The Sails of Tau Ceti (21 page)

Tory glanced at her guide with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. After two full months of playing tourist, details of her many visits about the ship had begun to blur into one long string of images. Had it been yesterday that she had sat through the interminable ceremony honoring Phela’s dead, or the day before? What had been the name of that artisan who showed her his sculptures? He had been especially proud of his rendition of a human male
ala
Michelangelo’s
David
. She had not had the heart to tell him that he’d grossly oversized the sex organs — at least, insofar as her own rather limited experience was concerned.

“Would I like to see what?” Tory asked. She had had a headache when she awoke. A tablet had largely solved that problem, but left her feeling out of sorts.

“I thought we’d travel to the opposite end of the ship so you can see where the shroud lines are anchored. It is quite an impressive sight. Also, your captain expressed an interest in the arrangement when he surveyed the ship following our taking your power unit in tow.”

“Is Garth going with us?”

“No, he is with Dr. Claridge today. They’re discussing the safeguards required before Phelan plants can be introduced into Earth’s biosphere.”

Tory nodded. Earth would require rigorous testing before they allowed any plant or animal to enter atmosphere. Even then, it would require a vote of the full system council to overcome the usual not-in-my-backyard protests. With human foodstuffs as lacking in certain critical proteins for Phelan chemical processes as the aliens’ food was for humans, no one saw any other choice if a colony was to be established. It would be a great deal less expensive to grow food than to synthesize the needed additives (as
Far Horizons
’s chefs were doing with their human fare).

“If we’re going to the opposite end of the ship, may we stop and see the falls?”

“If you wish.”

Having been raised on Mars, the idea of free running water fascinated Tory. She had become used to the gentle streams she had seen during her travels, but was still in awe of the pair of half-kilometer tall waterfalls at the other end of the ship. She had often gazed across the kilometers to that spectacular double waterfall spilling down from the central axis, trying to imagine what it was like to hear the roar of all that water pounding down in a cloud of white spray. Despite her intention to visit them, something always seemed to come up to short circuit the visit.

“Then lets go.”

Maratel led her through the now familiar maze of corridors to the lift. Instead of dropping toward the outermost deck and the rim of the habitat volume, they rose upward toward the spin axis. Tory felt the pull of gravity diminish with each meter climbed. Her forays to the outer decks had done wonders in developing her muscles. Still, after a day in heavy gravity, it was all she could do to hold her eyes open through dinner. Microgravity would feel good again.

The sun tube extended like an axle from one end of the starship to the other, with the structure held taut by the tension of the entire ship hanging from the space parachute behind them. Despite the energy radiating from the sun tube’s surface, its interior contained both a transport system and vital utility lines.

The transports were small capsules not unlike those of Olympus City. Tory and Maratel clambered into one. Both sat hunched forward, their heads a few centimeters apart, their bodies braced against the spherical walls to keep from floating away. The smell of cinnamon and paint thinner was overpowering.

“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” Tory asked as the car accelerated smoothly away from the station.

“Not at all. We are friends, are we not?”

“How do we smell to you?”

Maratel made a display of inhaling deeply. She wrinkled her nose as she did so. “That is difficult to describe.”

“I mean, do we stink?”

“Your odor is … strange, but not unwholesome. We have a small flower that blooms during the high summer phase of our weather program. Its odor is vaguely reminiscent of your own. What of us? How do we Phelan smell to you humans?”

Tory smiled. “Your odor reminds us of a highly valued spice mixed with a small amount of a certain chemical solvent.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” the Phelan said with an expression so serious that Tory had to laugh.

They were both laughing ten seconds later when the capsule signaled its arrival at the opposite end of the starship. The whole journey had taken less than a minute. Maratel let them out and led the way past the lifts that would take them down into the higher gravity sections of the ship. As they moved through the spin axis corridor, Tory realized that the Phelan had an advantage over humans when it came to moving about in microgravity. Their extra pair of appendages allowed them to move hand over hand with far more grace than humans could manage. While Tory plodded along behind, Maratel swarmed forward like a spider in its web.

The corridor ended at the junction of six downward-leading passages. Unlike the lifts she had gotten used to, these small shafts had ladders affixed to their sides.

“These are for maintenance,” Maratel said, indicating the tubes. “We’ll have to climb down.”

Tory suppressed a groan and told Maratel to lead on, which she did. The alien positioned her body to enter the tube feet first. She then grasped the rails of the ladder with her intermediate hands and pushed off with the upper set. A moment later, she was drifting downward like a terrestrial diver sinking into a deep well.

Tory followed Maratel’s example. She wrapped her feet around the outside of the rails and pushed off with her hands. She then let the rails slip slowly through her lightly clenched fist. Looking down, she could see Maratel a dozen meters below, still falling. The two of them passed several openings in the walls of the maintenance tube. As they fell, spin gravity began to reassert itself. Tory found herself accelerating. She gently gripped the rails to slow her descent so that she would not overtake Maratel.

Finally, when the pull had increased to approximately one half the gravity she was used to at home, Maratel halted her fall and stepped off into a horizontal access tube. Tory followed. She felt clumsy compared to the Phelan’s liquid grace. They had gone fifty meters through the too small tunnel when they came to a compartment that was little more than a widening of the corridor. Except, half the cylindrical wall had suddenly turned transparent. Through the window shone the pearly glow of the light sail.

Tory moved to the window and gazed out. The sail was a glowing wall that covered half the universe. In front of it, barely a kilometer distant, hovered the large spherical shape from which sprouted a forest of infinitely long lines. The lines glowed with the violet glow of electrons shimmering in vacuum. This, then, was the anchor point from which
Far Horizons
was suspended as it fell toward Sol.

