Moving Mars (18 page)

That we could sue them for, Nils persisted, but without conviction.

My friends, I have offered you a chance to make comments on this proposed constitution, Bithras said. You have until sixteen this evening. We are all aware of the dangers. We are all aware of the mood of Earth toward Mars.

I had hoped to persuade you to drop this farce, Nils said.

That is not an option. I am only a figurehead on this would-be ship-of-state, my friends, Bithras said. I go to Earth hat in hand, to avoid disaster. We are only five millions. Earth is thirty thousand millions. Earth wants access to our resources. She wants to control our resources. The only way for us to maintain our freedom is to put our house in order, concede to Earth enough to put off the next confrontation a few more years, perhaps a decade. We are weak. Buying time is our best hope.

Theyll force a Statist government on us, Nils said, and then mold that government to their own ends, and when were done, theyll own us body and soul.

That is a possibility, Bithras admitted. Thats why we must stab ourselves in the back, as Nils would call it, first.

Bithras went to the Council alone and presented the proposals he had worked out with the five top Martian BMs. The debate was furious; nobody liked the choices, but nobody wanted to be the first to attract Earths anger. Somehow, he managed to glue together something acceptable. Bithras sent Allen and me messages after the session concluded.

My dear young assistants,

All Martians are cowards. The proposals are agreed to.

Salve!

The trip began with a farewell dinner in the departure lounge of Atwood Star Harbor near Equator Rise, west of Pavonis Mons. Friends, family and dignitaries came to the port to see us off.

For security reasons, Bithras would board the shuttle at the last minute. There had been threats against his life planted anonymously in family mailboxes for the past few days, ever since the announcement of his departure to Earth. Some suspected disgruntled Statists; others looked to the smaller BMs, who had least to gain and most to lose.

My mother, father and brother sat in a corner of the lounge, near a broad window overlooking the port. Blunt white shuttie noses poked up through half-open silo hatches. Red flopsand formed smooth streaks across the white pavement. Arbeiters engaged in perpetual cleanup roamed the field.

We spoke in bursts, with long moments of silence in between: Martian reserve. My mother and father tried not to show their pride and sadness. Stan simply smiled. Stan always smiled, in good times or bad. Some misjudged him because of that, but due to the shape of his face, it was easier for him to smile than not.

Father took me by both shoulders and said, Youre going to do great.

Of course she will, my mother said.

Well have to adopt someone while youre gone, Father continued. We cant stand an empty house.

The hell we will, Mother said. Stan will leave in a few months

I will? Stan said. His protest carried an odd note; surprise beyond the jest.

And well have the warren to ourselves for the first time in ten years. What should we do?

Replace the carpets, Father said. They dont groom themselves as well as they used to.

I listened with a mix of embarrassment and grief. What I wanted, right now, was to retreat and cry, but that was not possible.

You will make us proud, Father said, and then, to make his point, in a louder voice, he said it again.

Ill try, I murmured, searching his face. Father and I had never quite communicated; his love had always been obvious, and he had never slighted me, but he often seemed a cipher. Mother I thought I knew; yet it was Father who never surprised me, and Mother who never failed to.

We wont drag this out, Mother said firmly, taking my fathers elbow for emphasis. Mother and I hugged. I squeezed her hard, feeling like a little girl, wanting her to sit me on her lap and rock me. She pulled back, smiling, tears in her eyes, and actually pushed me away, gently but firmly. Father gripped my hand with both of his and shook it. He had tears in his eyes, as well. They turned abruptly and left.

Stan stayed longer. We stood apart from the crowd, saying little, until he cocked his head to one side, and whispered, Theyre going to miss you.

I know, I said.

So will I.

Itll flash, I said.

Im going lawbond, he said, sticking his jaw out pugnaciously.

What?

To Jane Wolper.

From Cailetet?

Yeah.

Stan, Father hates Cailetet. Theyre pushy and Lunar. Weve never been able to share with them.

Maybe thats why I love her.

I stared at him in astonishment. Youre amazing, I said.

Yeah. He seemed pleased with himself.

Youre going over to their family ?

Yeah.

