The chance of encountering others like ourselves is virtually zero. We should embrace life in the Cloud, the pleasant regularity and security of our lives. The Cloud provides the perfect environment for our existence.”
His long sigh covered a broad spectrum of radiation. “You make my point for me—there is no originality left in our lives. Instead of exerting ourselves to come up with new ideas, to explore and discover, we muse, and discuss, consider, and finally, do nothing! The Group is useless; we have become useless.”
“I’m going back.” Arilla plunged out of sense below the surface. Radiating annoyance, Iriel hesitated, then followed her.
Once inside, she slowed. He caught her quickly, circling her, forcing her to stop. “So you’re going anyway, to listen to that self-important collection of ancients jabber and pontificate and settle absolutely nothing?”
“Perhaps some questions cannot be settled. No one has ever sensed another Cloud like ours. No one has ever perceived intelligence outside the Cloud. There may be other Clouds, and others like us, but we may never know—the distances are too vast. It is possible that we may, in time, find such life, but I believe it is very un
likely.”
“Intelligence does not necessarily have to exist only in Clouds like ours. What about the star clusters and galaxies that stretch outward beyond our senses?”
Arilla huffed a cloud of ionized molecules. “And where would that intelligent life develop? Stars are far too energetic. Their radiation would dissolve us and the Cloud in an instant should we come close to one. And those hard globules of matter that collect around some stars, nothing could possibly live under such conditions.
“Someday we may find our counterparts. Until then, what is wrong with the life that we have? Within this life, we have the freedom to do as we wish.”
“That’s not freedom; it’s regimentation as constricting as death.” Iriel swirled away, lashing an angry tail of ions.
Arilla didn’t attempt to follow him. In his current mood, further argument was futile. With another frustrated flash of energy, she proceeded toward Gathering on her own.
* * *
“Summary report.” Captain DeGuenther ordered.
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Cosgrove, the navigator, turned from his console, held out the portable.
Retrieving it, the captain scanned the streams of numbers and graphs that flashed in sequence across the screen. He nodded at the executive officer who stood nearby, the edges of his mouth turning up a millimeter. “Exactly where we ought to be.” He handed the portable back. “Well done, Ben. Prepare the next jump.”
Turning, he stared out the broad, sapphire port to starboard, a window onto the galactic rim. “Two more hops and we’re home, Charlie.”
Standing beside him, Sant, his XO, nodded. “Been a long trip.”
“It has. It’ll be nice to see blue sky again.”
“Nice to see my wife and son,” Sant replied. “I wonder if he’ll know me. Hell, I wonder if my wife will know me.”
DeGuenther ran a hand through rust-colored hair. “I’ll bet she’s the first person behind the barriers when we debark.” He gestured at the navigator. “How about you, Ben? Will a dozen pretty young ladies be waiting on the dock?”
The navigator reddened, ducked his head toward his display screens, and keyboard. “Maybe one.”
Staring idly out the starboard viewport, the XO squinted, stepped closer to it, frowned. “That’s odd.”
Moving to the sensor console, he selected a scan on the left view screen. “What do you suppose that is?”
The lieutenant threw a quick glance at the display. “It’s a large star cluster, about eighty thousand suns. Not visible from Earth, masked by that dark nebula to the left.”
The XO shook his head. “Not the cluster. It’s the nebula itself, or something close to it. Near the outer boundary. See? Two wisps of material, wrapped around each other like a miniature tornado.”
The captain joined them. “What about it, Ben, seen anything like that before?” He gestured out the window at the wide panorama of the galactic rim. To the right lay a dark shadow that obscured a portion of the broad array of lights spreading in an arc along the outer edge of the Milky Way. To its left lay the tiny spiral of material, no larger in appearance than a soda straw held at arm’s length.
The guidance officer shrugged. “No, sir. But there are a lot of strange sights out here. You know what the astronomers say—these dark clouds of gas and dust are star factories. There are probably thousands of stars forming inside that one right now. Sometimes the birth process is pretty violent. Maybe those wisps of matter were ejected by a proto-star.”
He hesitated, scanning his instruments. “That nebula is very unusual. Dark nebulae generally have no more than a few thousand particles per cubic centimeter. This one is very dense.”
The captain looked over his executive officer’s shoulder at the black splotch on the navigation screen. “What’s the reading?”
“Several trillion particles per CC, based on our sensors. Not much compared to sea level atmosphere on earth, but out here…. Let’s just say it’s the sumo wrestler of dark nebulas. They’re usually nowhere near that hefty.”
“It’s probably spawning a batch of baby stars this very minute.”
