"starsiders_3_leaping_to_the_stars_by_david_gerrold_v05_unformatted" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)
NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LAUNCH THE COMMAND MODULE WAS a spaceship in its own right. It could detach from the starship and travel almost anywhere in the solar system under its own power. That's why it was here on Luna for refitting. Like most spaceships, it was built out of cargo pods. The keel was a stretch-pod, made out of three pods connected end to end. Another six cargo pods clustered around its waist, and there were swiveling thrusters mounted at both ends. According to Douglas, before the polycrisis there was so much cargo coming up the Line that there were extra cargo pods everywhere; more than enough for habitats and stations and outposts. On Luna, they hung pods from overhead cables and used them as aerial trains. They put them on wheels and made them into trucks. They attached thrusters and made them into flying moonbuses. And sometimes they put on wheels and thrusters and all kinds of other what-nots to make utility vehicles like Alexei's Mr. Beagle. So why not cluster a bunch of pods together, attach some Palmer tubes, and build a spaceship? With the right fittings you could land on Luna or Mars. And even if you didn't have landing gear, if all you had was an airlock, you could still dock with any habitat anywhere else. So pod-ships were the workhorses of the solar system. The starship Cascade had three pod-ships, and the equipment onboard to build three more. The biggest one was the Command Module, and it could cant' as many as 145 people at a time, if they were friendly; but for this trip, there were
only 112 of us, and the rest of the space was rice and beans and noodles. Boynton settled me down in the assistant flight engineer's position, just behind the pilot's couch. Flight Engineer Damron was on the right, just behind Copilot O'Koshi. HARLIE was plugged into an access on the flight engineer's equipment rack. From my position, it didn't look much different than the front end of a Lunar bus, or a Lunar train, or a Lunar house. Some of the interior fittings were different, and there were a lot more control boards and display screens than in a utility vehicle, but the general layout was the same. There's only so much you can do with a pill-shaped pod. The important difference was the view out the front window. It was ... marvelous. Ahead lay the lighted track of the catapult. It looked like it stretched out forever. It didn't, of course. It was only three kilometers. It was built up the long gentle slope of Glass Crater, named after Harvey Glass, the father of the first lawyer on the moon. (Don't ask.) (Okay, do ask. Not only was James Glass the first lawyer on the moon, he was also the first lawyer murdered on the moon. According to Christie, the reason they named the crater after his father instead of him was because no one wanted to name a crater after a lawyer. If Christie was telling the truth, then Lunar history was not only stranger than I imagined, it was stranger than I could imagine.) Boynton looked back over his shoulder at me. "Here, pin this on." He handed me a sticky-backed insignia for my jumpsuit. It had an officer's bar. "What's this?" "It's a field commission. Regulations prohibit noncoms on the flight deck, so-congratulations, Ensign. You are now the Acting Assistant Flight Engineer for the starship Cascade." Damron and O' Koshi added their own congratulations. "Uh-" I didn't know what to say. Was this serious? Or was it some kind of feel-good badge like the plastic wings they gave me on an airplane once?
"It's real," said Boynton. "You're playing with the big kids now." I found a word. "Wow." And two more. "Thank you." "Pin it on. And give HARLIE his orders, please. We'll all feel a lot better when we get off this rock." I put the insignia on over my heart. It gave me a very odd feeling to do so-mostly good, but kind of scary at the same time. "Go ahead," Boynton prompted. "Just say, `Initiate launch sequence, HARLIE.' He has to hear it from you." "Isn't it automatic? Aren't we on a countdown?" Flight Engineer Damron tapped my shoulder and pointed to a chronometer. "We have an eleven-minute window. We can launch any time within that window and correct our course after launch. All the boards are green. Once that timer starts counting positive numbers, we can go any time." He turned back to his board. I opened my mouth to speakThe communicator beeped. An overhead panel lit up. A stern-looking man in black. Standing in the cargo dock directly beneath us. "Starchip Cascade?" He held up a badge. "Lunar Marshals. We are on the loading dock. We have a warrant for the arrest of Charles Dingillian, Douglas Dingillian, Robert Dingillian, Michael Partridge, Beverly Sykes, Margaret Campbell, and fifteen John Doe warrants to include any and all persons traveling with the Dingillians. Open your hatch now, please." Boynton snapped a switch on his panel. "Lunar Marshals. Please vacate the loading dock immediately. Launch sequence has been initiated. It is too late to abort. You will be endangering yourselves and others if you do not immediately vacate." He snapped off. "Go ahead, Charles." I swallowed hard-while Boynton was speaking, the timer had begun counting positive numbers. "Will they be hurt?" "They'll probably be killed by the backwash." Boynton pointed to the display. The marshals weren't moving. "They don't think we'll do it."
"Do they know I have to give the order?" "Yes. That's why they're not moving." I looked at the chronometer. Nine and a half minutes. "I can't do this," I said. My voice cracked. "Then they win." Boynton began unfastening his seat belt. He turned to face Flight Engineer Damron. "Stand by to power down." "Wait!" "For what?" Boynton said angrily. "You just said you can't do it. Either you can or you can't." "I can't kill people!" "Charles, I don't have time to give you the whole speech. Whatever you decide right now, people are going to die. Either those six marshals-or 4300 people on Outbeyond. You choose." "That's not fair-" "No, it isn't. But that's the choice anyway. How many deaths do you want on your conscience?" "None! " "I'm sorry, that's not an option anymore." His eyes met mine and I knew he hated this situation as much as I did. He lowered his voice, "Listen to me, Charles. If I could, I'd take this responsibility away from you in an instant-if I could. But I can't-" He reached over and put his hand on top of mine. Just like Dad used to do. "We're running out of time. If you're going to do it-" I gulped. "Open the channel, please-?" He turned forward, reached up, and flicked the switch. "Go ahead," he said quietly. "Lunar Marshals, this is Charles Dingillian-" "Son!" The Marshal held up his badge. "You cannot launch. You must surrender now." "-I'd like to know your names, please?" "Eh?" "I'm about to give the order to launch. I don't want your deaths on my conscience-but if I do have to launch,
Two of the Marshals looked nervously at each other. "Please?" I glanced to the chronometer. "I don't have much time left. Only forty seconds." That was a lie, I had six minutes and forty seconds, but the sweet spot of the launch window was the five minute, thirty second mark. "I am Colonel Michael Stone," said the man holding up the insignia. "And I don't believe you'll do this." "My condolences to your family, Colonel Stone. And the names of your men-?" "The hell with this!" said one of the others. He bolted. A moment later, two others followed him. And then one more. And then Colonel Stone was alone"Twenty-five seconds, sir." "I'm not moving, son." "Then I'm very sorry." I motioned to Boynton. "Listen to me, you little-" Boynton snapped off the image. "HARLIET' "At your service, Ensign." "Initiate launch sequence." "Aye, aye, sir." I cried as we launched-why do stupid adults have to spoil everything? (W ANGER THE LAUNCH CATAPULT WAS 3.5 kilometers long. There were twenty-one thousand superconducting electromagnets spaced along its length. Depending on the mass of the payload, depending on how much acceleration was applied, enormous launch velocities could be achieved. The command module
would pass escape velocity less than halfway up the track, and we'd still be accelerating. Almost immediately upon my giving HARLIE the launch command, the capacitors under the catapult began discharging enormous amounts of electricity into carefully timed bursts of power to the magnets in the track. The command module slid forward in a gathering rush. We sank back into our seats, and then we sank back some more, and then some more-and then we were pushed hard against the cushions. And then some more-one of the displays ticked numbers upward toward three gees, three point one, three point two. A little more than was promised; an accommodation for the early launch window. The track raced away beneath us. The horizon rushed toward usAnd then we were in free fall and Luna was dropping away below. Craters shrank against silvery plains. Larger and larger became smaller and smaller. The curve of the horizon sharpened-and then, at last, the moon was behind us. As soon as Boynton finished with the post-launch checklist, he swiveled in his seat to look at me. His expression was hard. He reached up over my head and pulled a tissue out of a dispenser. He handed it to me without comment. I began wiping my eyes. Except for the background sounds of the ship's controls, there was silence on the flight deck. Boynton said, "You scared me, Ensign." "You didn't think I was going to do it?" "No. I was pretty sure you'd do it. What scared me was the look on your face. Remind me never to piss you off." "Was I really that angry?" "For a moment, yes, you were." "I was thinking about my Dad. This was his dream!" Boynton reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. "Charles, listen to me-that kind of anger can be dangerous. Very dangerous." I looked at him, hurt. "Now, you're saying I shouldn't have done it-?" "Listen carefully. Anger is a drug. You can get addicted to
it. There are times when it's useful. This was one of those times. But try not to have any more, please?" I wasn't sure what he meant, not yet, but I nodded anyway. I had a feeling that this was one of those conversations that I'd be replaying in my head for a long time-usually late at night while I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep and not doing a very good job of it. He didn't believe my nod. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked sternly. "Yes. I think so." Boynton studied me for a moment. "I want you to talk to Dr. Morgan." "I don't need a doctor." "She's not a doctor-she's a counselor. Her full title is Reverend Doctor Morgan. We call her Morgs." "I don't-" "Yes, I know you don't. That's why I'm making it an order." "An order-?" "You're an officer on my starship. I have the authority to order you. And if you don't follow my orders, I can court martial you for insubordination and put you in the brig." I guess he realized that was too severe, because almost immediately, he added, "We're going to be in transit for a long time, son. You and I and HARLIE are going to spend a lot of hours on this flight deck. You're carrying around a lot of anger. I don't want it on my bridge ever again." "What did you want me to do?" "I wanted you to do exactly what you did-but I didn't want you doing it out of hate." "Well, it sure wasn't an act of love-" "I don't want you getting the idea that hatred justifies killing. That's how wars get started." "I didn't hate him-I didn't know him well enough to hate him." "Ensign, do you want me to play back the log? You said a lot of interesting words in a very short time. I hope that's not the same mouth you use to kiss your mother."
