Going Interstellar (collection)

Home. Within a few minutes, Kalsor Tertius would no longer qualify as ‘home.’ When the as-yet-unrenamed Ark started underway, the Exodate’s last connection with the planet would end. And the Exiles would mark the official commencement of their separate history from the moment Overlord Mellis revealed the name of the ship that would carry them almost sixteen light years to their new homeworld.

Unfortunately, that new homeworld was as uncertain as their old one was hostile. The HouseMoot had always discouraged any interest in stellar observation, fearing it would stimulate a desire to rediscover the fabled FTL technology of the Death Fathers. Consequently, the only telescopes available for locating a suitable destination star were those on board the Ark itself. Fortunately, they proved to be excellent instruments—once they were thoroughly refurbished. After inspecting a wide array of nearby stars, a midsized yellow star—halfway in its aging to orange—was proven to have a world at the inner edge of the habitable zone, and a smallish gas giant toward the outer edge. Inferential data suggested the inner world had a slightly heavier atmosphere, whereas the small gas giant was suspected of having atypically large moons. Taken in aggregate, they offered the best chance of a world with a biosphere, a place the Exodate could settle at the end of its long journey.

But the presence of a green world was only a possibility, not a certainty. Consequently, observations would continue throughout the journey—which was why Harrod was scheduled to be roused from cold sleep no less than three times before finally beholding the growing glare of their new sun, some seventy-one years hence. Spending a year awake on each occasion, he would complete the journey only slightly older than he was now—and ready to be Raised to the name sul-Mellis: the title of an Intendant whose seed has been wedded to one of the House’s Lines. Not fully an Evolved, he nonetheless would receive most of their honors and prerogatives, if not power. But his children would be born as fully Evolved—albeit of a hybrid line—and live without limits, without the need to learn how to avert their eyes, or make a deep bow. On the other hand, as Evolveds, they would learn to conquer, to compete, to domineer. Sadly, they would have little in common with their father, for their own world would be—

“Contemplating the world we leave behind, Intendant hur-Mellis?” The voice was that of Ackley, who, upon the naming of the Ark, was to be Raised up to become sul-Shaddock—and so, over Harrod.

“My thoughts are more upon the world toward which we journey, Ackley.”

Whose tone—and smile—hovered in some strange limbo between mockery and congenial jocularity: “Then you are looking the wrong way.”

“No, I don’t think so. Our future will grow from the roots of this world, you know. We had best remember that, even as we count down these final minutes of our old lives and identities.”

“Perhaps. And your insight might even be pertinent, for a change.” Ackley had, over the years, become almost amiable—largely because Harrod never rose to his confrontational goads. “For instance, although we go to a new world, we are still creatures of our old Houses. But,”—and his tone changed in a way that Harrod had never heard before—“that doesn’t mean that our old allegiances must endure. A new era opens before us. So, too, do new opportunities—if only we are bold enough to seize them.”

Harrod turned and stared at Ackley. The tone had been conspiratorial. So: Ackley had been sent to woo Harrod secretly into the ranks of House Shaddock. “Surely you jest.”

“Overlord Shaddock has been most impressed by you, and he has noted your own Overlord’s unwillingness to Raise you up in a timely fashion. Also, as the two senior space technology specialists, we could cooperatively achieve much.”

Harrod heard the words “achieve much” and heard their intended context just as clearly: “massacre House Mellis.” Harrod shook his head, baffled.

“Do not dismiss the feasibility of this strategem so quickly, Harrod. Consider the ploy: together, we—”

Harrod kept shaking his head. “No. You misunderstand. I presume your treachery is as inspired and promising as it is devious and subtle. And I do not doubt that Overlord Shaddock would reward me.”

“So you refuse out of misguided loyalty?”

“No,” replied Harrod looking up sharply. “I refuse because—at this moment, more than any other in our collective lives—dissent is unmitigated folly. We are commencing the most dangerous journey imaginable: an interstellar voyage with no guarantee of safe haven at its conclusion. Space is hungry for our lives, and well-equipped to devour us with radiation, cold, vacuum, and blind, brutal chance. And you propose that we should war amongst ourselves even as we venture into the lightless belly of such an abyssal beast?”

Ackley turned away. He did not speak for a long time. “I think you are a fool,” he said at last. But he did not sound as if he meant it.