“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What will happen after they open the farcaster?”
“You know what the Council says, Siri.” I spoke loudly because she was hard of hearing in one ear. “It will open a new era of trade and technology for Maui-Covenant. And you won’t be restricted to one little world any longer. When you become citizens, everyone will be entitled to use the farcaster doors.”
“Yes,” said Siri. Her voice was weary. “I have heard all of that, Merin. But what will happen? Who will be the first through to us?”
I shrugged. “More diplomats, I suppose. Cultural contact specialists. Anthropologists. Ethnologists. Marine biologists.”
“And then?”
I paused. It was dark out. The sea was almost gentle. Our running lights glowed red and green against the night. I felt the same anxiety I had known two days earlier when the wall of storm appeared on the horizon. I said, “And then will come the missionaries. The petroleum geologists. The sea farmers. The developers.”
Siri sipped at her coffee. “I would have thought your Hegemony was far beyond a petroleum economy.”
I laughed and locked the wheel in. “Nobody gets beyond a petroleum economy. Not while there’s petroleum there. We don’t burn it, if that’s what you mean. But it’s still essential for the production of plastics, synthetics, food base, and keroids. Two hundred billion people use a lot of plastic.”
“And Maui-Covenant has oil?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. There was no more laughter in me. “There are billions of barrels reservoired under the Equatorial Shallows alone.”
“How will they get it, Merin? Platforms?”
“Yeah. Platforms. Submersibles. Sub-sea colonies with tailored workers brought in from Mare Infinitus.”
“And the motile isles?” asked Siri. “They must return each year to the shallows to feed on the bluekelp there and to reproduce. What will become of the isles?”
I shrugged again. I had drunk too much coffee and it had left a bitter taste in my mouth. “I don’t know,” I said. “They haven’t told the crew much. But back on our first trip out, Mike heard that they planned to develop as many of the isles as they can so some will be protected.”
“Develop?” Siri’s voice showed surprise for the first time. “How can they develop the isles? Even the First Families must ask permission of the Sea Folk to build our treehouse retreats there.”
I smiled at Siri’s use of the local term for the dolphins. The Maui-Covenant colonists were such children when it came to their damned dolphins, “The plans are all set,” I said. “There are 128,573 motile isles big enough to build a dwelling on. Leases to those have long since been sold. The smaller isles will be broken up, I suppose. The home islands will be developed for recreation purposes.”
“Recreation purposes,” echoed Siri. “How many people from the Hegemony will use the farcaster to come here … for recreation purposes?”
“At first, you mean?” I asked. “Just a few thousand the first year. As long as the only door is on Island 241 … the Trade Center … it will be limited. Perhaps fifty thousand the second year when Firstsite gets its door. It’ll be quite the luxury tour. Always is after a seed colony is first opened to the Web.”
“And later?”
“After the five-year probation? There will be thousands of doors, of course. I would imagine that there will be twenty or thirty million new residents coming through during the first year of full citizenship.”
“Twenty or thirty million,” said Siri. The light from the compass stand illuminated her lined face from below. There was still a beauty there. But there was no anger or shock. I had expected both.
“But you’ll be citizens then yourself,” I said. “Free to step anywhere in the Worldweb. There will be sixteen new worlds to choose from. Probably more by then.”
“Yes,” said Siri and set aside her empty mug. A fine rain streaked the glass around us. The crude radar screen set in its hand-carved frame showed the seas empty, the storm past. “Is it true, Merin, that people in the Hegemony have their homes on a dozen worlds? One house, I mean, with windows facing out on a dozen skies?”
“Sure,” I said. “But not many people. Only the rich can afford multiworld residences like that.”
Siri smiled and set her hand on my knee. The back of her hand was mottled and blue-veined. “But you are very rich, are you not, Shipman?”
I looked away. “Not yet I’m not.”
“Ah, but soon, Merin, soon. How long for you, my love? Less than two weeks here and then the voyage back to your Hegemony. Five months more of your time to bring the last components back, a few weeks to finish, and then you step home a rich man. Step two hundred empty light-years home. What a strange thought … but where was I? That is how long? Less than a standard year.”
“Ten months,” I said. “Three hundred and six standard days. Three hundred fourteen of yours. Nine hundred eighteen shifts.”
“And then your exile will be over.”
“Yes.”
“And you will be twenty-four years old and very rich.”
“Yes.”
“I’m tired, Merin. I want to sleep now.”
We programmed the tiller, set the collision alarm, and went below. The wind had risen some and the old vessel wallowed from wave crest to trough with every swell. We undressed in the dim light of the swinging lamp. I was first in the bunk and under the covers. It was the first time Siri and I had shared a sleep period. Remembering our last Reunion and her shyness at the villa, I expected her to douse the light. Instead she stood a minute, nude in the chill air, thin arms calmly at her sides.
Time had claimed Siri but had not ravaged her. Gravity had done its inevitable work on her breasts and buttocks and she was much thinner. I stared at the gaunt outlines of ribs and breastbone and remembered the sixteen-year-old girl with baby fat and skin like warm velvet. In the cold light of the swinging lamp I stared at Siri’s sagging flesh and remembered moonlight on budding breasts. Yet somehow, strangely, inexplicably, it was the same Siri who stood before me now.
“Move over, Merin.” She slipped into the bunk beside me. The sheets were cool against our skin, the rough blanket welcome. I turned off the light. The little ship swayed to the regular rhythm of the sea’s breathing. I could hear the sympathetic creak of masts and rigging. In the morning we would be casting and pulling and mending but now there was time to sleep. I began to doze to the sound of waves against wood.
“Merin?”
“Yes.”
“What would happen if the Separatists attacked the Hegemony tourists or the new residents?”
“I thought the Separatists had all been carted off to the isles.”
“They have been. But what if they resisted?”
“The Hegemony would send in FORCE troops who could kick the shit out of the Separatists.”
“What if the farcaster itself were attacked … destroyed before it was operational?”
“Impossible.”
“Yes, I know, but what if it were?”
“Then the Los Angeles would return nine months later with Hegemony troops who would proceed to kick the shit out of the Separatists … and anyone else on Maui-Covenant who got in their way.”
“Nine months’ shiptime,” said Siri. “Eleven years of our time.”