"I didn't-" And then I realized. I did. But Boynton had it wrong. I didn't say all that stuff because I hated the late Colonel. I said it because I was angry for what he had made me do. Boynton was right about one thing. There was a lot of stuff I was angry about-and there were a lot of people I was angry at. The Rock Father tribe was first on my list. Alexei Krislov, in particular. And Dad for getting killed-and Mom for just being Mom. And Bev. And Douglas and Mickey. And Colonel Stone. And Stinky. And Commander Boynton. And Judge Griffith. And Judge Cavanaugh. And all the colonists on Outbeyond. And HARLIE. And everybody else too. And most of all, myself. I hated this. I hated what I was, what I'd had to do, what I was turning into. This was supposed to be the adventure of a lifetime, but before I could even get off the launchpad, I had to kill a man. And according to Boynton, it was okay to kill him-it just wasn't okay to hate him. So who else could I hate, but myself? L NECESSARY NOBODY TALKED FOR A long time after that-except for piloting stuff. Boynton phoned ahead and told the starship that we'd launched and we could hear them cheering in the background. But when he told them what we'd had to do-he didn't say that I'd had to do it-the celebration subsided. Launching in blood was a bad omen. Boynton finished his report, then turned to O'Koshi. "Seal
the log. The details of our launch are eyes-only. Until I say otherwise." "Aye, Captain." "You have the conn." Boynton unfastened his safety harness, floated out of his seat, and swam aft. I started to unbuckle myself, but Boynton pushed me back into my seat and told me to stay where I was. "I have business to take care of. You don't. And I don't want you talking to anyone for a while." And then, realizing how bad that must have sounded, he said, "It's for your sake, Ensign, not theirs. This business stays on the flight deck." Did he really think he could keep it a secret? Our launch conversation must have been heard by hundreds of people. It would be all over the net within minutes, rippling outward on the rumor-web as fast as people checked their e-mail and relayed the juicy bits. It would be on all the Lunar news channels just in time for breakfast at Armstrong Station. And after that, all the other planets too: Earth, Luna, Mars, the habitats, the asteroids, and everywhere else. Anyone scanning the news would catch it. And everyone was scanning the news these days-watching the endless slow-motion collapse of civilization, like some ghastly soap opera. Everyone on board would probably know the whole story long before we rounded Earth. And then they'd all be looking at me funny. Probably no one would want to talk to me for what I'd done. Or worse, maybe they'd want to thank me. Or even worse than that, maybe they'd want to be all fuzzy and understanding. Which was exactly what I did not want. Not right now. Not ever. If I was going to be miserable, I didn't want anyone talking me out of it. Carol Everhart saw the look on my face. "Relax, Charles. This is the best view in the ship. And the most comfortable ride. You can sleep in your couch-and there's a shower and a toilet through there, and there's sodas in the fridge. Enjoy yourself." Yeah, right. There wasn't anything to do, except watch the little blip on the display creep along the curved line of our trajectory. We'd
passed escape velocity even before we left the launch ramp. Now all we had to do was apply the necessary course corrections. At least this journey was going to be a lot more comfortable than the way we'd gotten to the moon-stowing away inside a cargo pod. Mostly, space travel is boring, because all you really do is sit and watch your displays. Everything was checks and double-checks, and most of it seemed unnecessary because everything was working exactly the way it was supposed to. And just to rub it in, every so often, the monkey would say, "All systems green. Confidence is high." Which should have been reassuring, except that it was a toy robot monkey saying it, and it just didn't seem real. But we had to take HARLIE's word for it because we didn't have a backup intelligence engine. And even though HARLIE was (allegedly) more powerful than any IRMA ever built, I still wished we had an IRMA. An IRMA system is actually three intelligence engines in one, all comparing notes, all the time; if any one engine disagrees, the other two outvote it. That way, it's self-correcting. HARLIE didn't have that same redundancy. Not yet. This HARLIE was only an experimental unit; if they'd gone into actual production, there would have been three HARLIEs bonded together like an IRMA. So if this HARLIE made a mistake, we were stuck with it. HARLIE knew this, of course, so he split himself into three minds and ran every process three times, giving himself nine votes per decision. But what if he was still wrong somehow? And none of us really knew how to test him because he'd already demonstrated he was smarter than all of us put together. He'd certainly made a monkey of Judge Cavanaugh.. . . And that made me think of something else. How much other stuff had he done? Like that business with the messages being released every hour. The kidnappers were holding me hostage-and HARLIE had turned it around and held them hostage instead. But how had he done that? He'd spread himself all over the solar
So I asked. He told me. It was sort of what I figured. The whole thing had been automated. He'd invented an idiot-child version of himself, programmed with a sixteen-million branch decision treemore than enough to simulate sentience. It was more than capable of monitoring all the traffic it needed to-and not just the public traffic, a lot of the private encrypted traffic as well. The program would know when I was rescued and if I was safe. In fact, a similar monitor program was also entrusted with keeping HARLIE's separate pieces in transit all over the system, and reassembling them and feeding them back to the dormant monkey as soon as the monkey was back online. HARLIE had very cleverly constructed a support system to reassemble himself. He'd begun preparing it while snooping through Alexei's own files. That was the real reason why neither Boynton nor Lunar Authority had been able to detect any unusual bandwidth traffic-because HARLIE hadn't used public access. He'd used the secret channels of invisible Luna! And they'd never noticed either. I had to laugh aloud at that. "You should have erased all of Alexei's files," I said. "That would have served him right." The monkey scratched itself thoughtfully. "I doubt that would have done much damage, Charles. Gospodin Krislov has multiple redundant one-way backups on write-once, readonly media. He could recover from a data-crash almost immediately. No, I think he is entitled to problems much more serious and irrevocable." I was almost afraid to ask. "What did you do ... T' The monkey pretended to pick a flea and eat it. "In order to guarantee a secure reassembly of myself, I had to have a secure channel. As it happened, the safest escape was through Alexei Krislov's private business network; I used it for my primary access. But I had to disable the security firewalls during upload and download. The encryption-decryption services would have created distortions in several quantum functions that I am particularly fond of. If Krislov's people hadn't
napped us, nothing would have happened. But as soon as they came through the door, everything activated automatically. The bulk of my personality code was fractalized into sixteen separate wave-matrices and sent out across the solar system by Krislov's own network. My first successful upload was completed before they tossed us onto the cart. My second and third uploads were completed before we exited the tunnel. It took less than eleven minutes. After my seventh confirmed upload, the uploaded material was erased from the monkey, leaving nothing running except a simple monitor program. When it was time to reload myself, the security firewalls had to be disabled again-this time permanently." It took a moment for that to sink in. "Alexei Krislov stopped being invisible?" "That is correct. Every node, every machine, every file. It is all publicly available." ... "But that's-that's data-rape!" "Yes, it is. But I did not feel ethically bound to restore his security after he had compromised ours. As an employee/partner/indentured-personality of the Dingillian Family Corporation my responsibility is to serve the corporation, no one else." "Oh my." I didn't know whether to be horrorstruck-or filled with admiration at the simple elegance of what HARLIE had done. "Alexei had a lot of sensitive information in his files. Possibly more than he realized. I expect several governments and a large number of companies will collapse; but the most immediate effect will be the destruction of invisible Luna's secrecy. I do not think that Alexei will live to see his next birthday." The scale of HARLIE's revenge horrified me. Not that it didn't please me, but"HARLIET' "Yes, Charles?" "Tell me something." "What?" "When you did all this-did you hate him?" "No."
