Marina Lostetter – Noumenon Infinity (страница 13)

What am I going to say?

The lighting in the conservatorium was nothing like the lighting in your typical auditorium. There were no harsh lights beating down on her in the midst of a darkened room—no glare to hide the audience’s faces. Every eager reporter’s eyes were clear as day, tracking her movements, softening at her smile.

You have to do it, she told herself. You have an ethical obligation. You owe Dr. Chappell her life back.

But …

And that was it, a little worming thought. But.

But what if he was right?

Worse yet, what if she had been right, back when she’d poured her heart out in front of the consortium chair? The missions lived and died by public opinion. They might not get canceled, but they would lose their life spark.

She couldn’t watch the current climate of scientific enthusiasm crumble because of one man’s arrogance. She didn’t want to see the light go out in a colleague’s eyes when she came into a room. She didn’t want little kids taking spaceship stickers off their walls. She didn’t want history books to have horrible footnotes describing how the first interstellar missions had been tainted by backstabbing and positioning.

… Didn’t want the media hounding her ma and papa.

With one admission, there was so much that could go wrong.

The vines entwined with her bones squeezed and pulled taut, powdering her resolve like so much chalk.

So, he wins, she said to herself. He wins, but only so that everyone else on the entire planet doesn’t lose.

The plant inside her—having done its job—wilted and died.

She hated him. She hated herself. She hated that she would never be free of this—helping him destroy what could have been the greatest scientific mission to date in order to advance what she personally thought was important.

She wanted to shrivel into dust and blow away in the wind, just like that plant.

Instead, she cleared her throat, widened her smile, and welcomed everyone to this joyous occasion.

APRIL 22, 2126 CE

“So, how’s it been with all the visitors? You give many tours?” Swara asked, hands in her pockets, duffel bag hoisted over one shoulder. Vanhi and her sister strolled lazily down the hall, en route to the docking bay. “And you’ve got to tell me something, be honest. Does artificial gravity feel funny to you?”

“The visitors are fine,” Vanhi assured her. “We’ve got liaisons for that. Tour guides. They’re great, actually. Sometimes I think they know more about the ships than I do. And the gravity … I think that’s just you.”

“Really, you don’t feel lighter up here?”

“Gravitons are gravitons are gravitons. We’re harnessing them, not mimicking them. Trust me, the gravity here feels exactly the same as Earth-side. If it didn’t, we’d have a big problem.”

“Oh, because that would mess with the experiments?”

“No, because we’d have a malfunction and that would mess with everything.”

They finally arrived at Pulse’s bay entrance. Almost all of the habitat ships in all of the convoys were designed exactly the same. They were humongous, filled to the brim with personal quarters. Each room had a window, regardless of where it lay within the ship—a series of mirrors reflected outside views back to those on inner portions of the decks. The bay itself was large, holding up to fifteen shuttles at a time. Most of it was controlled from observation booths, so that no one was sent scrabbling every time the bay was depressurized. Now, convoy crew bustled in and out of the hall airlock, barely allowing the automated door to shut before taxing it once more. Swara hesitated before entering. “I wish I didn’t have to go so soon.”

Vanhi gave her a tight hug, with an extra squeeze for good luck. “I know, me, too. But my six-month break will come sooner than you think.”

“You have to come stay with me and James.”

“For how long?”

“Long as you want.”

“Uh-uh, don’t say that unless you mean it. You might not be getting rid of me for a month.” Vanhi gave her a wink.

“You’ve done well here,” her sister said, glancing around the hall, watching jumpsuited specialists double-time it to and from their stations.

Vanhi’s face fell, but she propped up her smile in the next instant, not wanting Swara to see her falter.

Her family didn’t need to know she’d tried to resign, that Madame Chair had begged her to stay on. She’d only acquiesced because the guilt of dropping the mission had outweighed the guilt of maintaining her post. Now, she tried to stay in constant motion, to keep busy. Busy people didn’t have time for regret.

