Ark (7 page)

“In English,” Don said. “Well, it’s eight orders of magnitude above the Planck length, the smallest possible. But it’s only one-thousandth of the radius of a one-mega-electron-volt neutrino! You couldn’t even fit a
neutrino
in there, let alone a spaceship!”

There was a ripple of laughter, and Zane blushed.

But Liu just stood in silence, his eyes working as if chasing an elusive thought. “Class dismissed.” Abruptly he walked out.

Grumbling, the students started packing away their stuff. Don said to Holle, “Now see what you’ve done. Liu’s like that when he gets an idea. You better hope it’s a good one or he’ll rip your head off for wasting his time. Come on. I’ll show you where to buy a soda.”

13

H
olle was relieved to get home that night, to the apartment her father had rented in the same block as the Tattered Cover Book Store, a secondhand store that was still one of Denver’s most thriving businesses as nobody was printing new books any more. She dumped her bag in the hall, fetched a glass of water and made her way to the big living room, where the wall-mounted TV was showing updates on the Rocky Mountain News channel.

Patrick didn’t hear her come in. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the sofa, one arm over a cushion and the other hand cradling a glass of corn liquor. He had his shirt open at the neck, his shoes off, his black-socked feet crossed.

The news was uniformly awful, Holle saw as she glanced at the big multiscreen. In Denver the police were shaping up for another night of trouble from the itinerant agricultural workers in the City Park. Elsewhere diplomatic notes were being exchanged with Utah; Mormon leaders in Salt Lake City were now refusing to pay federal taxes. President Vasquez was going to make a statement about that. Seawater forcing its way up the Tennessee valley from Alabama was causing yet another evacuation crisis, producing yet more images of sodden, huddled people tramping along rain-spattered highways. The government was considering sending troops into the Friedmanburgs, the troubled new cities on the Great Plains, where residents were protesting against exploitation by the rich who had bought up the land and funded much of the development in the first place. Holle knew her dad had something to do with that. Surviving recon satellites reported what appeared to be nuclear detonations going off in Tibet, the flashpoint of friction between India, China and Russia.

Meanwhile there were more tsunamis and earthquakes and volcanoes as the Earth shuddered under the weight of the water that laid ever more heavily over the continents. These were reported against a summary map that showed that some forty percent of the world’s pre-flood land area had been lost, some four billion people displaced.

Holle hated the news. All these shells of horror and misery and conflict, spreading out around the bubble of safety Holle had grown up in—which, she was coming to realize, was a very special place. And though sometimes there would be scientists talking about how the flood might be ending soon, the water receding, they never seemed to have much to go on, and her father never responded to the faint hopes they raised.

“Dad, can’t we switch over to
Friends
?”

Patrick jumped. He hadn’t known Holle was there. “Oh, hi, sweets.” He snapped the TV over to a multiscreen conference call; Holle recognized Edward Kenzie, a suntanned Nathan Lammockson, and others. Their deep voices rumbled. He lifted his arm, making room for her. She got down on the carpet next to him and huddled in. He was hot, tired, sweating. His smell was immensely reassuring. “Sorry,” he said, “I guess I was playing hooky. I’m supposed to be in this conference.
Friends
later, maybe. Well, it’s on all day and all night.”

Holle had grown up with the old pre-flood TV shows. They were comforting, set in a world as unreal to her as any fairy tale. “What’s the conference about?”

“An astronomical survey going on at an observatory in Chile. Place called La Silla, very high up. It’s South America, you know? Used to be owned by the Europeans, but now Nathan Lammockson, who’s based in Peru, is supporting it for us. Not that he knows what we’re doing up there specifically.”

“Looking for planets, I bet.”

“Well, that’s the idea. Somewhere for the Ark to go. And once the new space center is up and running, there’s a plan to run a starshade mission.”

“A what?”