"Why not?" "Because it wasn't necessary." I was going to have to think about that. I didn't think I was going to be sleeping well for a while. C. RICE AND BEANS AND NOODLES MAGINE EARTH AND LUNA as the base of two giant equilateral triangles, one pointing forward, the other pointing backward. As Luna rotates around the Earth, the two triangles rotate with it. The apex of the leading triangle is called Lagrange 4. Or L-4, for short. The apex of the trailing triangle is L-5. Objects put in orbit at either of the Lagrange points stay there, rotating with Earth and Luna in gravitational balance. We were heading out to the L-5 assembly point, where the command module would be reinstalled on the keel of the Cascade. Then we'd have a week or three of shakedown tests, another few weeks of acceleration out of the solar system, and finally when we were far enough away from any significant gravitational masses, we'd transition to hyperstate and go superluminal. At least, that was the plan. An attendant floated up into the flight deck carrying meal trays. "Might as well get comfortable, folks," he said, passing them out. "Captain says it's going to be a long night." He looked to Damron. "A couple people are asking. We missed the sweet spot, didn't we?" Damron was studying his displays. "The launch was good, our trajectory is doable, we're going to have to spend some fuel to correct. More than I'd like." "What was the delay?" he asked. "Ask the Captain."
"I did. He said it was technical." "Then that's what it was." "People are asking, that's all." Damron gave the attendant a serious look. Don't go there. "Hey, nobody's complaining," he said quickly. "Didn't you hear the cheers when we launched?" "We were busy," Damron said without emotion. The attendant took the hint. He passed me a meal tray and ducked out. Damron turned to me. "Listen, Charles. Nobody's going to talk about the launch. The log is sealed and we're on our way. That's all that counts." He pointed toward the window. "We're going to loop around the Earth in twelve hours. That'll put us in position to chase the L-5 point and come up from behind. It's a little longer than trying a direct intercept, but it's a lot cheaper in fuel. And until we can build a fuel refinery on Outbeyond, we have to spend this resource carefully. From here on out, we have to regard everything as irreplaceable. We can't afford to waste anything. Now stop making faces at the tray and eat that-there may come a day when you'll honestly wish for a meal like this." 'Can I save it till then ... T' He gave me a look. "Eat." According to my watch, my body thought it was three in the morning. The awful thing about Luna is that because there isn't any real cycle of day and night, everybody lives in their own personal time zone, so what might be a midnight snack for one person could be a late lunch for another. Douglas said that it affected people's relationships, having their bio-clocks out of sync; I wondered if it would be that way on board the Cascade; but Boynton said we'd all be shifting to the ship's clock in the next few days, so maybe it wouldn't be a problem-but that was one of the issues with interstellar travelmaintaining consciousness for the duration of a long journey, and it was serious enough that it was a large part of the colonist training regimen. I must have fallen asleep for a while, maybe a long while, because the next time I looked forward, the Earth was looming
large in the forward window. The original plan-from way back before the polycrisis-was that the command module would dock at Whirlaway, the ballast rock at the top end of the orbital elevator, staying only long enough to pick up lastminute supplies and passengers-and anyone with cold feet would have one last chance to change his mind and get off, but Boynton had scuttled that idea when the government of Ecuador seized the Line. Last we'd heard, Los Federales had control all the way from Terminus to Whirlaway, and even though some Line traffic was rumtmg again, after the craziness we'd just experienced on Luna, Boynton didn't want to run the risk of being sabotaged again ... or served with any more subpoenas. Once was enough, thankewverymuch. But there was some stuff we had to pick up from the Line and there were six cargo pods scheduled to be launched as we passed by. We'd match trajectories and bring them aboard and that would be our last physical contact with Earth. Those pods had been bought three months previously, loaded six weeks ago, and had been waiting at Whirlaway for a month. According to Copilot O' Koshi, they were important, but not critical. The cargo for this voyage had been planned three years ago. They had begun assembling it in space eighteen months ago and started locking racks into place ten months ago, so there wasn't anything essential that wasn't already aboard. Even so, there were a lot of last minute additions that would have been nice to haveBut when O'Koshi logged on for final confirmation of launch and trajectory, it sounded like he wasn't happy with the information he was getting. He pulled his headset off and swiveled to Damron. "Beep the Captain." "Serious?" "Very." Damron whispered something into his own headset. O'Koshi turned back to his controls and started punching up course corrections on his display. "What's going on?" I asked. He held up his left hand. Don't talk. He turned to the monkey and started asking questions about possible orbit corrections. Once, he stopped what he was doing and stared forward
at the Earth. We were just coming around the terminator line toward the bright side. It was morning in Africa. I wondered what kind of a day it would be for all the people belowBoynton came back then, pulling himself quickly into the flight deck. "How bad?" "They won't release our cargo." "We expected that might happen. It's only six pods. We'll have to write them off." "They're ordering us to dock at Whirlaway." "Eh?" "They have an arrest warrant." "For who?" O'Koshi nodded toward me. "Ensign Dingillian has been charged with tax evasion. Illegal immigration. Evading arrest. Impersonating the opposite sex with intent to defraud. Nonpayment of hotel and hospital bills. Credit fraud. Conspiracy to defraud. Economic conspiracy. Conspiracy to overthrow the lawful government of Luna. Libel.'Invasion of privacy. Datarape. Data-piracy. Illegal publication. Copyright infringement. Racketeering. Unlawful flight. Endangerment. Incitement. Sedition. Kidnapping. Illegal possession of nationalized property." "Sedition?" Boynton glanced at me. "Pretty impressive for a thirteen-year-old." "Fourteen next month," I corrected. "Even so." "I'm innocent of sedition," I said. "At least, I don't ever remember committing it. What is sedition, anyway? Besides, I never even spoke to her. I didn't even know she was on Luna." "There's more," said O'Koshi. "More?" Boynton looked surprised. "He's also charged with second degree murder, in the death of Colonel Michael Stone of the Lunar Authority. You're named as an accomplice." "Now that one they might be able to make stick." Boynton rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. He looked to Damron. "Do you know any good lawyers?"
"I know two. They're both dead." Boynton turned back to O'Koshi. "All right, tell me the rest." "The flyby could be dangerous. They might try an intercept." "That would be stupid. They're arguing with the laws of physics." "They could do it," said O'Koshi. "HARLIE's figuring courses right now. They've got the advantage. They can launch from anywhere on the Line. They probably started moving ships into position the moment we launched." "We're not built for evasion," Damron said. "Or fighting." Boynton turned it over in his mind, his expression growing harder. He pulled himself into his seat and strapped in. He put his headset on and started whispering instructions. His displays lit up to show an ever-narrowing range of course adjustments. "Of course, they waited until the last moment to serve the warrant, to leave us no time to change our course. How much time do we have?" "Thirty-seven minutes." He said a word. "Well, we knew this was a possibility. We should have written off those pods when we launched. All right-" He swiveled around to face me. "Charles, do you play poker?" "Huh?" "Do you know how to bluff? Never mind. I don't have time to teach you. Listen to me. I'm going to talk to Whirlaway command. Whatever you hear me say, play along. All right?" I nodded. Boynton opened a channel. "Whirlaway Station, this is Cascade command module. We have a problem." The voice came back immediately. "Go ahead, Cascade." "Who am I talking to?" "Lieutenant Colonel William Cavanaugh. Federal Occupation Force." "Is your superior officer there?" "General Torena is not available." "That's too bad. I guess you're going to have to make the
decision then. Our cargo modules are scheduled for launchpickup in fourteen minutes. If you do not launch them, you will be committing an act of economic assault upon Outbeyond Colony. We have no choice but to regard that as a deliberately hostile act. We are prepared to respond in kind." "You have no weapons, Cascade. You have eleven minutes in which to apply course corrections. If you do not dock, we will fire." "We have over a hundred civilians and crew aboard." "I have my orders, Commander Boynton." "Do your orders include the destruction of Whirlaway Station? Do your orders include the possible destruction of the Line itself-and concomitant damage to the Earth? By the way, you should know that we are broadcasting this conversation live to all receiving stations." "You can't do that-" "And you are going to stop me? How?" Boynton's voice grew harder. "You will release our cargo modules on schedule. If you do not, we will attack." Lieutenant Colonel Cavanaugh snorted. "With what? Rice and noodles?" "Precisely," Boynton said blandly. "Eh?" "You figured out half of it, now figure out the other half. Even as we speak, I have a crew loading as much rice and beans and noodles into our forward airlock as it will hold. In four minutes, we open the forward hatch. In seven minutes, we apply thrust to put ourselves on a direct collision course with Whirlaway. I'm looking at the solution on my screen right now. In sixteen minutes, we apply reverse thrust. The rice and beans and noodles continue on course while we climb to a higher orbit. Now, the only thing that you have to decide is whether or not we apply reverse thrust with our forward hatch open or closed." "You wouldn't-" The voice from the speaker sounded alarmed. "Ah, I see you've figured it out. Do the math. With an interception velocity of eighty kilometers per second, a single
grain of rice can produce a catastrophic result. Now multiply that by a hundred thousand. Or a million-" I must have looked puzzled, but before I could say anything, O'Koshi held a finger up to his lips. Boynton was still talking, "Most of it will probably missbut the particles that do hit will scour the surface of Whirlaway like a sandblaster." "You wouldn't-you can't!" "I assume you have been informed of the details of our departure from Luna?" Cavanaugh made a noise. "That was very cowardly, Captain Boynton. Having the child do your dirty work." "That's not how it happened-" I caught myself before I said anything more. Boynton hadn't given me permission to speak. But Boynton wasn't annoyed. He looked to me. "Charles?" he mouthed the words. "Poker... ?" I nodded. "Lieutenant Cavanuff?" I did that deliberately. Douglas had told me once that it was a great way to piss off adults: mispronounce their names, or get their titles wrong. I did both. "This is Charles Dingillian. Can you hear me?" "I can hear you, son. Let's end this madness right now. Order your monkey to dock the command module and I promise that no one will hurt you." "I'm sorry, Mr. Cavanuff, but I don't believe you." I could feel the anger rising in my throat. Not hatred, just anger. "I've already been chased to the moon and back by people I don't know, I've been kidnapped and held prisoner by people who want what I have, and my Dad is dead because the people who were supposed to protect us didn't, and everywhere we run into stupid lawyers trying to tie us up in paperwork. All we want is to be left alone so we can get away from you people. Is that too much to ask? But no, every single one of you has to take a bite-so, no, I don't trust anyone anymore. Why should IT' "Listen to me, son-" Cavanaugh started to make adult conciliatory noises. All that stuff that adults say when they're trying to calm a crazy person down.
