Poseidon's Wake (11 page)

‘At least one of us did well out of Sunday.’

‘Oh, I’ve done more than well. I see you have a brochure. You didn’t read it very closely, did you?’

Kanu blew away table crumbs and spread the brochure out before them. He could see it now, right at the end: a paragraph of acknowledgements in which Nissa’s name figured prominently. Not just Nissa but
The Nissa Mbaye Research Foundation
.

‘I’m amazed.’

‘And you’re seriously telling me you were wandering around here without a clue I was involved?’

Kanu hesitated. It was quite possible he might have turned away at the jetty if he had seen Nissa’s name and realised there was a good chance of bumping into her.

‘I didn’t know. Genuinely.’

‘Then your own interest in Sunday . . . that’s real?’

Kanu took a deep breath. ‘I’m at a bit of a loose end these days so I thought, why not take an interest in Sunday? You’re right – she never mattered much to me before. But that was wrong. It’s odd – she’s just my ancestor, but I started to feel as if I owed it to her to learn a little more about her life and legacy. I thought this might be a good place to start.’

‘We always liked the city. Was that a factor, too?’

Kanu lowered his voice, although there was no chance of them being overheard in the noisy café. ‘I’m lucky they didn’t lynch me the minute I set foot in the place. They have long memories here. Lisbon is where it all started – or all
ended
, more accurately.’

‘You didn’t personally bring down the Mechanism, Kanu. Also, it was merfolk tecto-engineering that kept Lisbon safe from another tsunami. Anyway, I’m not sure memories are as long as you think. Not these days. It’s an old world now. Too much to remember, too many lives. I mean, take us, for example.’

‘You don’t look any older.’

‘That’s very kind, but you were never much of a liar. Really, though – what happened? I’ll admit, I saw your name in the news. Some bad business on Mars.’

‘I was in an accident – injured, quite badly. But I’m all right now. They fixed me.’

‘They?’

‘The machines of the Evolvarium. I was hurt on the surface and taken into their care.’ After a moment, he said, ‘I still bleed. They didn’t turn me into a robot. I wouldn’t have got far from Mars if they had.’

‘My god. I had no idea it was that serious.’

‘Two of the other ambassadors were killed, so I got off lightly. But the robots’ intervention made it hard for me to carry on in that line of work – there’s a perception that I got too close to the robots. Which is why I’m at a loose end.’

‘So you came back to Lisbon?’

‘Madras first – one of my colleagues had family in India. But how could I resist the pull of this old place?’

‘This
is
too strange, you and I sitting together. I feel as if the universe has pulled a nasty trick on us both.’

‘Nasty?’

‘All right – unfair. We weren’t expecting this, were we?’

‘I certainly wasn’t.’ Kanu started to fold the brochure and slip it back into his satchel. After the oddness of this encounter, he had lost what little enthusiasm he had for the rest of the exhibition.

‘What are your plans in Lisbon?’

‘I didn’t have any, beyond visiting the exhibition.’ Kanu patted the satchel. ‘Early days, you see. I thought this would be a good way to get my bearings before digging deeper into her legacy. I suppose you’ll be in town as long as the exhibition’s here?’

‘There are only a few weeks left. You did well to make it back to Earth in time.’

‘There’d have been another one sooner or later, I suppose.’

‘And doubtless our paths would have crossed eventually. I know this wasn’t something either of us planned, but it is nice to see you again, Kanu.’

‘I feel the same way.’

There was a silence. He felt certain that Nissa could sense the inevitable question, floating in a state of unrealised potential between them. She had almost voiced it herself when she asked about his plans in the city. Perhaps she had meant him to go further in his answer.

‘We should meet up again,’ Nissa said.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘We should definitely do that.’

CHAPTER NINE

Goma had been aboard
Travertine
for more than two weeks. Each morning she woke to find that the light-speed delay between the ship and Crucible had increased by many seconds compared to the previous day. She preferred not to be reminded of that during the waking hours, for if she dwelt too much on the widening separation between herself and her home, it would have been more than she could easily endure. But it was happening whether she cared for it or not. With the ship under constant thrust, they had locked down the centrifuge wheels for the remainder of the acceleration phase. The fact that she could still walk around, eat and drink, wash and shower, was testament to the force of the Chibesa drive dragging her deeper into the void.