The navigator shrugged. “Yeah. The thing is, the radiation of new stars blows residual matter outward, which makes a nebula less dense as stars form. That dark cloud looks quite compact. And I don’t see any solar activity at all. You’d think with that density of material, it would be shot through with stars.”
DeGuenther inclined his head in agreement. “Sure, but like you said, you see all sorts of phenomena out here. The star forming may be hidden by the density of the dust and gas.”
The navigator finished keying in coordinates. “Maybe so.” He shifted his gaze upward to the captain. “Jump in eight minutes, sir. Time to get to the pods.”
The captain made the announcement over his shoulder-microphone. Bridge officers, along with three hundred other crewmembers, quickly began to leave their stations for the pod matrix in the center of the ship.
As they left the bridge, Sant grumbled, “I wish we were bringing back better news. Two hundred forty-seven systems explored and no luck. I’m damn tired of forests, insects, and odd protozoa.”
The captain patted his XO on the shoulder. “There are always more missions, Charlie.” He took a final glance through the port. “It’s out there somewhere.”
Still Life
Nathan; Sharon
See: Desert portrait.
The canvas is double-paned glass, the frame an aluminum window casement in the research station personnel lounge. Outside the window, stark purple slopes fall away, punctuated by irregular ridges and gullies as it descends to the golden desert floor two kilometers below. The desert stretches away to the horizon, intense heat creating the familiar desert mirage: a broad, vibrating ocean floating above the sand.
Out the window, a small silver streak appears, descending toward the desert, glinting in the evening light. A flicker of light—perhaps fire, perhaps an explosion—reflects off distant hills for a fraction of a second before the scene returns to the same sienna terrain, the same indigo sky, the same landscape, once again motionless.
No one notices any of this.
* * *
The whine of the porta-pak aroused Dante, its high-pitched ree-ree intruding on his sleep. Eyes opening hesitantly, he saw Maria standing at the mouth of the cave, staring at purple sands against a red backdrop, the setting sun painting fire across the western sky. He grunted to himself. Not the western sky of Earth; simply the direction in which the sun disappeared on Lomai.
“I forgot you were here.”
She continued to stare at the sky. “Where else would I be?”
For a moment, nausea attacked him and everything seemed to lose focus. Then it was gone, and he managed to struggle to his feet. Cates; he had to check on Cates. He moved to the rear of the cave and knelt over the pilot of Cosmos Six.
Behind him, Maria said, “He’s dead, Dante.”
Her voice came as his gaze caught Cates’ open eyes, staring at the cave ceiling, not seeing anything. The body was still warm, the face a bleached white. Dante’s voice was almost a whine.
“What happened? We said goodnight, then I dropped off. He sounded okay. He sounded fine, dammit!”
“He was bleeding internally. We knew that last night. There was nothing we could do. And there was no way to call for help.”
“You looked worse than he did.” He’d slept next to her, watched her breathing. Made sure every breath kept coming, hour after hour, until a rhythm had been restored. Had Cates died while he held vigil? Had he not even noticed?
“I was just shaken up.”
Dante rocked back, gaze unmoving. “He didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
“He knew, Dat. He knew. He left notes on his com. I put it in the pack already.” A pained expression crossed her face as she said that. Dante’s stomach dropped; Maria looked too pale herself. But before he could say anything further, she was off.
“The northern mining station is
somewhere over that way,” she said as she gestured in the direction of the sunset. “Just before we came down, Cates said that we were maybe seventy or eighty kilometers east of the station. We’re probably closer now.”
Dante nodded, but didn’t comment. If a station was fifty klicks away, what good was that?
The small pile of supplies he had salvaged included a blanket, which Dante had filled with items before their escape from the crash. Digging it out of the junk he had piled in the corner of the cave, he spread it over Cates’ remains, stared a moment at the still form, then joined Maria. She was standing at the mouth of the cave, behind the kill-field console and its barrier. Just outside the barrier were two dead sandspiders, their silvery-gray bodies contorted in death spasms.
“The kill-field is still working,” she said.
He nodded. “And we killed three spiders in the cave last night. Good thing we salvaged a heater as well as the field projector.”
“Yeah.” She looked back toward the still form under the blanket. “We’ll have to leave everything here. Including Cates.”
He rubbed stubble on his chin. “I know. Assuming we can contact the research station, they can send a speeder later on.” Taking out his PA, he activated the screen, checking their position. A dull beep told him that inside the cave it had no reception.
“How close to the station do we have to be before you can raise their operator?”
She considered. “Close. Very close. The PA uses standard short-range technology, not mobile bands.”
He went back to the pile of salvage. He had carried most of it, and Maria, for the last leg of their escape. She was right; no one had been doing well the night before. There wasn’t much to worry about bringing with them, at any rate.