Poseidon's Wake

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Constructing a starship, or indeed a pair of such craft, was still beyond the economic reach of all but a few governments, in all but a handful of solar systems. Two hundred years after Travertine’s work on Zanzibar, the mechanics of a PCP engine still presented fiendish challenges. The new generation of engines were faster and more efficient than the old, but they were no less dangerous to work with, no less unforgiving of error.

But Crucible had committed itself to building two of these ships, banking its future on their construction. It had hoped to tap into the still-young extrasolar trade networks and do business with its stellar neighbours. These ships gave it legitimacy, proving that it had the financial and technical maturity to join the league of spacefaring worlds.

All that had made tremendous sense until the Watchkeepers returned.

The shuttle approached Travertine’s forward sphere where they docked and transferred inside. There was artificial gravity, provided by the rotation of the ring-shaped interior sections. Ru wanted to see the cabin, but before any of them were allowed to their rooms — or given access to the personal effects shuttled aboard days ago — there was the necessary formality of a meeting with the captain and her technical staff.

All of the crew and passengers — fifty-four souls — convened in the largest lounge, its windows shuttered against the glare of day.

‘Welcome aboard,’ said Gandhari Vasin, spreading her arms wide as if to embrace all of them, technical crew and passengers both. ‘This is a great day for all of us — a monumental day — and a privilege for those of us fortunate enough to be riding the ship. I would like to wish us all a safe voyage and a productive, bountiful expedition. I also extend our collective gratitude to the people of Crucible, for their kindness and generosity in making this expedition possible. It is nothing that we take lightly, any of us. Let us hope for good fortune, for ourselves and for our sister ship, and those who will travel aboard her.’

Goma had already met Gandhari Vasin. She was a good choice, extremely satisfactory to all parties. It helped, perhaps, that she had not been born on Crucible. Vasin had arrived on the planet via the same quarterlight vehicle that had brought Arethusa. A senior propulsion specialist, she had decided that she wished to remain behind on Crucible when the QV departed. She was regarded as non-partisan, and Goma believed that Mposi had favoured her candidature for exactly that reason, aside from her obvious competence.

She was also a cheerful-looking woman with a broad smile and a habit of wearing colourful wraps and headscarves, disdaining titles and the regalia of hierarchy at all times. ‘I am your captain,’ she said, as if it were a kind of confession. ‘This is the role they have given me, and I will do my utmost to be worthy of it. But I am also Gandhari, and I would much rather you call me that than Captain Vasin. We are all going to be aboard this ship for a very long time. Formalities will begin to fade sooner or later, so we might as well dispense with them immediately.’

All well and good, Goma thought, but Gandhari was also in charge of a starship, a massive and lethal piece of technology, and before long they would be on their own, independent of external support. She could be their friend up to a point, but Gandhari would also need nerves of steel and an iron will to go with it.

Gandhari said a few more words, then set about introducing the key members of the expedition, trusting that everyone else would get to know each other over the coming days.

‘I must first mention Goma Akinya, who did not have to join us, but chose to out of selfless consideration for her mother.’ Gandhari pointed both hands at Goma, palms nearly together, the gesture almost worshipful. ‘It is true that we have all made sacrifices, but many of us were long committed to the idea of an interstellar voyage — it is the ambition to which we have bent our professional lives. Not so with Goma. She had no desire to leave Crucible, no desire to abandon her friends and work. Yet here she is. I do not think we can speak highly enough of her loyalty to Crucible.’

Then Gandhari pivoted slightly, shifting the focus of her attention to Ru.

‘While we are speaking of sacrifices, let us also remember our friend Ru Munyaneza, Goma’s wife, who has left behind her beloved elephants to come with us. Ru’s loss is our gain, however.’

Gandhari turned to introduce Dr Saturnin Nhamedjo. It was a formality: the physician was already known to most of the party since he had been involved in assessing their suitability for skipover.

‘Saturnin brings with him a small but highly capable medical team, all multispecialists and all — like the rest of us — volunteers. They are to be our doctors, our first line of defence against illness and injury, but above all else they are to be our friends, full members of the expedition.’