No one was immune to it, including Ru. They’d both had bad moments – a breakdown, a sobbing fit, a spasm of misdirected anger. Fortunately one had always been there for the other. Goma worried what would happen if they both lapsed at the same time. It did not take much to set it off – a news report from home, a smell or a taste that triggered some sequence of memories that in turn related to something they would not experience again, at least until their distant, largely hypothetical return. Goma only had to pick up on some sadness in Ndege’s communications, real or imagined, and she herself was a wreck.

‘Sometimes I wake up back on Crucible,’ she told Captain Vasin, ‘and I’m overwhelmed with joy to discover that the whole thing on the spaceship was just a bad dream. And then I wake up again, for real this time, and I’m here.’

Vasin tilted her head in fond sympathy. ‘If I told you that just about everyone on the ship will have experienced something similar, including myself, would that make it a little easier to bear?’

They were in Vasin’s cabin, drinking chai. The room was slightly smaller than Goma and Ru’s own accommodation, but then again Vasin had no one to share it with, and she had obviously chosen the space and furnishings to reflect her own modest needs A small annexe with a bed and washing facilities was visible through an open doorway, and the main cabin contained a low coffee table, a console, some chairs and soft cushions. The main feature, spread across most of one wall, was a painting of the sun rising over a lake framed between grey and purple crags. At least, Vasin had told her that the name of the painting was
The Sun
. To Goma’s eyes, it might as well have been a depiction of some destructive stellar event, or even the violent birth of the universe itself – a primordial explosion of light and matter.

Their captain made a point of arranging these little social occasions. As far as Goma could tell, she was not being singled out for any special favours.

‘Even you, Captain?’

‘Gandhari, please.’

‘All right, Gandhari. But I can’t believe you have weak moments.’

‘More than my share. Not necessarily to do with Crucible, although I was happy enough during my time there, but I have fears enough of my own. I would not be a very effective captain if I did not. Our fears keep us on our toes.’

‘Are you worried about the ship?’

‘Oh, I trust the ship with my life. I’d better! Of course, a lot could go wrong. But then again, we have the best technical crew Crucible could muster. No, my fears are external – directed at the factors I can’t control.’

‘Like the Watchkeepers?’

‘They have certainly been uppermost in my concerns. It was always a gamble, taking a ship out on an interstellar heading. We couldn’t guess how they’d respond. So far, though . . .’

Behind Vasin, on the wall next to the one displaying the painting, was a schematic of the solar system. It was a real-time image, updated according to new data as it became available to
Travertine
. The arc of their trajectory formed a bold, straightening stroke, arrowing out from the middle. The orbits of Crucible and the other major planets were squeezed into increasingly tight ellipses, crowding around 61 Virginis. But there were also cone-shaped symbols dotted around the schematic, each of which indicated the known location of a Watchkeeper.

‘They’ve not moved?’ Goma asked.

‘No response that appears directly connected with our departure. In a way, it’s almost too good to be true.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘I expected to draw some interest, at the very least, but I won’t complain if they leave us well alone. Perhaps we’ve been too cautious, all these years?’

‘One in the eye for the Second Chancers, in that case. They’ve been the main fear-mongers, haven’t they? Going around telling everyone that the instant we leave Crucible, we’ll feel the wrath of alien judgement.’

‘In fairness,’ Vasin said, ‘that viewpoint isn’t just shared by Maslin and his disciples.’

‘It’s a point of view. It’s also idiotic.’

Humans had first encountered the Watchkeepers around Crucible as the holoships slowed down from crossing interstellar space. After the agreement brokered by Chiku Green, the Watchkeepers had departed Crucible space – to all intents and purposes vanishing from human affairs and leaving the colonists free to explore the Mandala. So it had remained for a century. But they were back now in significantly larger numbers. Not just in Crucible space, but also in Earth’s solar system and around every extrasolar world where humanity had staked a significant presence.