“I’m not sure I understand it, but it’s interesting. You send up a giant sheet, spinning for stability. It looks like a flower, with petals. Then you have a conventional telescope—we’re using the Hubble—thousands of kilometers away. The shade is supposed to block out the light of the star, allowing the telescope to see any planets. With that arrangement we should be able to image continents on an Earthlike planet, even out to thirty or forty light-years. It’s a scheme that was championed years ago by an astronomer at the University of Colorado at Boulder, which is how we were able to dig it up.”

“And this is your idea of taking a break, watching the news? It’s always bad.”

“I know.”

“Everybody’s frightened, I think sometimes.” It was true: people were frightened of the flood, which was still remote from this place, and frightened of the waves of eye-dees for the dirt and disease and hunger they brought and the space they used up, and people were frightened of each other, for in the future there mightn’t be room for everybody. Holle herself would have felt a lot safer if Alice Sylvan, who she’d grown up thinking of as a kind of honorary aunt, hadn’t got herself taken out by a sniper in downtown.

“I know, I know.” Patrick tousled her hair. “But there’s no good in turning away. So how was the Academy?”

“Dad, it was awful. The kids are all bright and noisy and they compete like mad. There was only Zane who was friendly.”

“Zane will be glad you’re there.”

“I’m not like Zane,” she blurted. “And I’m not like Kelly Kenzie. I’m not tall and pretty and confident. Don’t tell me those things aren’t important, because they
are.
I know what they call the students. The Candidates. You have to be special to be a Candidate, a star. I felt like Joey out of
Friends.
”

He laughed, and sipped his drink. “OK. But, look—it’s my money that’s backed the Academy, as part of a consortium, among a lot of other initiatives related to Ark One. But the Academy is
not
a finishing school for little rich kids. If you weren’t thought capable of justifying your place there, on your own abilities, you wouldn’t be in there, no matter whose daughter you were. You deserve to be there, sweets.” He kissed her head. “But if it’s ever too tough for you, just come home.”

“Oh, I won’t give up.”

The TV pinged, and filled up with a head-and-shoulders image of Liu Zheng.

Patrick said, “Liu? How can I help you?”

Liu grinned. It was a more human expression than any he’d adopted in class. “Actually it was Holle I hoped to speak to. Ms. Groundwater, you have a knack, I suspect, of asking the right questions.”

“What right questions? You mean that discussion about the biggest warp bubble we could make? But the answer was teeny-tiny. Everybody laughed.”

Liu said seriously, “Listen to me now. We are dealing with the engineering of spacetime, engineering in multiple dimensions. Everything we believe we know, all our intuition, is likely to be wrong. Inspired by that discussion, I returned to something I unturned in the literature during my earlier researches. A thirty-year-old piece of speculation by a worker in Belgium. Do you have your handheld? Try to follow the argument . . .”

And, as if Patrick weren’t present, he slipped easily into his odd, absent-minded lecturing style and the big wall screen began to fill up with graphics and equations. Holle let the tensors flutter past her like falling leaves, and tried to follow the essence of what he was saying.

Liu said, “A warp bubble is a separate universe connected to our own, like a blister growing from a flaw in the wall of a toy balloon. The bubble wall, umm,
surrounds
this pocket universe. But ‘surround’ is a three-dimensional word, inadequate to describe the higher-dimensional reality. The bubble is actually the neck of the flaw connecting mother spacetime to daughter. So it can be much smaller than the daughter universe itself.”

“Smaller than the ship!”

“That’s it. The warp bubble can be as small as you like.” His grin widened. “Too small, on the face of it, even to fit in a single neutrino. There are other advantages. We have been concerned about the collision cross-section of our warp ship. Even dust grains, hitting the forward end of the warp bubble, would suffer enormous compression forces. There could be damage to the ship, and perhaps a loss of energy from the warp field. That danger is much reduced with this new geometry.”

“My God,” Patrick said. “I understand maybe five percent of what you’ve said. But I do know that the mass-energy issue has been the key stumbling block that’s been holding up the design—”

“We are years behind any notional schedule,” Liu said heavily. “This may be the conceptual breakthrough we have needed.”