Next, Gandhari introduced Nasim Caspari, head of the eighteen-strong technical section and, like Gandhari herself, an expert in post-Chibesa theory. Caspari was a slight, unassuming man who clearly did not relish being in the limelight, visibly relieved when Gandhari moved on to her next introduction, who was sitting close to Caspari. Aiyana Loring was a multispecialist, heading the astrophysics and exoplanet group, which also included biologists and ecosystem experts. Loring would have little data to work with until they reached their destination, but Goma doubted that ve would have difficulty keeping verself occupied, especially given ver willingness to cross between disciplines.

‘Ve’s good,’ Ru whispered, as if there had been any doubt. ‘Came up with some of the algorithms we use for our own studies. Turns out that what works for galaxy clusters also works for elephant neurones.’

‘Thank you, Captain Vasin,’ said the willowy, graceful Loring, who moved like a cat and was by all accounts a fine dancer. ‘I mean Gandhari. My apologies. And please, everyone — I am Aiyana. My door is always open. I hope to get to know you all very well.’

Technically, Goma and Ru were both subsumed into Loring’s team of specialists — they were now the resident experts on large fauna and interspecies communication. But in practice (as Mposi had assured Goma) neither would be required to answer to anyone but Gandhari. That said, Goma took an immediate liking to the elegant Loring and looked forward to contributing to the team.

Next was Maslin Karayan, head of the twelve-member Second Chance delegation. Maslin Karayan was a bullish, barrel-chested man, bearded and patriarchal, perhaps the oldest person on the ship after Mposi. He had been close to Zanzibar when it was destroyed, narrowly avoiding death, and by all accounts took the whole incident personally.

‘I don’t know why she’s bothering introducing them,’ Goma said to Ru. ‘It’s not like we’ll ever need to talk to each other.’

Ru smiled. ‘Everyone’s useful — even believers.’

‘Thank you, Gandhari, for your kind sentiments,’ Karayan said, sweeping the room with wide, challenging eyes set under a prominent brow. So much of his face was covered by his beard that it was hard to read his expression, which was perhaps the intention. ‘I speak for my family and friends when I say that we are very glad indeed to have assumed our place in the expedition. The hand of history lies heavy upon us, and its retribution will be merciless should we fail in any respect. We must have courage, yes —’ he was still looking around the room, his gaze settling for a moment on Goma, or so it felt to her ‘— but courage is not in itself sufficient. We must also exercise prudence and caution — those higher faculties of judgement — to the very limit of our abilities.’

Officially they were a coalition of conservative political interests with a common desire not to repeat the errors of the past, from the Mechanism to the Mandala event. They had been instrumental in keeping Ndege under lock and key when more enlightened voices called for a relaxation in the terms of her incarceration. Unofficially, they tolerated — even encouraged — a strain of superstitious thinking which Goma considered profoundly objectionable. She had nothing against untestable belief systems per se. She just did not care to share a ship with people who subscribed to them.

‘God-botherers,’ she whispered.

If Karayan heard her, no sign of it perturbed his leonine mask of a face. ‘Great challenges lie ahead of us. Scientific puzzles. Mysteries and wonders, no doubt. Temptations.’

Goma rolled her eyes.

‘But with the right frame of mind, the right spirit, we may overcome our worst appetites for mere knowledge. The moderating influence of my friends may never be called upon, yet—’

‘You’ve won your victory by being on the ship,’ Goma said, finally unable to contain herself. ‘Now will you let someone else have their say?’

‘I think we can all agree,’ Mposi said, rising from his seat, ‘that these last few days have been extraordinarily taxing. Against our better nature, we may say things that we regret an instant later. Isn’t that right, Goma?’ He was looking at her with fierce intensity, as if branding his thoughts directly into her brain. ‘Isn’t that right, Goma?’

‘Yes,’ she said, at a prod from Ru. ‘Yes.’

‘I accept your apology,’ Maslin Karayan said, making a tiny bow in her direction.

‘I would add,’ Mposi went on, ‘that I entirely echo Maslin’s sentiments. We must all do our best to act with intelligence and caution. We will be tested, I know, but I do not doubt that we have it in us to succeed.’