Skye Object 3270a (3 page)

Skye had dropped out of nowhere.

No one knew where she had come from. Thirteen years ago an astronomer had seen a gleam on the outer edge of the nebula. Days passed, and the light grew brighter. A solar sail, already a full kilometer across, was growing from the animate hull of a tiny incoming spacecraft.

The solar sail was huge, but it was thinner than aluminum foil. It was designed to catch sunlight the way a boat's sail would catch the wind, using the pressure of light to slow the tiny lifeboat that it carried. But as the sail swept through the nebula it was bombarded by pebbles and flecks of dust that tore its fragile sheet faster than the sail could heal and re-grow. By the time a research ship reached the lifeboat a year had elapsed and only a few shreds remained of the once-bright fabric.

Within the lifeboat, the researchers discovered the frozen body of a nameless two year old girl. All the records aboard her vessel had been erased. There was no way to know how long she had been in cold sleep, if it had been two years or two hundred . . . or more. There was no way to know who had put her in the lifeboat, or why. When the researchers revived her, she had only a two-year-old's fuzzy memory.

They had named her after the astronomer's designation for her lifeboat, Sky Object 3270a, adding only an
e
to her first name.

“It wasn't another lifeboat,” Zia said. “If the object was that big, someone would have spotted it.”

“Maybe.”

Skye was not at all convinced. Lifeboats were dark. In the lightless deeps of space they were almost impossible to see. They were made that way, because the only reason to use one was for escape.

For centuries, people had moved outward from Earth, making homes on new worlds that circled alien suns. Now and again, they found fossil traces of long vanished civilizations, but nothing else, until the frontier had been pushed a thousand years from home . . . and then they found the Chenzeme warships.

It was a terrible discovery. The robotic Chenzeme vessels might have been thousands, even millions of years old. There were no aliens aboard them. Machine minds steered the ships, and ordered them to attack any vessel that was not of their own kind.

No one knew for sure why Skye was in the lifeboat, but everyone could guess. She had probably been born on a great ship, like a self-contained city tower faring across the sky, carrying human passengers on a hundred year voyage from one star to another. A great ship was an irresistible target for a prowling Chenzeme warship. When it seemed certain they would come under the warship's guns, Skye's parents must have put her aboard a lifeboat.

As the lifeboats were ejected, most of them would have been spotted and destroyed by the Chenzeme pursuer—but at least one had escaped, to drift (
for how many centuries?
) until it encountered the nebula that sheltered Deception Well, and its star, called Kheth.

I can't be the only survivor.

City Authority didn't agree. “It's a miracle even you made it here,” they told her, over and over again.

She stared into the darkness beyond the city. The glare of sunlight on the elevator column was so bright she could not see any stars, only the silvery tower of the column rising, rising as if to infinity, dwindling finally to a thread as it disappeared from sight.

The Silkens had never looked very hard for other lifeboats. Maybe they just didn't want to find them.

“S
top sulking,” Zia said, as they sipped an icy slush at a balcony table. It was near-noon, and the grand walk was crowded with lunch time throngs.

Skye leaned back in her chair, turning her face to a cool breeze that swept up the city's slope. Like Zia, she had changed from her skin suit into shorts and a light shirt. “I'm not sulking.”

Zia scowled. “So what do you call this? Celebrating? You haven't stopped brooding since the crawl cart picked us up.”

Skye had stood at the crawl cart's railing, her gaze fixed on the brilliant white clouds so far below, and the crystal blue of the ocean. She had hardly heard the congratulations of the other jumpers who climbed aboard the cart as it worked its way back up to the city. She'd been happy to see Ord, though. The little robot had met them at the gate, looking no worse for its encounter with Buyu. Its tentacles had wrapped happily around Skye's wrist. Now it lurked under the table. Skye felt Ord's gentle, reassuring taps against her ankle, but she was not comforted.

“I'm not brooding,” she said after a minute. “I'm just . . . thinking.”

“So stop it. It's not good for you.”

Skye smiled. “Careful,” she said, “or I'm going to start confusing you with Buyu.”

Zia took a mock swipe at her head. Skye ducked, and one of the drinks almost went over. A woman at the next table gave them a sour look. Zia shrugged and picked up her slush. Then she leaned back, resting her knees against the railing. “Let's go over this one more time. That which went
flash
was a fragment of the swan burster, just like I said. City Authority had been tracking it for years. There was an announcement in the media this morning, predicting today's lightshow, and if we hadn't been so caught up in our jump, we might have heard about it. So that which went
flash
was not a lifeboat, so cheer up.”

“There could be lifeboats out there,” Skye said.

Zia started breathing heavily, her teeth gritted in cartoon rage, but she stopped fast when a couple of ado boys came by their table to offer congratulations. Zia chatted them up, while Skye leaned on the balcony rail, gazing down at the long slope of the cone-shaped city.