No one knew what to make of them. In the early days of their return some ships had been destroyed. But whether that was because those ships ventured too close to the alien machines or because they were imposing a general injunction against interstellar travel, no one was quite sure.

Interstellar travel had continued but at a much reduced level. Once or twice, the Watchkeepers had acted to destroy or incapacitate in- or outbound ships, but there was no obvious pattern to their interventions. The result was nervousness and a growing political conservatism. Each system had its own specific manifestation of this trend, whether it was the Consolidation of Earth space, the Bright Retreat of Gliese 581’s colonies or the Second Chance movement of Crucible. Interstellar travel was deemed a risky provocation, with the more extreme voices calling for its complete abandonment, at least for a few centuries. None of those voices was louder, or more strident, than the Second Chancers’.

‘You really don’t have a lot of time for Maslin’s people,’ Vasin said.

‘And you do?’

‘I’m a pragmatist. So’s your uncle. Getting Crucible to agree to hand over this ship to an expedition took a lot of doing, Goma. The Second Chancers were dead against it.’

‘So why the hell are they here, stinking up the place?’

Vasin wrinkled her nose as if the bad smell were right before her. ‘That was Mposi’s masterstroke – and the only reason he secured agreement for the mission. They’d have organised a block vote against us, and that would have been the end of it. But offering them a place on the expedition as observers?’ She shook her head in admiration. ‘Even I couldn’t have come up with that, so hats off to Mposi.’

‘Compromise. What about sticking to your principles?’

‘If it’s a choice between the expedition happening or not, I’ll take compromise over principle any day. Incidentally, I’ve heard about your run-ins with Karayan and Grave. I’m trying to maintain a happy ship – are you going to keep making more work for me?’

‘I can’t stop being a rationalist just because it upsets some people.’

‘Nor would I expect you to. But you appear far more upset by them than they are by you.’

Goma looked down at her chai. All of a sudden the temperature in the room felt cooler than when she had arrived. She set the cup on the coffee table. The liquid surface threw back her reflection, but the mirror was imperfect, blurred by the tiny but constant vibrations that worked their way along the ship from the relentless, roiling furnace of the Chibesa engine.

Another reminder that home was falling further away with each breath.

‘I didn’t realise I’d been called here for a dressing-down.’

‘You haven’t. You’re the most critical member of this expedition and I respect your opinions. I trust everyone else to do the same. But I also need cohesion. Believe it or not, the other scientists are looking to you to take the lead on this. No one’s asking for the world here – I don’t expect you to start embracing Maslin’s beliefs. But if you could at least make a gesture towards mutual cooperation, accepting that they have as much right to be here as we do?’

‘You know what they did to my mother.’

‘And I know what it must mean to you to have left her behind. But the Second Chancers weren’t the only reason your mother was locked away, Goma. You have to allow that she had her critics from all corners of Crucible, people of all stripes, all persuasions – even hard-nosed scientists like yourself.’

‘You weren’t there.’

‘I didn’t have to be – I know my history.’ Vasin offered a conciliatory smile. ‘Difficult, I know, all this. But just do your best. Who knows? There may be friends among the Second Chancers you’ve yet to meet.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘But time will tell. Set an example, Goma. Reach out. What’s the worst that could happen?’

*

The days continued passing – Crucible becoming first a starlike dot and then a mote of light so insignificant that Goma could not readily separate it from its star. Distance and then more distance – time opening up like a wide swallowing mouth. The ship functioned with an almost merciless reliability. Some part of Goma almost willed it to malfunction – hoping for some serious but not fatal glitch, sufficient to make them turn around.

But the ship did not oblige.

Goma, meanwhile, did her best not to disappoint Vasin. Reaching out was a step too far, but she avoided the Chancers when she was able and bit down on her worst impulses when she was forced to talk to them. Most of the time, it was not too difficult. She had learned a lot of self-control around elephants as well as people.

