“They watched known stars disappear within cordons made up of swarms of orbiting bodies of such magnitude and occurring in such numbers that all the light of the star was contained. Miraculous, it seemed. Inexplicable and overwhelming. The work of gods. The Hallowed Vasties.
“Centuries later, they watched the cordons disintegrate, and the stars reappear.
“Speculation has been rampant but no one really knows what spurred the precipitous growth of the cordons or triggered their sudden failure. We are here aboard Dragon to find out, to seek for our ancestors and to learn, both from their triumphs and their mistakes. It will be dangerous and it won’t be easy, but I think it’ll be worthwhile.”
Riffan raised his glass, calling out “Hear, hear!” with the rest of them, but as he sipped the cold wine he shivered, chilled by the thought that they might find only monsters living among the wreckage of gods.
Chapter
22
Every few minutes a new submind reached Clemantine at her post on Griffin’s high bridge, bringing her the memories of a parallel life—not just the observed experiences but also the thoughts, impressions, and emotions of her core self. The result: She lived that life, she was that woman, and also the isolated mistress of the high bridge. A dual existence. Two versions, wound around each other, witnessing progress on both fronts:
For Dragon, a thriving community, and for Griffin, a slow evolution away from hostility and malice among its philosopher cells as she reshaped their instinctive responses, making her post on the high bridge more bearable, day by day.
Another submind brought her a new segment of memories. Pasha Andern sat across from her, steaming cups of tea on the low table between them. Pasha asked, “Do you remember, centuries back, when Riffan and I first asked to go on this expedition… we talked about the authority of a ship’s captain?”
Clemantine nodded. She did remember. “You agreed the captain was the final authority.”
“I would have agreed to almost anything,” Pasha admitted with a laugh. “But you—you had doubts. You said ‘we’ll find a way to make it work.’”
“You’re angry over the centuries in archive,” Clemantine guessed.
“Let’s say I’m concerned.”
“That’s over. The ship’s company will have a voice going forward.”
A dismissive shrug, because having a voice was not the same as having a veto. Pasha asked, “Was it hard to learn to master the philosopher cells?”
“Yes,” Clemantine said without hesitation.
“Was it worth it?” Pasha pressed.
Clemantine sipped her tea, recognizing this as an oblique question, a substitute for a question that could not be asked directly—
Should Urban ever again exceed his moral authority, could you take over?
“Yes,” she said, more thoughtfully this time. She set the hot cup down. “To be more than just a passenger aboard Dragon, to learn to impress my will on the ship’s Chenzeme mind, it was worth it.”
Pasha nodded, seeming satisfied. “I’m glad there’s someone else who knows—and I’m glad it’s you who’s in command of Griffin.”
Clemantine looked askance. She did not command Griffin, she had no experience of it—not this version of her—and more and more, she wanted the experience. She’d told no one of the separation between her selves. She’d come to regret it, ashamed to be credited for a role she had not truly undertaken.
A voice, speaking from out of this parallel memory: It’s not too late for us to synchronize timelines. I don’t need to be protected.
On Griffin she pondered this, and after a time she messaged her other self, *I’m the one who needs you to be protected. I need your experience of human community unadulterated by the atavism of this Chenzeme mind.
An answer arrived, replete with frustration: *It can’t be that different from Dragon’s high bridge.
*It is, and I don’t like what I’ve had to become.
She had told no one of the separation, but her Apparatchiks knew. The Engineer, monitoring data traffic between the two ships, had noticed the one-way flow of subminds: “You’ve created a version of yourself specialized for command,” he concluded.
“You would see it that way, having a personal understanding of specialization.”
She sensed Urban knew as well. When he spoke to this version of her, atrium to atrium, his tone was formal, distant. So different from when he spoke to her other self. Had he worked it out on his own? Or had the Engineer informed him? This last question led directly to another: Just how closely does he monitor me?
Suspicion blossomed, but suspicion was toxic, so she resolved to clear the air. She messaged him, *Do my Apparatchiks report to you?
He did not answer right away. Seconds passed. She imagined him considering all that this inquiry might imply. Finally, he asked her, *Should they?
A fair question. She held immense power, yet lived a separate existence. It would be dangerous to allow her to become a stranger. She would not allow that for herself.
*If my Apparatchiks have concerns, I hope they share them with me and with you.
*Okay, but… you are all right over there?
*Yes. I’ve adapted. I live her life and mine. And I want you to know that nothing means more to me than you and her and Dragon’s evolving community—and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect all of you.
Late afternoon:
Urban was alone, gathering memories from his subminds as he lay with eyes closed on a blanket spread out in a shady garden corner, a few steps from the sliding backdoor of the cottage he shared with Clemantine. One after another, the partial copies of his persona dropped into his atrium, joining their memories to his so that he was acquainted with the current status of the ship, of the outriders, and of Clemantine in her separate command.
Urban had created the Sentinel to help him cope with the demands of commanding Dragon’s high bridge. Clemantine had taken a different path in her command of Griffin. Instead of a partial persona that could be swapped in at need, she’d created a permanent alternate-self. She remained herself, but colder, more emotionally remote, as if she had taken on something of the implacable, ruthless nature of the philosopher cells. Did she realize it?
She must. Why else refuse to synchronize? Still, it left him questioning how well he knew her and what her boundaries might be.
But there was no calling it back.
Another submind, bringing the memory of the ongoing survey of the Near Vicinity. No anomalies of a stature to warrant concern had been found over the past twenty-four hours.
And another, bringing confirmation of the continued silence from the site of the beacon.
The beacon had fallen silent precisely at the time Elepaio was due to make its close pass. Urban longed to collect the memories of the ghost ensconced aboard that outrider. What did I find out there? Did I make contact with someone? Some thing? He wished again he’d been the version to go.