She’d even offered Dr. Chappell a prominent position on the team. Vanhi knew the move looked odd from the outside, but no one suspected any motives beyond altruism (which, in its own way, only burgeoned Vanhi’s shame). In response, Dr. Chappell had all but sent a flaming bag of dog poop to her door.

Vanhi couldn’t blame her. If their positions were reversed, she would have balked just the same.

Sometimes the bad guys win.

So … what does that make me?

But she couldn’t tell her sister all that. So she just said, “The crew does well. They’re wonderful. We have a lot more retired military aboard than I would have expected. Should have, though. They’re used to taking on temporary stations halfway across the globe, so it’s no wonder they’d be up for a few years in space. But they’re great. And I’ve got some new recruits coming in as you’re headed out. Excited to meet them. Even though I wish you could stay longer, of course.”

With a scrunched-nose smile, Swara reached into the side pocket of her duffel and drew out a small box wrapped in bright green. It looked like a container jewelry might come in, but Swara would know better than that; Vanhi hardly ever wore any. “To say thank you for letting me come visit you aboard your convoy,” she said, holding it out with both hands.

“You know you don’t need to.”

“I know. But this way there’s something up here to help remind you of us down there.”

They hugged again, said their goodbyes. Vanhi wished her sister a safe trip back to Earth. When Swara was securely on the other side of the door, Vanhi looked at the box again. She had an hour before the next pods had to be approved for deployment, so she scurried back to her quarters to open the gift.

Once inside her spacious quarters (they were meant for a four-person family, but since there were plenty of vacant rooms, there was no need to be restrictive), Vanhi settled herself at her small kitchen table.

She tugged at the bit of twine encompassing the wrapping before tearing into the packaging proper. The slick paper fell away with ease, leaving what was unquestionably a jewelry box, hinged on one side and velvety. It opened with a snap.

Vanhi wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. A necklace? A pin?

Inside was a wristwatch-that-wasn’t. It had all the trappings of a watch: real leather strap (she hoped Papa didn’t know!), metal buckle, clockface. Only the clockface wasn’t analog or digital. It was antiquated. Where one would expect to see a pair of hands or set of displays was instead an evenly scoured plate and a gnomon.

Underneath the watch lay a note.

Dear little Ullu,

Vanhi cringed, then shook her head fondly at the old nickname. It had been a childhood insult that had slowly morphed into an endearment.

Since you are the strangest scientist I know, what with your love of archaic things like eyeglasses and your pocket protector (I believe you call it C), I thought you might enjoy this gen-one timepiece. I hear it’s cutting-edge technology, if you happen to live in Babylon.

When I saw this in the storefront I remembered what you said about distance not mattering, only travel time. So when you wear this, know that it takes exactly 0.00 seconds for my love to reach you, no matter where you are.

Found that programmer you talked about—Kaeden. We worked in some upgrades I think you’ll like.

Good luck. See you soon.

Yours lovingly,

Swara

Vanhi turned the sundial over in her palm. The back wasn’t inscribed, but it didn’t have to be. It was made of a polished, brassy silver-gold metal she couldn’t identify, even after finding the jeweler’s stamp. It carried some weight, but not too much. The hour lines were labeled in Roman numerals.

She hurried to swipe the old phone from where it sat in a place of honor on her bookshelf. She didn’t need it aboard the ships—everyone’s chip implants were integrated into the comms system—but they’d have to pry her Intelligent Personal Assistant out of her cold, dead hands.

“Wake up, want to show you something. Look at what Swara gave me.” She flashed the sundial, then held up the note for C to scan.

“She’s not wrong, I am antiquated,” it agreed.

“But that’s why I love you,” she said, strapping the sundial onto her left wrist. “Hope I don’t jab anyone with the gnomon. Can’t tell if it would bend or skewer.”

“The stamp indicates it is a Ti-Au alloy, typically used for medical implants. It would likely puncture.”

“Odd thing to make a bracelet out of.”

“Agreed. You should probably assess its electrical properties before wearing it during experiment engineering.”