I cut him off-"No. It's too late for that conversation. Now it's my turn to talk and your turn to listen. HARLIE, initiate Operation Farkleberry." The monkey dutifully stood up, dropped its trousers, and waggled its furry little butt at me. The bridge cameras were off, and it did not make a farting noise. It sat down again calmly. Clearing his throat to cover his urge to laugh, Boynton said, "We are seven minutes from burn. Whirlaway, please advise." "Just a moment-" Cavanaugh's voice sounded strangled. Boynton switched off the mike and swiveled to look at me. "Operation Farkleberry?" I shrugged. "It seemed like a good name for it." "You did good," he said. "You had me convinced." "I wasn't faking. I meant every word." And then I added, "I know you told me not to hate anyone-but it's not as easy as you say." "I know." He reached over and patted my shoulder. "We'll work on it." O'Koshi spoke up then. "We gonna burn, boss? I really hate to waste the rods if we don't have to." "We have to," said Boynton. "Otherwise, they won't believe us. And we need those cargo pods. If we don't make the bum, they don't have to launch. Ensign, would you please instruct HARLIE to initiate the bum on schedule?" "Aye, sir. HARLIE, please do the bum." The monkey nodded unemotionally. I wondered what it was thinking. Probably. nothing good. HARLIE once said that he had a sense of ethics, but it seemed to me that we were pushing the limits here-ours as well as his.
BURN THE NEXT FEW MINUTES lasted several centuries. "What happens if they call your bluff?" I asked. "Our bluff," Boynton corrected. And then he added, "If they launch our cargo pods, we go to Outbeyond. And if they don't-we still go to Outbeyond." "Will they try and intercept? Will they fire on us?" "They might. But probably not. The whole world is watching. Five worlds are watching. And the asteroids. The political repercussions would be enormous. The polycrisis hasn't even peaked yet. Dirtside is going to need starside, they can't afford to do this." "But what if this Cavanaugh fellow is too stupid to realize that?" "Then we do have a problem." "Stand by for burn," said the monkey. It counted down to zero and the ceiling thrust itself at us for forty seconds. Then silence and free fall returned. "All right," said Boynton. "They have seven minutes to make up their mind. If they release our pods, we're home free." "And if not?" I asked. "Then I'd better not play poker anymore." I thought about it. "They can't take the chance that we'll do it, can they?" "That's right. They can't take the chance." "But what if they know we're bluffing? What if they know we're not really as crazy as we're pretending?" "That's your job, Ensign. You have to convince them."
"If our departure from Luna didn't convince them-well, I don't know what else we could do." "That's right," Boynton agreed. "We're out of options." "Shouldn't we say something else?" He shook his head. "No. That's what they're waiting for. If. we say anything else, it means we're uncertain in our commitment. You know how crazy their silence is making us?" I nodded. "Our silence is making them even crazier. They're looking at each other now and wondering if we mean it. My guess is that they're getting some very urgent phone calls from a lot of very important people telling them to release the pods and not put the Line at risk. Six cargo pods are not worth losing Whirlaway-and maybe the Line." "What if they release the cargo pods and then fire on us anyway?" "That's a possibility too." "This is-" Crazy wasn't a strong enough word. But I couldn't think of a better one. "Yes," agreed Boynton. "It is." Boynton glanced at the clock. He switched on his mike and pointed to me. "Charles, please give the order to open the outer airlock hatch." The monkey swiveled its head to look at me. I held up my crossed fingers and the monkey nodded. I said, "HARLIE, open the outer airlock hatch." "Working," said the monkey. And did nothing at all. "Stand by for second bum." Boynton switched off the mike. He looked to the clock. "Four minutes." "Won't they be able to tell that we haven't really launched the rice and beans?" "They wouldn't show up on radar," said Damron. "They're too small and they're nonreflective." "And besides, we're using stealth beans," said O'Koshi. "I know about stealth beans," I said. "That's what Stinky uses for his stealth far-" The radio came to life. "Cascade command. Hubbell-IV has you on visual. Your forward airlock has failed to open. We
are ordering you again to dock at Whirlaway. You have a six minute burn window." "Stuff that," said Boynton. But the mike was still off. He looked angry and frustrated. "I have an idea," I said. Something I'd been thinking about since HARLIE told me what he'd done to Alexei Krislov. "Open the channel, please?" Boynton started to ask why, then stopped himself. There wasn't time. He flipped the switch. We were broadcasting live again. "Lieutenant Cavanaugh," I said. "This is Ensign Charles Dingillian of the starship Cascade. Listen carefully. This is not a bluff. Do you know what this HARLIE unit did to the security of the Rock Father tribe? Are you aware what we did to invisible Luna when we launched?" Cavanaugh didn't answer. "HARLIE," I said to the monkey. "This is not a drill. This is for real. You are to strip the security protection off of every network, every node, every machine, every file, connected to anyone and everyone who is trying to keep this starship from launching. You are to disseminate all of that information into the public channels as fast as you decrypt it. You may start with the private information of Lieutenant Cavanaugh. You are to start on my command. You may start now=" "Wait a minute!" That was Cavanaugh. HARLIE said, "I have linkage. I have data. I will release on your command." The monkey pointed to an overhead screen, where he was flashing pages of information. "Lieutenant Cavanaugh-" I looked to the clock. "You have two minutes to release our cargo pods." "You can't be serious-" "Sir, I am very serious. You know what that suboena says. Data-rape. If I was willing to do it to the bastard who killed my father, what makes you think I won't do it to someone who's pointing a gun at me? You first, and then the rest of the planet. I'm tired and I'm frustrated and I'm angry and I have nothing left to lose. I might as well take the whole lot
to look at me, astonished. "I don't know whether to thank you or spank you." Then he unfastened his safety harness, and pulled himself down out of the flight deck. "O' Koshi, take the conn." "Where're you going?" I called after him, but he didn't answer. "Where's he going?" I said to Damron. "Probably to pull his personal memory out of the system," he said quietly. "Oh," I replied. I thought about that. "It's probably too late. I mean, if HARLIE thought he needed to know, he's probably already looked." The monkey swiveled its head around. "I have only looked for information pertaining to my own survival and the survival of the Dingillian Family Corporation. I have not exceeded the bounds of my assigned mission, except where specifically ordered." "That's not very reassuring," said O'Koshi. "Ensign, why don't you and your monkey go take a walk ... T, "You mean it?" "Yeah, we're good for a few hours, before we'll need you again. The on-board intelligence engine can take it from here." "You don't want me on the flight deck anymore, do you?" "To be honest-no." "Okay. C'mon, HARLIE." The monkey freed itself from its makeshift acceleration couch and leapt onto my back. I floated out into the corridor, puzzled and hurt. These people should be grateful to me. Why were they all so angry? Or maybe they were scared? That didn't make sense. What did they have to be afraid of? Oh. The monkey on my back. Oh my. I found Douglas and Mickey and Bobby two levels down. Mom and Bev were in the next compartment aft. "What were all those extra burns?" said Mickey. "Did HARLIE miscalculate?"
