“We can’t be sure,” Vytet admitted. “We know they possessed engineering skills far beyond anything we’re capable of—but did they build their cordons from matter harvested from cometary clouds? Or did they break up planets to do it? To overcome the attractive force of gravity… that is a physics we know almost nothing about, even now, when we’ve had the use of the propulsion reef for centuries.
“We don’t know how the cordons were made, but in just a few minutes we may gain some insight on where the matter was obtained.
“We have records of Tanjiri’s major planets. We know where they should be now, in their orbits, and we know the percentage each would contribute to the variation in luminosity as they cross the face of the star—”
“If they still transit the face of the star,” someone in the second row interjected. Pasha recognized the precise diction of the physicist, Naresh. “If they are no longer intact, we have no basis for our calculations.”
“Yes, Naresh. Exactly.” Vytet again spoke to the full gathering. “What we do know is that the variation we’re seeing is much greater than could be caused by the known planets if they do all still exist. Our hypothesis—mine, along with those Apparatchiks we call the Scholar and the Astronomer—is that some megastructures from the original cordon, or perhaps just fragments of them, still exist.”
Pasha’s mind was running ahead. “But this is not a new theory, correct?” she asked. “It’s been less than two thousand years since the Hallowed Vasties broke up. Not much time on an astronomical scale. And if the structures had been broken down to dust, we would have seen a nebula.”
Naresh answered this, saying, “I’ve looked over the historical data.” Pasha turned to see him in the row behind her, a shadowy figure in the faint light, his posture as precise as his words. He continued, “There may be a nebula, but it’s too thin to account for a majority of the matter that went into the construction of the cordon.”
“I agree,” Vytet said.
“So where did all that matter go?” Shoran wanted to know. “Is it still tied up in these fragments of… what was the term you used?”
“Megastructures,” Pasha said. “Is there even another possibility? Surely there’s not been enough time for debris to re-gather into a planetary body or even into an accretion disc.”
“We hope to find out today,” Vytet answered.
The first image to be displayed came from Dragon’s telescope alone. A Dull Intelligence swiftly combined it with a digital image from Griffin, producing a sharper picture of Tanjiri. Pasha squinted, instinctively trying to bring into focus several tiny blurs of what looked like reflected light, scattered at a uniform distance around the pale yellow star. A tag popped up:
Average estimated distance of orbital bodies from the central star: 0.78 astronomical units.
An astronomical unit, an AU, was the distance that had once separated Earth from Sun… and maybe it still did. No one knew for sure.
Murmurs erupted, whispered questions. Pasha gripped an armrest to stop herself from rising to her feet. “What are we looking at?” she asked herself aloud.
“The shape of these objects suggests a crescent,” someone in back said. “Could they be planetary objects in partial light?”
“Or could they be surviving structures?” another voice asked.
A discussion ensued, the planetary hypothesis gaining support when an analysis of the spectra revealed strong indications of water and an oxygen-bearing atmosphere.
After forty minutes, image data began to stream in from Khonsu’s telescope. The DI cross-matched time and angle, working to integrate it with the existing image to reveal even more detail.
Pasha leaned forward, anxious for the update, hoping it would allow a clearer view of the ruins if that’s what they were, or, far better, reveal an indication of surviving life.
She hoped for proof of life with a child’s eager hope, even as she reminded herself not to let hope influence her judgment. No matter what the refined image showed, she had to view it with an impartial mind. She had to see what was actually there and not just what she wished to see.
The existing image on the projection screen blurred—a dramatic touch, a clear demarcation—before snapping back into focus. Across the watching audience, a collective gasp. Pasha’s hand rose to cover her open mouth.
The best image from last year—the fully integrated image—had shown only glints and shadows that might have been nothing more than tiny flaws in the lenses or random errors in the integration algorithm. This year, with the data newly integrated from Khonsu, those glints were now, undeniably, objects.
In this iteration, the DI had used a screen to block out the direct light of the star, allowing a better look at the surrounding space.
Pasha could now clearly see the lit crescent of a planet or a planetoid, a moon, something… tiny in the overall span of the image but sharply defined and so tantalizingly bright blue in color it commanded the eye to gaze upon it. And paired with it, a smaller crescent, also blue, but not so sharply rendered.
Naresh again, coolly confident: “The larger crescent must be Tanjiri-2. It’s right where the planet should be, but—”
He broke off as another tag popped into existence on the image. Pasha leaned forward to read it. It confirmed Naresh’s evaluation, labeling the larger crescent as the known planet, Tanjiri-2.
“This is quite extraordinary,” Vytet said breathlessly.
“It’s impossible,” Naresh said, anger edging his voice.
This time, Pasha could not resist rising to her feet. She spoke out, defiant, incredulous. “Tanjiri-2 has no moon!”
It never used to have a moon. She’d read the reports. She was certain of this. There was no moon, not even a small rocky body, but in this image the planet appeared to have gained a partner, a smaller world to be sure, but a living world.
“I think we’re looking past the biggest miracle,” Shoran said, projecting her powerful voice over the ongoing murmur of argument. “The living world, the originally inhabited world, still exists! It wasn’t destroyed to create the cordon. It still has atmosphere, an ocean. We might be able to walk there someday, stand on an alien shore.”
Pasha’s heart raced. Shoran was right. There might still be people living on that world and there would surely be life of some kind. And life was precious. Living worlds so very rare.
She flinched at a touch against her hand. Shoran, with a meaningful look toward her empty seat. Sheepishly, Pasha sat down again.
On the dais, Vytet was as awed as anyone. He drew a deep breath, shook his head in wonderment. “All right,” he murmured. A second breath to steady his voice, get his shock under control. “First pass analysis. Both worlds—the old and the new—have atmospheres and—we’ll need to check the spectra of course but I think Shoran is correct—both have oceans. Even that moon, that new, inexplicable moon. Tanjiri-2b, let’s call it! Are they living oceans? We can’t know yet but I want to think so. By the Waking Light! I never imagined we’d find such a thing. A newly created world. A living world.”
“Let’s take a step back,” Naresh said. “No other planetary bodies have been tagged in this image. But historical records assure us there were once additional worlds.”
Vytet cocked his head in an attitude of listening, and then looked out at Naresh. “The DI processing these images has not been able to resolve any other planetary bodies.”
Pasha drew a deep breath. The absence of other planets was eerie but not unexpected. She asked, “If Tanjiri-1 still exists, would it be visible from this angle of view? Or is it possible that it’s passed behind the star? Or behind… one of those other objects?”