Because of the difference between the starship’s rate of rotation and that of the light sail, the whole assemblage seemed to be performing a giant dance. It was like standing near the hub of a great bicycle wheel and watching the spokes turn. Except no bicycle had ever possessed so many spokes as the Phelan starship. The shroud lines crisscrossed one another so thoroughly that they formed an ever-changing kaleidoscope, violet and black over pearl white, as they pin wheeled across the sky.

Tory stood hypnotized for long seconds before she shifted her gaze to the attachment itself. A cable as large around as a human torso extended forward from the anchor sphere, disappearing as it dropped behind a lump on the starship’s stern. She did not have to see the end of the thick cable to know that this was the point from which all of
Far Horizons
was suspended. Like a seagoing ship of old, the starship rode at anchor as it fell toward the distant yellow star.

Above the attachment sphere, the shroud lines fanned out. Each line was as thick as the handle on a whip where it exited the black sphere, and diminished in cross-section until it became invisibly thin.

“How do you adjust line length?” Tory asked Maratel. The mystery of how the aliens controlled so unwieldy an object as the light sail had been the subject of several discussions in the commons after dinner.

“See the thick portions?” Maratel said, pointing to the whip handle shapes jutting from the sphere. “We vary the line lengths by contracting or extending them. The thick region is where we store the extra material.”

“I do not see any slip joints to allow rotation,” Tory said, gazing at the sphere. To do its job, the attachment must take up the difference in rotation between starship and light sail. How it managed that task was not obvious.

“We use a molecular slip system. If you’re interested, I’ll have someone explain it when we get back.”

Tory laughed halfheartedly. “Explain it to Garth or Kit. My brain is about to explode from information overload.”

They stood for long minutes watching the grand pirouette in the sky. Finally, Maratel asked if Tory was ready to leave.

“Sure. Are we going to the falls now?”

Maratel ‘nodded.’ “We must work our way around the periphery a bit to reach a power lift. I presume you have no desire to climb down the maintenance ladder.”

“In your gravity field? Not likely!”

“Do you mind if we make one stop on the way?”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Tory did not push. Several times Maratel had been mysterious as to where she was taking Tory. Each time the destination had proved worth the wait. She had sometimes wondered if springing surprises on people was a Phelan trait, or merely something Maratel liked to do as an individual.

The alien led her back the way they had come. They were forced to climb fifty meters to reach the intersection of a main corridor. After that, it was a matter of hiking along a circumferential corridor. This close to the spin axis, the curvature of the corridor was pronounced. They always seemed at the base of a large dip, with the corridor sloping upward in both directions. Yet, no matter how far they walked, they were never able to reach the incline.

Maratel approached a heavy double door. The entryway swung back at their approach, as though someone inside had been watching their progress. Beyond the door lay a large pie shaped compartment filled with busy Phelan. The compartment walls were covered with viewscreens displaying scenes from all over the ship. Tory saw passageways, compartments filled with machinery, and panoramic views of the habitat interior. She saw exterior views as well, including one that showed a tiny
Starhopper
keeping station with the starship.

Tory had no time to gawk. Maratel led her along a raised walkway to another door. It, too, opened at their approach. Within she found a dimly lit room with a single massive console. A floor to ceiling holoscreen provided a backdrop for the being that waited there. Standing before the console was Faslorn.

#

“Welcome to Command Central,” the Phelan commander said.

“To what do I owe this singular honor?” she stuttered. As far as she knew, no one else in their party had ever been allowed inside
Far Horizons
’s command center. Requests to see it had always been met with polite evasions.

“I asked Maratel to arrange this visit because I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?”

Faslorn made the Phelan gesture of assent. “We Phelan know a great deal about your species. I think we have amply proved that point in the last few months.”

“You have indeed.”

“Yet, as aliens, we can never hope to understand you as well as you understand yourselves. It has been obvious to us for centuries that if we are to be successful in obtaining refuge in your system, we will need to gather talented human beings to our cause. Not hirelings, but true advocates of our position. We would like you to be our principal advocate.”

Tory blinked. “Why me?”

“You have much personal empathy for us and are sympathetic to our cause. You are also equipped with a computer implant and know something of human law. Of the four humans we have met so far, you are the best candidate by far.”

“There are probably millions on Earth who would better meet your requirements, people who make their living as lobbyists. Once you reach Earth, you’ll have your pick of the very best.”

“We will hire such people, of course. However, they will be employees. We need an ally. Our extrapolations tell us that you are possibly the best ally we will ever meet. In any event, we cannot wait. Your captain and I have already spoken of your return to Earth.”

“You have? He hasn’t said anything to us.”

“The decision to plan for a return voyage was made less than an hour ago. Perhaps he will tell you tonight. In any event, when you go, several of us will go along in cold sleep. It is important that we select our advocate before departure.”

“Why?”

“For good and sufficient reasons that will become clear if you accept our offer. Will you help us convince your people to give us refuge?”

Tory hesitated. The truth was that she had come to like the Phelan. They were like eager little puppies in their mimicry of human culture. Except there was very little resemblance to an eager puppy in Faslorn’s manner. He seemed far more distant than she had ever known him. No, he seemed more
alien
! It was as though the thin veneer of human mannerisms had been stripped away, leaving behind a core that was pure Phelan. She noticed that he had ceased using human gestures altogether.

She stalled with a question. “What if I agree to represent you, then find that your interests run counter to those of humanity? I could never betray my people, Faslorn.”

“There will be no question of betrayal,” he assured her. “On the contrary, by serving us, you will be serving your own people, too.”

“You are referring, of course, to the advanced technology you will give us in exchange for accepting you on our worlds.”

“That and more important things.”

“That seems a rather extreme statement. Can you back it up?”

“Should you accept our offer, I promise that you will know the truth before you leave this chamber. Do you accept?”