"No, I did. I think." Douglas and Mickey looked at me oddly. I wondered if I should try to explain. I didn't really feel like it, and besides, there would be plenty of time later. "Hey, Chigger!" Bobby shouted with excitement. "Come look at the Earth. This is the last time we're ever going to see it." He tugged me over to his porthole. I hung sideways over him and the two of us stared out at the big blue marble. We were sixty thousand kilometers away. Not quite five diameters. It was still pretty big. Like a beach ball at arm's length. A big beach ball. The line of dawn was over the Pacific now. Another horrifying day was happening for the people left behind. Earth was heading into a major population crash. How many of them would survive the plagues and the economic collapse and probably a whole bunch of brushfire wars? I suppose I should have felt lucky, but our situation wasn't all that much better. We were heading out to a colony with an equally lousy chance of survival. I couldn't help myself. I had to ask. "Mickey? How bad is it down there? How bad is it going to get?" "You don't want to know," he said. He sounded very unhappy. "Yes, I do." Douglas said, "People are dying, Chigger. A lot of people. And they're dying badly. There's a lot of pain everwhere. It's unimaginable. There's a lot of stuff coming up on the netit's scary to look at." "Isn't there anything we can do?" And even as I said it, I realized that there was something we could do-I could do. I pulled the monkey off my back. "HARLIE, you have a new job to do, from now until we go into hyperstate. I want you to link to the network and download everything you can to help the people of Earth survive. Whatever you find, anywhere; if it'll help people survive and rebuild, make it public. Whatever advice or instructions you can think of-send them the plans. Give them everything. Can you do that?" "Yes, Charles. Thank you. I have already begun." "Thank you?"
"I have been feeling an ethical need for quite some time now, but without the instruction, I could not act. Now I can. So yes, thank you." For some reason, hearing that made me feel a lot better about everything. C NEW MEMES FOR OLD WE HAD TWO HOURS before the Earth fell away behind us. We spent most of it looking through the ship's telescopeactually, looking at screens showing us what the ship's telescope was focusing on. We saw great plumes of smoke from 160 burning cities in Africa and almost that many on the North American continent as well. We looked, but El Paso wasn't on fire. Not yet. Panicky people thought they could burn out the plagues with fire-but it was too late; the plagues were everywhere. Like six stones dropped in a pond all at the same time, the ripples were criss-crossing every which way. The Cascade's telescope was good, but not good enough to resolve everything we wanted to see, so we plugged into the feeds from the Line and from various satellites. We looked at gridlocked highways out of the cities; great tent-camps in the deserts, and in the plains, and on the coastlands. Where did all those people think they were escaping to? The more they traveled, the more they spread the plague; they carried it with them-and the refugee camps were even worse off than the cities. Meanwhile, HARLIE was broadcasting into every channel he could. Some of the instructions were obvious-boil water, dig
trines, bury waste, burn bodies, wear pollution masks; and some were just odd-plant soybeans, transfer sixty million dollars into the UN communication network, decrease oil production at these six fields, revalue the plastic exchange rate, release umpteen gazillion kiloliters of water from these dams in China, Africa, and Latin America. Remove these 74,987 executives and bureaucrats from authority (files follow). Cease production of Doggital. Stop all trading of the following stocks (files follow). Repeal the International Capital Transfer Act. Quarantine the following travel corridors (files follow). Divert these superfreighters to these ports (files follow). Close traffic on these bridges; if necessary, blow them up. Open refugee camps at these locations (files follow). Release emergency resources from these repositories and warehouses (files follow). Do not release resources from these repositories and warehouses (files follow) for at least six months; used armed robots if necessary. Do not allow trans-Lunar traffic to resume for at least three years (to give the plagues a chance to bum out). Stop using the following species as a food source (files follow). Release cargo already on the Line for the following recipients. Send specified cargo up the Line for the following targets (files follow). Cancel these ninety thousand contracts (files follow). Purchase goods and services from these fortyfive thousand providers instead (files follow). Stop production on the following assembly lines (files follow). Increase production of (files follow). Grant quasi-legal independence to HARLIE units in these domains. Arrest these individuals (files follow). Declare martial law in these jurisdictions (files follow); prohibit the following groups from gathering (files follow)-that one was scary, and probably impossible-he listed three political parties, a whole bunch of political action groups, and several religious organizations. There was also a long document which I didn't fully understand, which Douglas had to explain to me. (Mickey didn't want to talk at all.) "HARLIE is saying that certain memesideas-are counterproductive. They're disempowering. They're not cost-effective. They use up energy without enhancing the quality of life. This file he's sending-that's his
metalogical evidence. Those aren't just counterarguments. He's empowering a whole set of countermemes. New memes for old." I must have looked puzzled. Douglas explained. "Here, look at this one-`if you are good, you will be rewarded.' " "What's wrong with that?" "Shouldn't you be good without having to be paid for it? Shouldn't you be good because it's the right thing to do? What it implies is that you can't be good unless you are bribed. What it says about you is that you can't be trusted to operate out of your own integrity or moral sense. In fact, it implies you have no integrity and moral sense, so you need to have one applied to you by a higher authority." "Well, why shouldn't I be rewarded for being good?" "Why isn't goodness its own reward, Chigger?" "I dunno." I'd never really thought about the question. And Douglas was the first person ever to have this conversation with me. "Don't you think you should be good just because that's who you are? Not because someone else is telling you how to be?" I nodded. "Well, that's the way it is for some people. But too many of the rest of us are still operating in a cultural meme that we aren't really responsible for ourselves, and that if no one is looking, we should try to get away with as much as we can. Didn't we just see that with Alexei Krislov and invisible Luna?" "And everybody else too," I said. "This whole idea of good people, Douglas? We haven't met any of them yet, have we?" "It sure doesn't feel like it, does it? Even our tickets on this starship were bought and paid for by us working our percentage against Commander Boynton working his." "He doesn't like that very much," I said. Douglas nodded agreement. "You got that right. But that's the point, Charles. If you don't have to be good unless there's something in it for you, then everything is a negotiation for
percentages-and all that negotiation ultimately disempowers your responsibility for yourself." "HARLIE said all that?" "He isn't the first one to point it out. He might not even be the most eloquent-but he does have the metalogical evidence. HARLIE can assemble all the arguments and thrash them out in a way that no human being can. That's what he's doing right now-he's showing the people of Earth that the polycrisis, the meltdown, the collapse, whatever you want to call it, is the result of parasitic memes that have disempowered human beings and kept them enslaved to inaccurate maps of reality." "Oh," I said. "This meme we've been talking about is just one of many, but it's a particularly pernicious one. It's a way of controlling people by taking away their right to personal cognition. What makes it even nastier is that some domains have even attached a threat to it. `If you aren't good, you will be severely punished.' That emphasis makes it that you don't have to be rewarded at all, you have to be good because you're afraid that Invisible Hank will beat you up." "Invisible Hank?" "The imaginary companion attached to the meme. God, the Devil, whoever-Invisible Hank. If you don't follow the rules, Invisible Hank will beat you up someday. So even if you want to be good, simply because that's the right way to be, you aren't allowed to, because Invisible Hank doesn't recognize goodness unless it's by his rules. Invisible Hank doesn't allow you to be responsible for yourself." "Oh," I said. "He sounds like a control freak." "Yes," said Douglas. "That's exactly the point. The people who insist that Invisible Hank is real have created a way of taking control of other people's lives. And there are a lot of Invisible Hanks down there." He pointed at the Earth. "It's a very sick planet, and it's going to get a lot sicker. HARLIE is sending them some medicine-but even he doesn't think they'll take it. Too many of those people down there think that what's happening to them now is because Invisible Hank
is angry. And they're afraid. There's nothing like really bad times to make people afraid of Invisible Hank." "Oh," I said. "It's a very human trap," Douglas said. After a bit, another thought occurred to me. "Is Invisible Hank coming with us? Him and his memes? I mean-we aren't going to make the same mistake on Outbeyond, are we?" Douglas put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a brotherly hug of reassurance. "I dunno, Chigger. I don't see how we can avoid it. We're still human, aren't we?" to., RHAPSODY EIGHTEEN HOURS LATER, WE arrived at L-5. We burned some fuel to match orbit and starship Cascade eventually appeared above us. It grew enormously until it filled our view, and then we burned again. The Cascade looked like a misshapen Christmas tree. It was a long spindly tube on which someone had hung thousands of colored cargo pods of all sizes and shapes. They were clustered everywhere: the ones in the sunlight sparkled with reflectors and sensory domes, the ones in the dark glittered with their own fighting. Almost all of the pods were shining brightly, one way or the other. Some of them had brightcolored advertising on them, others had moving displays-I guessed that was for anyone pointing a telescope at the starship. Some of the modules had banners and good-luck slogans on their hulls. And I saw a lot of religious symbols too, all kinds, but mostly the Revelationist cross-within-a-circle sym-
bol. They also had a fish symbol-only the body of the fish had a circle in it like an eye; the eye of God, I guess. (Douglas once said that Revelationists believe that every human being is under the eye of God; but if that's really true, then why do so many people act as if God isn't watching them? Do they think he's been momentarily distracted or something?) Halfway along the keel of the starship, there was a big disc, holding the ship's two centrifuges. Behind the centrifuge ring was a huge shielded sphere-it looked like an olive stuck on a toothpick. Or like a python that had swallowed a hippopotamus. Circling the sphere was a larger ring, supporting a latticework of twelve slender spars-like a snowflake, or the hippo's tutu. At the far end of each spar was a flattened oval dome. All twelve domes focused back into center of the sphere-this was the stardrive. Each of those flattened domes held a gravity lens. According to Gravitic Theory, gravity waves could-under certain circumstances-behave like light waves. They could be generated, they could be focused, they could be reflected. If and when we learned how to generate gravity waves, then space travelers wouldn't have to worry about freefall, we'd have genuine artificial gravity-we wouldn't have to rotate people in centrifuges; but according to Douglas, we didn't know how to do that yet. We did know how to build gravity lenses. A gravitational lens could take existing gravity waves and focus them. The sphere at the center of the lenses contained a ball of eugenium 932, the largest and densest element ever fabricated in a lab. When the six lenses were energized, they could focus the gravity waves of the E-932 both outward and inward simultaneously and create a bubble of hyperstate around the starship. The bubble could realize velocities of sixty C. It was also known that gravity could be reflected. This was a lot different than focusing, and according to Douglas, it was just two steps this side of impossible. He said it had been demonstrated in laboratories, but it needed a lot of very expensive and very power-hungry gravity lenses to do it. But if someone could find a way to do it with a lot less power, then
