Poseidon's Wake

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‘Mposi speaks wisely,’ Gandhari said, her voice slow and oratorical. ‘There will be challenges, certainly. But if we can avoid tearing each other limb from limb, at least for a few weeks, I think that would make for an excellent start.’ Then, with a deliberate shift in tone, she added, ‘We will remain in orbit, completing final system tests, for another five or six days. You have until then to decide your place in this expedition. From the moment I light the Chibesa drive, no force in the universe will make me turn this ship around.’

In that promise, Goma saw, was a glint of the steel she had guessed must be there. Gandhari be damned — this was Captain Vasin in all her pomp and authority, and she was all the more magnificent for it.

‘I do not think,’ Mposi said, ‘that any of us will take you up on that chance to leave, Gandhari, but it is good to know it is there.’

Their captain made a few more introductions before wishing the best for everyone, thanking the people of Crucible again and finally dismissing the assembly. ‘Go! You have a ship to explore. But don’t explore too much of it in one day — we all need to leave a few surprises for later!’

Like all the married couples on the expedition, Goma and Ru had been given a cabin to themselves. It was a decent size, with an en suite bathroom and toilet, even a small kitchen area where they could prepare food when they did not feel like eating in the communal spaces. The walls were capable of displaying any colour or pattern, and pictures and murals summoned from the central library. Goma had already taken out the two wooden elephants Ndege had given her and set them within a low alcove.

The room was large enough, but there was also a ship to explore. There were many levels, many sections, and not all of them would be routinely accessible. Instead of keys, Goma and Ru had bangles around their wrists which opened the doors they were allowed to use. Every crew-member’s bangle was set to allow different levels of access. Only Nasim Caspari’s technical crew were permitted anywhere near the rear sphere, and there were few good reasons for an ordinary passenger to enter the connecting spine. But this still left hundreds of rooms and bays to explore, some of them as large as any enclosed space Goma had known on Crucible.

The Knowledge Room quickly became one of her favourite haunts. She quickly began to feel a claim on its territory, especially as it was not often visited by Ru or the other crew-members. Perhaps that would change when they were under way, but for now it was hers. The room itself was a circular chamber, the centre of which was occupied by a well-shaped projection device. The device was about four metres across, walled around by an opaque material and virtually filled to the brim with a level transparent substance.

Beneath the surface of the well — embedded in the transparent matrix — floated a representation of their current total knowledge of the Gliese 163 system. In its neutral state, the display had the form of an orrery, with the star at the middle and its family of worlds ticking around on their orbital paths. Much was known about the star, but then stars were simple things, their physical natures dependent on only a handful of parameters — mass, metallicity, age. The essential nature of Gliese 163 had been common knowledge for over half a millennium.

Worlds were a different matter, however, their histories contingent on a billion random factors. They did not fit into neat categories; they did not readily disclose their secrets, especially across many light-years. All of the larger worlds in the Gliese 163 system had been studied from Earth’s solar system using the swarm of telescopes called Ocular. Ocular data had proven the existence of Mandala and sent the first wave of holoships on their way.

But that data had been deliberately tainted, and when people eventually learned the truth, they tore Ocular apart in their fury and fear. Nothing like it had been constructed since, in any solar system. That said, the data was still archived and available for analysis. Goma was given to understand that it had been cleansed of any bias, intentional or otherwise.

Gliese 163 was nearly twice as far from Earth as Crucible so the images were never going to be as sharp. Crucible had also been observed more intently over a longer period of time, allowing for data to be synthesised across many planetary rotations and season cycles. No such effort had been expended on the more distant system since there had been no reason to expect any benefits from such extended study. The planetary globes looked sharp enough, delicately jewelled marbles, but when Goma pushed her hand into the image — feeling the cold suck of the membrane as it slid over her fingers and up her wrist — she could conjure any of the planets or moons to a much larger size and pluck them out of the well like apples, at which point the fuzzy nature of the data became very obvious.