Patrick hugged his daughter. “All down to my little girl.”

“Oh,
Dad
—”

“Of course that is not so,” Liu said with unexpected sternness. “Can she handle the relativistic mathematics necessary to fully describe this new solution? Of course not. What she has contributed is an insightful question, which provoked an answer which may lead to an ultimate solution. Zane Glemp contributed more, actually. This is teamwork. At the Ark Academy we are not looking for the outstanding individual, Holle Groundwater. We are seeking to construct a team, a crew. Today you have shown you may have the potential to join that team.
May
have. It was a good first day. Now I suggest you sleep well, and make sure you are on time tomorrow.” His image winked out, to be replaced by the muted talking heads of Lammockson, Kenzie and the others.

“Phew.” Patrick let Holle go, and climbed stiffly to his feet. “I need another drink, and something to eat, in that order. Quite a day. A spaceship the size of a neutrino!”

“No, Dad,” she said, following him. “A sub-neutrino-sized corridor to a pocket universe containing a spaceship.”

“Whatever. Who’s peeling the potatoes?”

14

May 2032

T
he day the government took over the project started like any other day in the Academy. Holle would never have guessed it was the last day of her old life, the end of the old regime, and the start of something new.

Magnus Howe liked to take his ethics classes on the old museum’s Level Two, in the big hall devoted to North American Indian culture, with its dioramas and artifacts set behind glass walls in curving corridors. He said they were grounded here by the hall’s association with the deep past of the landscape. Holle thought he was reminding them of other human cultures wiped out by earlier disasters, in the Amerinds’ case a flood of greed and ignorance.

A dozen students of Holle’s age cadre, twelve to fourteen, sat on the polished floor in a loose circle around Howe, who sat on the only chair in the room. They were mostly wearing their fancy new Candidates’ costumes, robust one-piece Lycra uniforms in royal blue with crimson sleeves and rib panels. As usual, people were multitasking, breaking off in little huddles to discuss some assignment or other, or working through material on laptops and handhelds. Venus Jenning was walking around the book stacks, browsing; the room doubled as the Academy’s library. Some students had the abstracted look that came from the murmuring of Angels in their heads. Thomas Windrup and Elle Strekalov were sharing the feed from an Angel. Thirteen years old, their hands intertwined, they rocked gently together.

The class was discussing why the Candidates and their families, those of a Christian background, had not been allowed to celebrate Easter.

“It was tough on my father,” Holle said. “We could have done with a break.” There was now an ambitious schedule in place which would see a fuel lode of antimatter, the key to the interstellar drive, being manufactured on the ground, and a long sequence of Ares boosters rising up from Gunnison to launch Ark modules to the space station, which was to be refurbished and used as a construction shack. All this to be done in just eight more years. But as milestone after milestone was missed the pressure was relentless on the senior people, including her father.

Magnus Howe said, “Easter is a vacation, yes. But what about the theology?”

Wilson Argent blew a raspberry. “It’s got nothing to do with theology. It’s politics. President Vasquez went to war with the Mormons. And then you have those New Covenant nutjobs who say that God is drowning the sinners. We’re going secular in reaction.” Dark, sharp, heavyset, Wilson was a recent recruit from the refugee camps, selected for his ferocious ability and tough personality. It seemed to Holle he was challenging Don and Kelly for the informal leadership of the cadre.

“You’re forcing people into a choice,” Kelly Kenzie said. “We lost some good people, whose parents chose the other way, chose God over your selection process.”

“Well, it wasn’t
my
process,” Howe said. “The social engineers’ theory was—”

“It’s not the theory that matters,” Venus Jenning said. She was flicking through a yellowing paperback. She was a slim, tall girl, calm and quiet, and, perhaps prompted by the chance of her name, fascinated by astronomy. And she liked science fiction, images of vanished futures. “Hey, look at this,” she said now. Her book was called
The Door Into Summer,
by Robert Heinlein. “Denver gets to be the national capital in here too. After the Six Weeks War in 1970!”