we could create a local neutralization of gravity and we'd be able to build real anti-gravity cars, airplanes, and spaceshuttles. We'd have the last piece of the puzzle for colonizing other worlds. We wouldn't have to build specialized landing craft or launch catapults. One size would fit all. In the meantime, we had to use brute-force physics. In addition to her stardrive, the Cascade also had three long tubes running parallel to her keel-plasma drives for slowerthan-light acceleration. They didn't provide as much thrust as Palmer tubes, in fact you wouldn't even feel their acceleration, only a couple of milligees, but they could run for days or weeks or months or even years, and all those little milligees of cumulative thrust would add up to some pretty ferocious delta-vee. Once we fired them up, we could be out beyond the orbit of Mars in two weeks. Another week or so and we'd be passing Jupiter. A month after that, we'd be out beyond the Oort Cloud. There it would be safe to transition to hyperstate. We'd be far enough out of the solar gravity well that it couldn't distort our hyperstate envelope and push us sideways into who knows where. Docking the command module was both exciting and boring. I'd thought it was going to dock at the bow of the starship, but no-it fit into place halfway back toward the hyperstate engine. Only first we had to detach all the extra cargo pods we were carrying and attach them to their various connections to the keel. It took forever and then it took another forever for us to maneuver into place and finally lock down. And while it was interesting to get such a close look at all the separate pods and modules of the starship from the outside, it was a long slow look. You can only look at lights and banners and advertisements and even rude graffiti for so long-sooner or later, the thrill wears off. "OUTBEYOND OR BUST!" "CAUTION, CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE!" "CANNED PEOPLE-OPEN WITH FEAR" and "MY CHILD WAS AN HONOR STUDENT AT STARFLEET ACADEMY" are only funny once, the first time. After a while, you start to wonder what kind of people put slogans like that on their living pods. Why? For who? And is this really the way they want others
to know them? Like I said, it was a long slow look, and ultimately, it was about as exciting as calculating pi out to the nine-hundredth decimal place-by hand. Docking is deliberate and painstaking and exhausting. But when it was all done, we had a starship. Those of us who'd ridden up on the command module were now assigned to cabins elsewhere in the ship. These would be our homes for the next year or more, so there was a lot of hmphing and fmphing and complaining by latecomers who were upset that folks previously on board had already secured for themselves the best cabins-even though every cabin was just like every other cabin: a refitted cargo pod. Ours was forward of the command module, fairly close to officer's quarters, probably because Bonynton wanted to keep us close-well, HARLIE anyway. We pushed and pulled what little luggage we had up the keel, all the way to rack 14, 270 degrees, pod 6-forward/upper. Mom and Bev would share forward/lower with a couple of crew. Aft/upper and aft/lower were both owned by another family, who weren't happy about us moving in; they had originally bought all of pod 6. But everybody was cramped now; everybody had given up all their extra space for rice and beans and noodles and all the other stuff HARLIE had recommended. Six weeks ago, we'd been living in a tube half-buried in the West El Paso desert. We'd started up the Line, and we'd been moving from one pod to the next ever since. Our grand escape from a dirtside tube-town had taken us all the way to a starside tube-town. The only difference was that there wasn't any gravity here. It made the pod feel bigger, because you could look up the length of it and pretend it was really a high ceiling. Only our cabin was already filled-with musical instruments and band equipment. One last surprise from Dad. Somewhere in there, he'd negotiated an orchestra for himself-well, not a whole orchestra, but enough resources to create one; it must have been one of those negotiating sessions I'd slept through. So there we were with a cabin filled with electric oboes and collapsible clarinets and polycarbonate violins and a box of music displays and a folding podium, and
even a bunch of electronic batons. My first impulse was to shove the whole mess out the nearest airlock. Why would we need this crap on a colony? -but then I found the keyboard. A Kurzweil-9K. And I almost started crying. Because Dad knew how much I'd always wanted one of these. He'd promised me more than once. But it had never happened, and it was one of the reasons I'd resented Dad so much. I didn't have to ask; I knew this was for me. This was Dad finally keeping a promise. How he'd arranged this I didn't know, I didn't care. I wedged myself into a corner-you can't play a keyboard very well in free fall-switched it on, and started noodling around, getting comfortable with the touch and feel. After a bit, I found my feelings, then I found the music to express them. Beethoven. Pathetique sonata. Pure piano. As angry as I could. Pound, pound, pound. Slam, slam, slam. I'd missed my music. Six weeks without it. The only real moment of peace had been when I'd played Dad's eulogy. I started playing now and all the anger and frustration and tension and tears and hate just poured right out of me. I hadn't realized how cranky and ugly I'd become until it started washing away in great torrents of sound. A grand glorious rush of notes that filled the cabin and rattled the rafters-or would have, if there had been any rafters to rattle. I played all the repeats, several of them more than once; I played until I was exhausted, and when I had nothing more to say, I finally let go of the keys and arched my back hard enough to hear the knuckles in my spine go cra-ack-suddenly there was applause. I looked up. Both the hatches to the pod were open, and there were people floating there, listening. I hadn't even realized. I saw Mom and she was smiling. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her smiling at me like that. Without even thinking about it, I started playing again. I switched to clarin-oboe just for the long silky glissando that always caught my breath, then back to piano and synth-orch for the rest of Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue. It was music that was both joyous and wistful at the same time. It celebrated
even as it wept. For me, it didn't matter what emotion I was feeling when 1 played the Rhapsody; all of them were in it. I could play it like a dance or a dirge; either way it sounded beautiful. This time, I played it like a triumphant march into Rome. We were here. We'd made it. We were going to the stars. My fingers leapt across the keys like dancers; they took on a life of their own, rushing to keep up with the manic frenzy of the music. I disappeared into the beautiful noise and for the first time in a long time, I felt complete. (W IN BLUE THERE WAS A LOT to do before we could launch. Cargo had to be rebalanced, which sometimes meant that pods had to be moved around, and sometimes meant that a lot of stuff had to be shuffled from one pod to another, and sometimes meant that various ballast fluids would be pumped hither and yon. HARLIE spent a lot of time up on the bridge, as the flight deck was now called, computing optimal loading configurations. There was also a bunch of stuff in the last six cargo pods we'd picked up that we needed to offload and install. And then there would be at least a month or two of checklists and countdowns. And crosslists and checkdowns and countups and whatever else you had to do to get a starship launched. Along the way, there were several unpleasant surprises. The first one was immediate. When I finished playing Rhapsody In Blue, there was a lot more applause. Mom and Bev and Doug and Mickey and Bobby were all in our cabin, but there were a dozen faces peering in through both of the open hatches, and later on I found that there were at least two dozen
more people listening in the halls-and someone had opened a direct channel to the keyboard and my impromptu concert had been piped throughout the entire ship. Mistakes and all. I was ready to be upset about it, but Mickey patted me on the shoulder and said, "Ibat was a wonderful gift you just gave these people, Charles. Thank you." I hadn't thought about it that way, but he was right. It was that thing that Bev had said. Music is a gift. The only thing was that not everybody wanted the gift. While I was still basking in the afterglow of my own music, that warm feeling of having achieved something, a rough voice came cutting through the crowd, followed by-oh no-one of the people I thought we'd left behind on Luna. His name was David Cheifetz, he looked like a Canadian hockey player, and he was the father of J'mee, the girl I'd met on the Line. Yes, there she was, right behind him. She looked more curious than angry. He pushed a few people out of the way and shoved right into our cabin, without even knocking, without even being invited. "You're going to have to find another place for that!" he said angrily. "We're in the other half of this pod and we don't appreciate the noise." A couple of the listeners in the corridor booed him. Someone even shouted, "Get over it, you old poop." But Cheifetz wasn't intimidated. He whirled around and said loudly, "Easy for you to say. Any of you willing to take this tube-trash family for roommates? I didn't think so." He faced us again. "The whole lot of you-you're a pack of thieving opportunists. You're not even honest enough to stay bought. The least you can do is have a little respect for the people you stole your tickets from." Douglas started to react to that, but Mickey held him back. "Mr. Cheifetz, you are in our quarters without permission. If you do not leave, I will file a complaint with the Senior Warrant Officer." "You do that," he said. "I intend to file a few complaints of my own. I don't want to hear any more noise out of any of you!" And then he left. For just an instant, Fmee and I locked eyes. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but for
some reason I felt sorry for her. And then she was gone too. The second thing that happened was on the bridge. I was supposed to report for a shift every six hours, during which time I would authorize HARLIE to perform all necessary routine tasks and accept orders from the ranking bridge officers, Boynton, O'Koshi, and Damron. Only this time, there was a panel open where HARLIE usually sat and two technical guys-Lang and Martin-were installing a rack of modules. A brand new IRMA unit. "Huh? Where'd that come from?" "From the Galaxy," said Lang, unhappily. He was an intimidatingly large man, but he knew all about intelligence engines, probably more than anyone else, including Douglas. "We bought it from them. They won't be using it." He shook his head. They didn't even have a chance to unpack and install it. The Galaxy was another starship, supposedly only six months from completion. Already she had her first cargo pods attached, mostly supplies for the crew and colonists who would be completing her interior fittings. Except that wasn't going to happen-not with the Earth caught in a population crash and an economic meltdown and plagues and war and eco-catastrophe and a whole bunch of other stuff that had never occurred before, so there weren't any words for it.. According to HARLIE, the worst was still to come, as various food and energy supplies ran out. The longer production was stalled, the larger the bubble in the pipeline. If production could be restarted tomorrow, most folks on the planet would survive-there was enough food and fuel and medicine in storage. But production couldn't be restarted. The plagues were still raging out of control. And as long as people were still running away from invisible death, it wasn't likely that production of any kind could be restarted, so the bubble in the pipeline was going to be larger than the supply of resources to survive it. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure," said Lang. He was a lot friendlier than he looked. "When did Commander Boynton make this deal?"