She continued to enjoy the solitude of the Knowledge Room, delighting in the endless, childlike pleasure of dipping a hand into the well and scooping out worlds. But soon even that simple pleasure was tested. Aiyana Loring and the other scientists began to show up with increasing frequency, using the well to explore speculative ideas about the Gliese 163 solar system. Goma and Ru were also expected to join in, offering their insights and opinions. Goma was rankled to begin with, feeling that she was no longer at liberty to organise her day as she wished. But it was hard to stay annoyed with the elegant, obliging Loring for very long. Goma was fascinated by the way ve moved, the sense that the slightest, most trivial gesture had been considered and choreographed. There was also something captivating about Loring’s androgynous beauty, even the deep, calm register of ver voice.

‘This is the central mystery, as far as I’m concerned,’ Loring was saying, kneeling at the well, reaching into it with one hand to scoop out the blue ball of Poseidon. ‘Our superterran waterworld. Maybe the origin of the signal? Not necessarily from the surface, but somewhere in orbit? If there aren’t moons around it, we’ll have an equally fine time explaining their absence.’

‘Why not the surface?’ Ru asked.

‘There won’t be one?’ Loring had a way of phrasing ver statements as questions, even when they were not. ‘Just a continuous layer of water, much deeper than any terrestrial ocean? A true waterworld?’

‘Sounds boring,’ Goma said.

‘Would be, if we didn’t already know that something’s going on there. No detailed imagery of the world itself yet – this sphere is conjecture, nothing more – but we know enough to be puzzled. There’s oxygen, to begin with – spectral lines in the atmosphere, green tints and chlorophyll signatures. So, life? Not necessarily multicellular, but enough to sustain an oxygen cycle?’

‘In the oceans?’ Ru asked.

‘Or maybe on top of them? Blooms, mats, entire floating land masses and ecologies?’

Goma delicately extracted the sphere from Loring’s hand. It still felt odd to know that there was nanotech between her fingers – feared, fabled nanotech. And yet it felt as innocent and harmless as clay.

‘Why not dry land?’ she asked.

‘Because there won’t be any. Poseidon’s too massive, with too much surface gravity. Continents, mountain ranges? They get flattened out, smothered by water. Push one up and it’ll be gone again before you can blink.’

‘By which you mean over tens of millions of years,’ Ru said.

Loring smiled. ‘Think like an exobiologist. A million years? That’s nothing. There and gone. Anyway, I don’t expect dry land. But it’ll be exciting to see what
is
there. Not the real mystery, though.’

‘No?’ Goma asked.

‘Question is why it hasn’t cooked itself to death. Runaway greenhouse effect – water vapour boiling off that sea, trapping heat in the atmosphere? Feedback cycle – more heat, more vaporisation?’

‘That obviously hasn’t happened,’ Ru said.

‘No. Hot but not too hot. Bearable for us, with tech. Maybe even limited exposure without. So: some thermoregulation process. Life by itself maybe not be sufficient to achieve that. Also, Poseidon ought to be tidally locked by now – keeping one face to Gliese 163. Hot one side, cold the other. Why isn’t it? What’s keeping it spinning? Need to get in closer, find out.’

‘Maybe it’s not even the world we’re interested in,’ Goma said, thinking only of the signal and its point of origin.

‘I am,’ Loring answered.

‘It’s just a planet,’ Goma said, ‘a rock and some gas and liquid, and – if we’re very lucky – maybe some scummy green organisms.’

‘Scummy green
living
organisms!’

‘The clue’s in the name,’ Goma said, taking a malicious pleasure in pedantry.

‘But life – doesn’t that fascinate you in and of itself?’

‘I’d have to say it doesn’t,’ Goma answered. ‘Life’s commonplace. We understand the basic processes – the originating principles of self-replication, the chemistry, the metabolic pathways. The same story plays out over and over again.’

‘Doesn’t make it any less marvellous.’

‘No, but it makes it less novel. Plant cells on Crucible aren’t exactly like plant cells on Earth, but neither are they unrecognisably different – there are only so many molecular transport mechanisms, only so many energy cycles, only so many ways of organising cells into larger structures. Biologists didn’t take long to solve the major mysteries of Crucible – much less time than it took to figure out how everything worked on Earth. They already had the tools, the ideas, and they knew the right questions to ask. Where’s the intellectual thrill in solving a puzzle twice?’