Howe said evenly, “You were making a point about theory and practice, Ms. Jenning?”

“Oh, sure. Sorry. Look, because of the religious ban we lost Jews, Hindus, Muslims. Barry Eastman. Yuri Petrov. Miranda Nikolski! She was the best mathematician we had. She’s a year younger than me, and she was teaching
me
interstellar navigation! You can’t afford to lose people like that. Even Zane was almost pulled out.”

The group focused on Zane Glemp. After three years in the Academy, twelve-year-old Zane was still among the shiest of the group, and he looked to the floor.

Magnus Howe prompted, “Zane?”

“Well, it’s true. My father’s ancestors were Jews. We don’t practice ourselves. But my father didn’t like the idea that we had to reject our tradition altogether. And I don’t think he liked the social engineers meddling in
his
project.”

Don Meisel snorted. “Jerzy Glemp was in at the start. But no matter what ideas he’s been putting in, it’s not
his
project. It’s fueled by my father’s money, and yours and yours and yours,” he said, jabbing a finger around the room at children of the superrich: Kelly, Susan Frasier, Venus Jenning, Cora Robles, Joe Antoniadi, Holle. Cora, a rich kid who had grown up with attacks on her parents’ wealth, just laughed prettily.

Magnus Howe prompted, “Zane? So why are you still here?”

Zane shrugged. “We wanted the Ark more, I guess. What use is faith if your family is extinct? Also Mr. Smith visited a few times. He urged my dad to keep me in the project.”

There was an odd silence at that. Harry Smith, their pastoral tutor, loomed large in all their lives, big, bluff, complicated. He was close to his charges. He spent a lot of out-of-hours time with the Candidates. He had even taken to dressing like the students, in a version of their gaudy Lycra uniforms. And he had a heavy, hard-eyed, challenging way of looking at you sometimes. He looked that way especially at Zane Glemp. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that Harry Smith had been there urging Zane’s father to keep him in the project. Holle bet the others were thinking about this now. Nobody said anything, however. Nobody ever did. The Academy was a ferociously competitive place, and the Academy authorities were always looking for an excuse to dump you. Nobody went looking for trouble. If Harry Smith was a problem for Zane, it was up to Zane to sort it out.

If Magnus Howe was aware of any of this running around in his students’ heads, he didn’t show it. “Let’s get to the point. Why do you think we’re trying to exclude religion from this project?”

“To avoid conflict,” Wilson said. “A starship is too small for jihads or crusades or pogroms. Maybe you could have a ship’s crew that was entirely Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim—”

“Or Mormon,” Don Meisel said.

Venus nodded. Her own family, though from Utah, had not been Mormons. “Or Mormon, yes. But a selection from any one faith would be limiting, and surely divisive politically.”

“What about polytheism?” Susan Frasier asked. “Like the Hindu faith, for instance, or the old pagan religions. When you have many gods, not just one, you have flexibility, room for tolerance.”

Miriam Brownlee said, “It worked for the Romans, their pantheon was roomy enough just to absorb all their provinces’ gods—”

Mike Wetherbee said, “That came unstuck with Jehovah!”

Miriam laughed at his joke. A slim Texan, she had gravitated to Mike through a common interest in human biology and medicine.

“But even a single-faith group would be liable to splinter,” said Elle Strekalov. “Think of Sunni versus Shia, Catholic versus Protestant—”

The conversation took off. The Candidates, growing interested, abandoned their other projects and started accessing social-dynamics software suites to study how different religious and social configurations might prosper in the enclosed environment of a starship—purely Christian or Muslim or Buddhist crews, or crews guided by an attic full of squabbling gods.

Magnus Howe let the explorations run for a while. Dark-haired, intense, he was quite young, under thirty. Rumor had it he’d once studied to become a Jesuit. He was actually a pretty good teacher, given the dry nature of his subject matter, and young enough to share his students’ sheer pleasure in learning, in acquiring new knowledge.