Near the star, for instance, was something the annotation labelled a ‘superterran waterworld’ called Poseidon. It was the second world out from Gliese 163, and the first that was habitable by any stretch of the definition.

They knew the size of this planet and could infer its surface conditions and predict the make-up of its atmosphere even from a distance, but none of its features was sharp. ‘Habitable’ was also a relative term. Poseidon was hot — its coolest areas were equivalent to the warmest parts of Crucible — and its surface gravity was half as strong again. On its ocean-covered surface, conditions would be near the upper limit for the long-term viability of multicellular creatures, although that did not preclude the existence of extremophile organisms. There was oxygen in the atmosphere, so presumably some form of photosynthesis was occurring in or on the ocean, and since the planet had apparently escaped a runaway greenhouse effect, there must be thermal-regulatory mechanisms in play, keeping the atmosphere from turning into an incinerating furnace. While humans could endure such an environment for a short period, it was no place to consider making a home.

There were gas giants and smaller, rockier worlds in orbits circular and eccentric, some close to Gliese 163, some much further out. Since no hard data was available on the gas giants’ moons, it was difficult to say whether they might have any connection with the signal. Goma thought it more likely that the answer might lie with one of the terrestrial planets — worlds with names like Paladin and Orison. They moved in small, circular orbits — this was a very compact solar system. But there was little or no data on them or such moons as they might possess, or on the many smaller bodies orbiting Gliese 163.

The well, Goma knew, was actually a soup of nanomachines. When her fingers closed around a marble, the well sensed her intention and organised its resources — the Knowledge itself — to produce a ‘solid’ image, a ball composited from nanomachines at a much higher density than those in the transparent matrix. When she hauled her glowing prize from the well, the machines making up the sphere were reflecting the horizon of human knowledge at that moment in time. She could tear away a rind of crust, expose the best-guess for the planetary interior — cherry-red core or stone-dead, nonmagnetic heart.

But the nanomachines guarded themselves jealously and the prize was as ephemeral as a fairy-tale gift. Even as she held it in her hand, the machines began to seep through her grip, back into the pool. If she tried to take her prize beyond the limit of the device’s rim, the globe would collapse into liquid and drain away in a gush of colour. There was no harm in trying to beat it, and she tried again and again, hoping to hold a tatter of a world in her palm. But it was to no avail, for the machines were swifter than thought.

It pleased Goma that no one else appeared to be interested in the Knowledge Room — at least not yet. She enjoyed tossing the worlds back into the well, watching them shrink and return to their proper orbits. Which of these planets or moons, she wondered, had sent the signal to her mother? No one knew.

Exiting the room after one visit, she saw two men come bustling along the corridor on which it was situated. Both were Second Chancers, obvious from their dark red clothing. It was not quite a uniform — the styles varied from Chancer to Chancer — but close enough to convey a sense of kinship and shared purpose. One of the men was the burly, bearded Karayan, the other a younger and slighter man.

Goma desired no contact with these people, so her first instinct was to duck back into the Knowledge Room. But that would have been far too obvious and cowardly a gambit. She decided to brazen it out — they were going to keep bumping into each other, after all.

‘Ah,’ said the bearded man. ‘The redoubtable Goma. Could you not have stayed your tongue, at least for the duration of Gandhari’s introduction?’

‘I said what was on my mind.’

‘Yes, we noticed.’ Maslin Karayan’s eyes narrowed at her from beneath his formidable brow. ‘Crucible is a democracy, in case you didn’t realise. And we are aboard this ship by mutual consent — as entitled to our places as you or any of the other scientists.’

‘I didn’t say you weren’t.’

‘You also made no secret of your ill-feelings,’ Karayan said.

‘I’m entitled to them,’ Goma said, feeling a certain shameful thrill in her own studied belligerence.

The younger man had been silent until now. He had a pale complexion and a mop of blond hair which sat on his scalp in tight curls, save for a cowlick covering half his forehead.