Im glad Im leaving now.

Ill keep you informed, he said. If Dad says nothing about me, youll know it went badly. Ill give you the details when the dust settles.

I specked him running down the tunnel between our rooms when he was five and I was two and a half and adored him. He could leap like a kangaroo and wore rubber pads to bounce hands and feet down the tunnels. Athletic, calm, always-knows-where-to-go Stan. Never said boo to our parents, never gave them pause. Now it was his turn to aggravate and provoke.

We hugged. Dont let her push you around.

Stan made a petulant face, wiped it with his hand like a clown, and smiled sunnily. Im proud you made it, Casseia, he said. He hugged me quickly, shook my hand, gave me a small package, and left.

I sat in a corner and opened the wrapper. Inside was a cartridge of all our blood family docs and vids. Stan had paid extra for the weight clearance of one hundred grams; the box was marked with a cargo stamp. I felt even more empty and alone.

I faced the crowded lounge with a kind of luxurious dread. The shuttle would depart in two hours. Id be aboard the Tuamotu in less than six hours. We would rise from Mars orbit and inject Solar in less than twenty hours

I pocketed Stans gift, squared my shoulders, and entered the crowd with a big, false smile.

Even at its most opulent, space travel was never comfortable. The shuttle to orbit was a rude introduction to the necessary economies of leaving a planet: shot out of your planetary goldfish bowl on a pillar of flaming hydrogen or methane, in a cylindrical cabin less than ten meters wide, everyone arranged in stacked circles with feet pointing outward, seventy passengers and two shuttle crew, losing Marss reassuring gentle grip and dropping endlessly

Temp bichemistry helped. Those passengers who had installed permanent bichemistries to adapt to micro-g conditions spent the first hour in orbit asleep while the boat swung carefully to mate with Tuamotu. I had refused such a radical procedurehow often would I travel between worlds?and chosen temp. I spent the whole time awake, feeling my body smooth over the deep uncertainty of always falling.

Some things I didnt expect. The quick adjustments of temp bichemistry caused a kind of euphoria that was pleasant and disturbing at once. For several minutes I was incredibly randy. That passed, however, and all I felt was a steady tingle throughout my body.

Bithras and Pak-Lee had arrived at Atwood after I was seated, and were in the shuttle somewhere below me. Alice Two was in the hold in a special thinker berth.

Being away from net links was like sensory deprivation for a thinker; less than a tenth of Alice Twos capacity would be engaged while we were in space. The bandwidth of space communication was too narrow to keep her fully linked and employed. She would not sleep, of course, but she would spend much of the journey correlating events in Earth and Martian history drawn from her large data store.

Thinkers had been known to create massive and authoritative LitVid works while in machine dream. Some said the best historians were no longer human, but I disagreed. Alice One and Alice Two seemed quite human to me. Alice even called her copy a daughter. Id never worked closely with thinkers before, and I was charmed.

Sitting on my cramped couch in the dark, a projection of Marss orange and red surface scrolling above me, I wondered what Charles was doing now. Unlike Charles, I hadnt yet found anyone to seriously occupy my free time. The day before launch, I had spoken with Diane, and she had asked if I looked forward to a shipboard romance. Dust that, Id answered. Ill be a busy rabbit.

The trip would take eight Terrestrial months, one way. Each passenger chose from three options: warm sleep with mind embedded in a sophisticated sim environment (sometimes crudely called cybernation), realtime journey, or a pre-scheduled mix of the two. Most Martians chose realtime. Most Terrestrials returning to Earth chose sims and warm sleep.

The Mars scene cut suddenly to a view of the Tuamotu in space. Booms furled, passenger cylinders hugged tightly to the hull, our home for the next eight months looked tiny against the stars. Tugs fastened helium-three fuel and water and methane mass tanks to the bow. The drive funnels flexed experimentally at the stern.

A small voice provided running commentary in one ear. Tuamotu was fifteen Earth years old, built in Earth orbit, nano maintained, veteran of five crossings, refitted before her trip to Mars, well-regarded by travel guides on Earth and Mars. She carried a crew of five: three humans, a dedicated thinker, and a slaved thinker backup.