Holle didn’t join in. The engineering of the ship rather than its crew was her sphere of interest. But she felt a kind of warm gravity as she sat here with this group of smart, eager kids. It was heartbreaking to think that many of them were likely to be discarded long before the Ark ever got off the ground.

Magnus clapped his hands to bring them back together. He glanced down at his own laptop, on which he’d been monitoring their improvizations. “I can tell some good work’s emerging here. Come back tomorrow with a presentation on your results.” He didn’t specify the assignment further; it would, as always, be up to the students to define their goals properly, to organize the work, to figure out how it would be reported and who by. “For now, let’s concentrate again on the decision that’s actually been made—to exclude anybody with strong religious convictions from the crew.”

“What about atheists?” Wilson called.

“Including atheists.”

Don Meisel said, “It’ll be hard to police. You know how desperate people are to get their kids on the Ark. If it means covering up your faith for a few years, people will do it.”

“You’d be found out,” Zane Glemp said. He pointed to cameras mounted in the corners of the ceiling, silently watching as always.

Holle frowned. “And though we might exclude religion, we can’t leave religiosity behind.”

They seized on that new thread. Susan Frasier, small, plump, generous and popular, spoke up now. “Maybe that’s true. Maybe we humans have a tendency for religious thinking programmed into us. It might be a consequence of our need to figure out cause and effect in the world around us.”

“Don’t forget theory of mind,” Miriam Brownlee said.

“We’ll take all that with us into space,” Holle said. “Whatever else we leave behind we’ll take the essence of our humanity.”

Magnus Howe nodded his head. “That’s a good contribution. All of you, all save Holle, are talking in the abstract—of how ‘the crew’ will react to various stimuli, or the lack of them. It’s only Holle who says
we.
Only Holle who seems to be grasping, today, that you’re not predicting the behavior of some bunch of victims in a psychological experiment. We’re talking about
you
—some of you, at least, who might survive to board the Ark. How will
you
react? Look inwards.”

That shut them up, briefly. Then Susan Frasier said, “Earth. I think no matter how far I travel, even light-years, I will always look back to Earth. As I look back to my mother.”

“Yes,” Magnus Howe said, nodding vigorously. “Earth, the planet that shaped its cargo of life for four billion years before any of us in this room were born. Surely none of you will ever shut her out of your mind and heart.”

“But Earth has betrayed us,” said Wilson Argent. “She may be our mother, but she’s drowning us now.”

“It’s not a betrayal,” said Susan. “Not necessarily. It’s just a change, an evolution in Earth’s own conditions. A transition from one climatic state to another.”

Howe said, “This is a class in which we’re discussing the discarding of religion. It wouldn’t be appropriate to start deifying the Earth herself; Earth is surely a self-organizing system, but not a conscious entity. But there is a school of thought that we should simply accept the wisdom of the unconscious adjustment of Earth’s biological and physical cycles.”

Don Meisel leapt on that. “That’s abider talk. Are you an abider, Mr. Howe?”

There was immediate tension. The loosely defined philosophy that had come to be known as “abider thinking” came from a biblical quotation: “One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the Earth abideth forever”—Ecclesiastes 1:4. It was born of a kind of exhaustion, twenty years after the global flooding had first begun to interfere in human affairs. Maybe, some argued, humankind should just give in. The federal government saw such ideas as a reason not to pay your taxes, and cracked down hard.

And abider talk was frowned on in the Academy as the kind of thinking that could sabotage the project as surely as the actions of disaffected eye-dee terrorists. So Don’s was a serious charge; Howe could lose his job.

Howe just smiled. “The question is, what is in your hearts—and what will be there in the future, when Earth is no more than a memory to you? You see—” His phone chimed. In class phones were supposed to be set to accept only the most high-priority calls. Howe frowned and dug the phone out of his pocket.

Then Kelly Kenzie’s phone rang.

And Don’s. And Wilson’s. The screens of laptops and handhelds began to flash too.

And, at last, Holle’s phone rang. It showed a simple text message from her father: she should come to the Capitol building right away, where President Vasquez was going to speak.