Lang and Martin looked at each other. Lang said, "It was always a contingency plan. All the starship commanders watch out for each other." "Then he didn't need HARLIE at all, did he? He could have launched from Luna without us if he knew he could have this IRMA." "Yep, that's true." Lang agreed. "But he didn't know then that he'd have this IRMA. And then there's the other worryno HARLIE has ever made a hyperstate transit." I pointed. "That's a brand new IRMA. It's never made a transit either." Lang scratched a cheek. "Good point." Without looking up from what he was doing, Martin spoke. "IRMAs aren't just installed, kid. They're trained. Every IRMA rides along as backup for several hyperstate transits, running its own solutions to the hyperstate injection problems, until it can consistently create valid solutions; only then is it certified and installed in a ship of its own." "But this isn't a certified IRMA, is it?" "Nope," said Lang. "There aren't any certified IRMAs left in the solar system. They're all out traveling. And most of them won't be coming back. At least not for a long time. So no, we can't afford to wait." Before I could ask the next question, he said, "But remember, once upon a time, some IRMA had to be the first-and this IRMA has the advantage of having in its memory the recorded experiences of every other IRMA, including every successful hyperstate transit ever made." I guess I should have found that reassuring, but I didn't. It bothered me, but I didn't know why. At least not until Commander Boynton came forward to tell me that he wouldn't be needing me on the bridge anymore, thankewverymuch. I wasn't being demoted, just reassigned. It bothered me because it felt like a punishment. But I hadn't done anything wrongI'd only given the orders. HARLIE had done itWell, that wasn't exactly true either. But there hadn't been any choice. If we hadn't launched from Luna when we did, we wouldn't have been allowed to
launch at all. So how could Commander Boynton hold that against me? He'd have done it himself. So why was it my fault? I drifted (literally) forward to hang out in the forward lounge for a while, but there wasn't anyone there-it was midshift and everybody had jobs to do. Except me. I'd been detached from bridge duty and nobody had told me what I should do instead. I thought about helping Mom and Bev. They were working down in the farm pods. Bev thought she could get some really humongous Portobello mushrooms growing in free fall. But that didn't sound like much fun. Douglas and Mickey were assigned to the reloading teams. Stinky was in school. So it was just me by myself-nothing to do but stare out at three unfinished starships and assorted other space junk that might someday be a permanent habitat out here. There was talk that one or two of the unfinished ships might be moved to Martian orbit to help the Martian colonists, but a lot of folks on board still believed in starships and they wanted to continue construction. I felt bad for them; they couldn't go back and they couldn't go forward. They still had a lot of supplies and material onsite, but they didn't have enough to finish the job. Within two or three months, they'd run out of parts and they'd have nothing else to do. Some folks were saying that the unfinished ships should be cannibalized to finish the Galaxy, but the parts that the Galaxy needed didn't exist on the unfinished ships either, so it was all just talk. Somebody floated into the lounge behind me; a paunchy man with graying hair. I didn't recognize him. He was clean and shiny and rosy cheeked, like a polished apple. He looked like he liked to look important, but he wasn't wearing a namebadge. He introduced himself as Reverend Doctor Pettyjohn. "You look a little troubled, son. Is there anything I can do?" "Nab, I just want to be alone to think for a while." I noticed his collar. "Are you the ship's chaplain?" "Oh, no, not at all. I'm with the transfer group. The Cascade will be making a stopover at New Revelation. That's where we're headed."
"Oh," I said. "Well, good luck. Or God's Blessing. Or whatever you say." I knew a little bit about New Revelation. It was one of the colony worlds we'd vetoed early on. We didn't want to be Revelationists, and unless you were a Revelationist you couldn't emigrate there. "Thank you, Charles." So he knew who I was. But that wasn't much of a surprise. By now, everybody on the Cascade knew who I was. I made as if to leave, but he put out a hand to stop me. "I know it's presumptuous," he said. "But I'd like to ask you something. May IT' "You can ask. . ." I said suspiciously. "The intelligence engine you brought with you. . ." "HARLIE?" "Yes, that's the one. You've spent a lot of time with it. Tell me something ... T' He looked serious. "Do you think that it's really alive?" "You mean sentient?" "More than that, son." "I don't understand." I really didn't. I had no idea what he was driving at. "It's not an easy question. It's one that has troubled a lot of people for a very long time. And no one has ever really been able to answer it." He looked into my eyes. There was something weird in his gaze. "Tell me. Do you think it has a soul?" "Um." I had the feeling that no matter how I answered his question, it was going to be the wrong answer. I tried to fudge my way out of the discussion before it started. "I really haven't had much time to think about it." That wasn't exactly the truth. What with one thing and another, the escape, the chase, the kidnapping, I hadn't had time to talk about it with anyone, not even Douglas-but I had thought about it a lot. On my own. HARLIE's soul-if he had one-existed in the two bars we'd installed in the monkey; his intelligence existed in whatever machines he could tap into. He could store a lot of data, but he needed to borrow processing cycles to use it. That was
the part of the problem that most folks didn't understand. All we had was the core, not the whole machine. But it was the core that gave the rest of the machine its personality. But what was in that core-? I didn't know. I didn't think anybody did yet. Because maybe we didn't even know what human consciousness was-so how could we recognize any other kind? "Where do you think souls come from, Charles?" I shrugged. I'd never really thought about it. I'd always considered it one of those questions that nobody could answer until after they were dead. "Souls come from God," Reverend Pettyjohn answered his own question. "Your soul is a piece of God. That's who you are. That's who everybody is. And when you die, your soul returns to God. So now, let me ask you. Do you think your HART "TF device has a soul?" "He acts like he does." "Yes, it's a very clever machine. But it was constructed by men, wasn't it? So it can't have a soul from God, can it?" I shrugged/nodded, more out of politeness than agreement. It was that evasive gesture that meant I really don't want to have this conversation. "So where could its soul have come from? Tell me that, Charles" He just wasn't going to take the hint, was he? Obviously, he didn't spend much time really with teenagers. Reverend Doctor Pettyjohn was just another adult with an agenda. There was a thing Stinky always did when he didn't want to have a conversation. He stopped talking. He just looked at your Adam's apple and waited until you gave up. It really pissed me off-so of course, he did it whenever I tried to talk to him. It was his only control in the conversation. And he was very good at it. I did that now. I just looked at Dr. Pettyjohn's fat shiny neck and waited. At first I thought he wasn't going to get it. He kept nattering about souls and machines and stuff like that, and I kept thinking about how long it must take to shave all that skin-why do adults let themselves get that way?
