When it passed overhead, its side had been turned toward me, rather than its belly, and I noted with interest that it really had swallowed other Snugs—or rather that a whole series of Snugs were docked between two projecting flanges that would hide them completely on a view from above or below. Bios riding along on this ship would easily slot their Snugs into place, and they would provide a combination of living space, shuttles, and escape pods.
Since the ship was travelling far faster than I, it soon became a moth skimming above the planet’s surface. I watched until it became too small to make out details, then sighed with deep satisfaction, just for the existence of great, graceful starships.
"I want it all at once, Dio," I said. "Exploring Mars, and Skipping to all the planets in the solar system, and catching a ride on one of those, to end up on a world I’ve never even heard of. To go as far as I dare into the galaxy core, and to find a lost alien city, and to see whether you really have ring worlds."
[[Everything at once will drown out the bright notes.]]
"True." I considered the planet. "Mars really does look far less red close up. More a pale cream-caramel."
[[You’ll have to visit Acce. It’s all in stripes of deep purple and crimson. Toxic to Type Threes, of course, but something to see.]]
"Jupiter and Saturn first. And the ring world."
[[Acce is a good deal closer than any of the megastructures.]]
"Can—" I paused, not wanting more snark about independence training, and then sorted through menus until I found how to turn back on that glorious navigation map. I went on a tour of nearby systems, and then figured out how to search for Acce, which looked quite a good distance away to me. "What’s the name of the nearest megastructure?"
[[Not telling.]]
"I’m guessing your assigned Bios try to lock you in a box at least once a year," I observed, returning to the Sol system and then looking at the nearest stars, trying to figure out which had inhabited planets. There was an annoying lack of a zoom in function, though I could see names.
But then I turned it all off, because Mars was getting very close, and I had become someone very small again, a mote descending to enormity. I had found a minimal user interface for the ship functions, and so it gave me atmosphere warnings, and offered up shield stats and safety straps, all while I drank in the enormity of planet, and habitable rift, and the occasional glimpse of other Snugs and ships.
Mars' atmosphere might be less dense than Earth’s, but entry still involved a shallow angle and some way of coping with the heat generated during deceleration. My shielding proved to be a forcefield, and for a while my view was mainly fascinating aurora-plumes in lavender and gold, though I did get lovely glimpses of the atmosphere haze.
And then it was all about the rift continent, as my Snug angled on the new course I’d chosen, and I dropped almost directly toward the great strip of blue and green that was Valles Marineris: a vista of ever-increasing detail rushing toward me. Fields and trees, lake and rivers. And a fascinating criss-cross of white lines almost everywhere, that I couldn’t quite understand. Then a tracery above the whole of the rift caught my attention.
"The sky looks like clear honeycomb."
[[These types of expansive habitats require multiple safeguards against atmosphere venting. This is a common solution—four layers of safety cells, with each descending layer kept at increased atmospheric pressure.]]
"What happens if there’s a meteor storm?"
[[We would destroy or redirect anything large enough to make surface impact. There is also shielding, just as there is on your Snug. The habitat itself is sectioned so that even if one area is breached, shielding will activate to—at least temporarily—retain as much atmosphere as possible.]]
"Has it ever been breached?"
[[Not Mars. Other habitats of this type have suffered various disasters. Usually involving Bios who can’t steer straight.]]
I grinned, and readjusted my course again, so that I was skimming above the honeycomb of Valles Marineris' roof. That allowed me to properly see what all the white lines were, and that left me gaping all over again. They were…bridges? Roof supports? They looked more than a little like Roman aqueducts, but with a soaring central opening wide and tall enough to…
Valles Marineris was I-can’t-remember-how-many kilometres deep, and those central arches went two-thirds of the way up. I goggled at this thought until I passed over the broad reaches of the main rift and entered the fractured columns of Noctis Labyrinthus, where there were criss-crossing white lines like support beams, and no honeycomb ceiling.
The beams were swarming with docked Snugs, and I tried not to think of larvae, keeping my attention on the piloting information as I was assigned a slot and my Snug settled itself in position. And then that was it. I was on Mars. I found I’d been holding my breath again, and made myself relax.
"What happens if there’s no docks left?" I asked eventually.
[[We’d be notified long before we reached the planet—it’s something that’s checked when you set your course. Interstellar trips are a little more complicated, since no variety of signal can travel faster than Skipping. To handle that, almost all ships carry a packet relay that collects information bundles and disseminates them automatically. When a ship notifies of Skip departure, the latest sysnav information is uploaded to the relay, and then transmitted to the next system relays it encounters. And those systems pass on that information to any departing ships. That way available docks, in-system ships, news and gossip can all be spread with minimal effort. There are also some worlds where it is necessary to basically book ahead because available docks are limited and highly sought after. The most valued need to be purchased, or won, or be granted by a person of influence. Most, however, deal with travellers on a first-come first-served basis, and simply start limiting docking duration during peak periods.]]
"So the ship is constantly telling people where we are? Can you hide your presence in a system?"
[[Yes and no. You can set yourself anonymous, but that only limits who can view your ship location: it doesn’t prevent it from being collected. There are also methods for falsifying or blocking your ship information. A not infrequent practice that will win you various penalty marks if you’re caught. Or, if you mean cloaking technology, well, you could sit your Snug in an open Pocket. That is usually quite effective.]]
"For the few minutes I could maintain it."
[[High rank Bios manage it quite effectively. But enough of this. Choose your Renba, and we’ll see how long it takes me to get you killed.]]
26
mars
Before making any other decisions, I turned off my Snug’s gravity to see what would happen, and found myself delightfully light. Mars' gravity was around a third of Earth’s, and made me feel superhuman.
It was only after some quality bouncing that I settled down to choose my Renba: the Art Deco bird, which was sparrow sized, falcon-like in shape, and flitted in a distinctly artificial manner that suggested anti-gravity. Or perhaps just low gravity. It was hard not to picture a little chunk of brain—would it be brain?—hidden inside the silver and black casing. It was harder still not to leap up in delight to touch the ceiling at every reminder that This Was Mars.
Since Dio hadn’t pushed me to choose a Challenge before setting out, I decided this was free-exploration-without-guiding-arrows time, and triggered my airlock, only to have to pause and read through the city rules. This was a duel-enabled zone, but not open PvP. The courtesy standards were…it looked like there was a higher standard of politeness and public decorum on Mars than on Earth.