I had a touch of tunnel fever at the thought of being shut up for so long. I had studied the ships layout a few hours before boarding, learning my way around the passenger cylinder, previewing shipboard routine. But I would have to overcome the conviction that there was no way out. Despite spending most of my life in tunnels and enclosed spaces, I always knew there was another tunnel, another warren, and as a last resort, I could suit and pop through a lock and go Up luxuries not available on the Tuamotu.

I was less than comfortable with the thought of spending so many months in the company of so few. What if Bithras, Allen, and I did not get along at all?

A tiny elevator carried three passengers at a time from the primary lock down the length of the hull and debouched us into a small cabin forward of the drive shields. The steward for our cylindershort, taut, sandy-haired and brown-skinned, male, about forty Earth years old, with sharp black eyesgreeted us formally and politely, and introduced himself as Acrejust Acre. He had the remarkable ability to change his feet into hands, and to bend his long tan legs backwards and forwards, which he demonstrated quickly and with minimal explanation. He escorted us in small groups to the secondary lock. Here, we climbed through an access pipe barely a meter wide into our cylinder, where we drifted in the observation lounge, surrounded by direct-view windows now shuttered and shielded.

The lounge had room for all of us. We crowded together waiting for instructions. Bithras headed the Jast contingent of passengers and conferred briefly with the steward before scowling and searching the crowd. His eyes met mine, the scowl reversed into a radiant smile, and he crooked his arm and waved twinkle-fingers.

The steward called my name from the access pipe. I floated forward, fumbling at the grips and bumping a few of my fellows apologetically before anchoring myself. Youre in charge of our friend here, I understand, he said, pushing forward Alices box. Alices arbeiter carriage weighed as much as she did and had not been brought along; we would rent her a carriage on Earth.

Thank you, I said.

Please hold on to it while we check cabin assignments and get things organized.

Her, not it, I said.

Sorry. He smiled. Well stow her in her niche after orientation.

I took Alice in hand and moved to the side of the lounge. She was endo not exo for the momenther sensors and voice were inactive.

Now that were all here, the steward said, welcome aboard Tuamotu. Well give out some important information and then off to your cabins to snug in.

Bithras and Allen Pak-Lee floated beside me. This is my second passage to Earth, Bithras said in an undertone, and your first, of course.

My first, I affirmed.

Most Earth English accents were familiar to me from LitVid; the steward, Acre, might have been Australian, His features seemed indigene. Acre delivered the doctro crisply and clearly in less than five minutes. He gave us a few safety tips for the next leg of the tripboost and solar orbit injection and had us circle around the lounge to become familiar with weightless aids and procedures.

Tomorrow, he said, well discuss immunization levels and all the options available throughout the voyage. Some options are closedall warm-sleep berths are taken for the duration. All temp berths and switchouts are closed, as well. We hope that causes no inconvenience.

Woe, murmured Bithras.

Acre helped me stow Alice in her niche just forward of the lounge and showed me how to run the legally required connection checks. Bithras attended for a few minutes, applied a strip of ID tape to a seam to protect against unauthorized removal, and left the rest to Acre and me.

Family thinker? Acre inquired.

A copy, I said.

Im fond of thinkers, he said. Once theyre stowed, theyre no trouble at all. I wish theyd travel with us more oftenSakya gets lonely sometimes, the Captain says.

Sakya was the ships dedicated thinker. I reached into the niche, palmed my ID on Alices port, and asked, Everything tight?

Im comfortable, thank you, Alice replied, coming exo quickly. Bithras has sealed me in?

Yes.

Im talking with Sakya now. This should be pleasant. Will you join me for a chat once were underway?

Id love to, I said. I closed the hatch on Alices niche. Acre locked her in and gave me the key. We raise them right on Mars, I said.

Might teach Sakya some manners, he said.

Everything aboard Tuamotu was impressively high nano; she had been refitted with the lastest Earth designs before her last crossing. There were no telltale yeast or iodine smells during nano activity. The ships visible surfaces could assume an apparently infinite variety of textures and colors and were capable of displaying or projecting images with molecular resolutions.