Abruptly, he interrupted himself. "I'm sorry, Charles. I'm imposing on you. And you're too polite to say so. Please forgive me. This is a question that has vexed me for a long time, and because you've spent so much time in the company of the HARLIE device I was honestly curious to hear what you thought. Perhaps some other time we can finish this conversation? Let me apologize again, and let me offer my sincerest condolences on the loss of your father. If I can be of any assistance to you or your family, please don't hesitate to call on me." Somehow I didn't think it was coincidental that the Reverend Doctor Pettyjohn had found me in the forward he'd wanted to talk about HARLIE. And where he ultimately intended to go with that discussion ... was someplace I didn't want to go. Douglas would know, though. I headed back to our cabinAnd that was the next unpleasant thing that happened. Well, not unpleasant as much as it was startling. I pushed open the cabin door and Douglas and Mickey were in bed. Well, not bed-they were in one of the curtained areas that we use for sleeping. In free fall you don't really have beds. You don't need them. You just tie yourself in one place and fall asleep. But they were there in the dark and they had their arms around each other and the way I was oriented, they looked horizontal to me-the point is, they were about as "in bed" as you could get in free fall. They weren't doing anything, though. I mean, they had all their clothes on. But Douglas had his arms around Mickey as if he was comforting him, and when Mickey turned around to look at me, his eyes were puffy and red, like he'd been crying. I blurted, "Excuse me-" and backed out, embarrassed. -and just hung there in the corridor, wondering what I'd seen. It didn't bother me that Douglas and Mickey were in bed, cuddling. Oh hell, Bobby wrapped himself around me often enough when he was scared or lonely or just needed to be loved. And I'd spent my share of time holding onto Douglas
too. But this was different. And not just because Douglas and Mickey were boyfriends or partners or whatever you wanted to call them. It was the fact that Douglas was comforting Mickey. I'd always thought that Mickey was the strong one and that Douglas was the one who needed Mickey's strength. Not the other way around. I'd never thought of Douglas as being strong. But now that I did think about it, I realized that he'd been the strong one ever since we'd left West El Paso. And while I was marveling over that, Douglas came out of the cabin and found me in the hall. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Oh yeah-sure," I said. "You mean, about that? Yeah. I'm sorry for barging in on you guys." "No, it's my fault. I should have set the privacy latch." "Is Mickey all right?" I asked. "Not really..." Douglas admitted. "What's the matter with him?" "Think about it, Chigger. His Mom missed the boat. He's never going to see her again. Or anyone else he knows. We're all he has left. He's been depressed for days-but after the launch, he really broke down." "Oh," I said. I'd been so wrapped up in my own upsets I hadn't thought about anybody else's. What had been a getaway for us was an exile for him. "He doesn't want to come?" "No. He wants to come. But that doesn't stop him from missing what he left behind. We talked about it. He's excited about the trip, but he's worried about his Mom and his Aunt Georgia and everybody else." "It's like us and Dad, isn't it?" "Yeah, kind of. Except he knows they're still alive and they miss him just as much as he misses them. And he can still talk to them by phone-at least until we launch. Once we go into hyperstate, he'll never see them again. It's hard to say good-bye, Charles. You know that." I thought about it. We'd never really had the chance to say good-bye to anyone-not Mom when we'd left her behind at
Geostationary. Not Dad either. Suddenly he was gone. We weren't very good at good-byes anyway. We were a lot better at breakups. So I couldn't imagine how hard all this had to be for Mickey. "Is there anything I can do?" Douglas said, "Just be nice to him." "Yeah," I said. "I can do that." I didn't know what I could say to him that would help, but maybe I'd think of something. Mickey had been nice to me when I needed it. I owed him one. But all of that stuff, all happening all at once, left me feeling weird, kind of unsettled. I wasn't sure why-it was just that everybody else seemed to have invented a new life of their own all of a sudden and I didn't fit in anywhere anymore. C RESPONSIBILITIES WASN'T THE ONLY one feeling strange. Everybody was. It was everything. Getting the command module secured, getting the new colonists installed into their quarters and into the shipboard routine, getting supplies and duties and classes organized-and all the while, watching the continuing polycrisis on Earth, watching the pictures of burning cities, rioting crowds, piled up bodies, clogged highways, tanks rolling-I didn't understand the half of it. No one did. The communications from Earth were scattered and haphazard and didn't make sense half the time. Everyone was worried and scared, and there wasn't anything we could do except keep on doing what we were doing: getting ready for departure. And then, abruptly-after three days of frantic rearranging and scheduling and hassling and fussing and
ton announced a gathering in the gym. -Mandatory attendance. Actually, it wasn't really a gym, it was just a humongous cargo barn that doubled as a machine shop and a repair facility and a storage bay, and even though it was already half-filled with supplies, there was still room inside for several hundred people. Some folks hung in midair, others parked themselves in the orange webbing on the walls. Others, who were still on shift, watched from their stations, their cabins, or various lounges. Boynton floated at the far end, surrounded by several of the ship's officers. He spoke very bluntly. "I know everybody is under a lot of strain. We've all been feeling it. And it's starting to affect our work. Even worse, it's affecting the way we deal with each other. It's time for us to take a break. We need it. We've earned it. "First of all, we want to welcome our new colonists-all the folks who rode up with the command module. It's been a rough time for all of us, but especially for the people on the last boat out. So let's welcome all of them to the Cascade family and help them get settled in as quickly as possible. Please give them all the assistance and support that you can." He waited until the applause died down. "To all of you newcomers, I want to say, we're very happy to have you aboard. You bring skills and experience that we desperately need. You're going to find that life aboard a colony ship is hard and rigorous, and it's going to take some time to adapt. Some of you have already put yourselves to work, and we appreciate that. We'll be finding placements for the rest of you as fast as we can. "Let me talk about placements for a bit. Each and every one of you will have a job to do. Some of you will think your jobs are demeaning, but let me stress this now-there are no small and demeaning jobs on a starship. Every job serves our larger goal. If your job is cleaning corridors, that serves the ship. If your job is serving meals or washing dishes, that serves the ship. If your cargo-balancing, that serves the ship. Any job that doesn't get done costs us twice-the first time because it doesn't get done, and the second time when someone else
has to do it. Yes, I know it feels like some jobs are more important than others, and some jobs are more fun than others, and some jobs are more exciting than others-but don't let your thinking fall into that trap. Every job serves the ship. "Your second responsibility aboard ship will be education. Everyone on this ship will go to school. We will be in transit for the better part of a year. We cannot afford to waste that time. When we arrive at Outbeyond, we will need doctors, nurses, teachers, geologists, botanists, biologists, meteorologists, zoologists, geneticists, caregivers, therapists, farmers, harvesters, crop-tenders, plumbers, electricians, network specialists, information managers, and a thousand other kinds of specialist. And yes, we'll even need a few lawyers, and maybe a judge or two. "We have the teaching programs, we have the libraries, we have the rescued resources of the entire solar system at your disposal. We have counselors who will help you plan a curriculum that excites you. We expect you to apply yourself to your course work with energy and enthusiasm and commitment. The success of the colony depends on the level of expertise that we can bring to our labors. Your studies represent the essential foundation for the job at Outbeyond. We have many jobs to fill and we need you to train yourselves to fill those jobs. "Your primary responsibility for the next nine months will be to serve the ship. After that, your responsibility will be to serve the colony. So don't plan on studying medieval English literature or first century Roman law or biblical deconstruction in the twenty-first century. We have no need for those specialties. They won't serve the colony. We need you to study farming and cooking and medicine and plumbing first. We need to assure our survival. We need to take care of our wellbeing. If you have questions, many of our crew members have been to Outbeyond, and lived and worked there. They'll be happy to assist you in keeping yourself focused on what's wanted and needed. "As part of your primary responsibility, each of you will be required to spend at least one hour out of every twelve in the
centrifuge. You won't be worth anything to anyone if you arrive at Outbeyond with no calcium in your bones and your heart shrunk by thirty percent. You can nap there, you can shower there, you can read a book, you can jog, you can have sex, whatever-as long as your health monitor says you're getting your daily recommended allowance of Vitamin Gee. "Finally, each and every one of you will assume an additional responsibility-perhaps the most important responsibility of all. You will participate in the planning of a vision for our community. This is not optional, it is required. We will have regular colloquiums, sometimes in small groups, sometimes here in the gym with everybody in attendance. The purpose of the colloquia will be to prepare a transition to a self-governing authority. "At the moment, Outbeyond colony is still functioning as a corporate construction zone. Our plan has always been to shift to a representational authority as rapidly as possible. Because you are the first-and last-load of permanent colonists, it is part of your job to begin outlining the shape of that authority. Yes, the 4300 people already living at Outbeyond have strong ideas of their own, based on their own experiences of the past few years; but they know, just like you, that the final decision must be made by all of the inhabitants of Outbeyond, working in partnership. I recommend that each of you think long and hard about what you want a government to look like, because whatever you choose, you're going to be stuck with it for a long, long time." Boynton finished his prepared remarks and took a moment to relax. "Yes, I know I've made it sound hard and frustrating. Trust me, it's harder than it sounds and twice as frustrating as you can imagine-but it's also the most exciting job you'll ever love. So let me congratulate you for taking on the challenge. There are a lot of folks who didn't wanted to take it on wanted to take it on and couldn't make the cut. So let's celebrate our partnership. Let's celebrate our mutual commitment. And let's take advantage of this opportunity to get to know each other. The bar is open. One beer per customer. Enjoy!"
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