Silk hung on the elevator cable like a bead on a string—or maybe like a cone-shaped mountain with the thread of the elevator cable running through its core. At 300 kilometers above Deception Well, it was far beyond the atmosphere, yet all the houses, apartment buildings, parks, and walkways were on the outside slopes. People could live in the light because they were protected from the airless vacuum of space by a transparent, self-repairing canopy that rose over the city like a bubble, held up by the pressure of air.

The grand walk encircled the city's highest, narrowest level. From the restaurant balcony, Skye could look down past the low-rise buildings of Ado Town to the green belt of Splendid Peace Park, 600 meters below. She waited until the boys moved off. Then she said, “You think I'm crazy, because I believe there could be other lifeboats out there.”

“I don't think you're crazy. I think you just don't want to be, well . . . alone. You know you're not alone.”

“Sooth. Zia, the point is we don't know if there are any more . . . like me. Because no one's looked.”

Zia crossed her arms over her chest. “So why don't you look?”

“Huh?”

“Instead of whining about it, why don't
you
go look?”

“How?”

“How should I know? I just know that if it's more important to you than to anyone else, you should be doing it.”

Skye was already nodding, as ideas sprouted in her head. “Ord!”

“Yes, Skye?” The little robot poked its head over the far rim of the table. “Order food now?”

“No. Forget lunch. Remember the article you found for us on the swan burster fragment?”

“Lunch forgotten, Skye. Article remembered.”

Zia choked on her drink as Ord started to recite the article in full; Skye smiled. “Good Ord. Don't read it to me again, okay? Just tell me who wrote it.”

“Author credit, Devi Hand, Astronomical Society.”

Skye winked at Zia. Then, using the formal address for real people—
Maturus
—meaning “fully aged” and abbreviated simply as “M,” she said, “M. Hand tracked that swan burster fragment. Maybe M. Hand might also have something to say about tracking lifeboats.”

“Do you think he'd be interested in talking to ados? He's probably five hundred years old.”

Skye shrugged. “I don't know, but it won't hurt to ask. Let's go find him.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Uh-uh.” Zia shook her head. “Work.”

“Oh. Sooth.” Skye frowned.

The people of Silk counted days in groups of six, for no better reason than that it suited them. So Skye and Zia had classes for three mornings, and then they were off for three mornings. Most of the afternoons they worked as interns – student helpers rotating through different professions, exploring their world from the inside out.

Zia was presently working with a team of planetary biologists. Skye was studying nanotechnology. Usually she enjoyed every minute spent under the tutelage of Yan, learning a branch of engineering in which matter was shaped atom by atom, to build precise structures that ranged from simple threads of pure diamond fiber, to tiny, complex, programmable nanomachines called Makers that patrolled the human body, defending it against disease and the breakdown that had once been caused by aging. Once, people had died after only seventy or eighty years of life. Skye had a hard time imagining such a thing, but Yan insisted it was so. “Without Makers to keep us healthy, our bodies would quickly wear down and eventually fail. It's our Makers that allow us to go on living past our first hundred years.” Past adolescence, that is. In Silk, no one was considered fully adult—or truly
real
—until they were at least a century old.

Yan himself was 274 years old. He'd been one of the original immigrants to Silk, arriving at the age of two, a baby in cold sleep, just like Skye. Except he'd come on a great ship, accompanied by his parents, and they had all been revived together.

Despite his years, Yan looked as youthful and healthy as any adult. The age of real people showed only in their eyes, that seemed to see deeper than ado eyes, and in their outlook. Skye had a hard time describing exactly what that outlook was . . . but it had much to do with the confidence, the patience, the self-assurance they all seemed to possess. They had seen and done so much, that they often seemed to know exactly what would happen next. It was a trait she found by turns annoying or reassuring, depending on her mood.

Yan was generous enough not to teach her too much, allowing her to form her own opinions as she explored nature at the molecular scale. She loved seeing the structure of the world made real around her, feeling the strength of bonds between atoms, that joined to form molecules . . . it made her feel as if the mystery of existence was unfolding at her command.

She drew in a deep breath, then let it go in a long sigh. “I want to do everything at once! Why does it always feel like there's never enough time?”

“Easy, ado,” Zia said. “We'll fit it all in. We work now. Meanwhile, we let Ord hunt down M. Hand and make an appointment for us. Real people like to be formal, after all.” She reached under the table and caught Ord by one of its stubby legs, hauling the little robot out, while the leg stretched to twice its normal length. “Can you handle it, pet?” she asked, dropping Ord on the table. “Find this M. Devi Hand for us, and see if he's willing to meet”—She turned back to Skye, with a questioning look—“when?”

“Tonight,” Skye said, as Ord rearranged its golden tissue, and stood on the table top, reclaiming an attitude of dignity. “Ord, see if you can get us an appointment for tonight, okay?”

“Yes Skye. Not too late though.”

Zia rolled her eyes. “And Ord,
try
not to embarrass us by sounding like such an annoying little babysitter, okay?”

O
rd had gotten the appointment with M. Hand, reporting the astronomer to be delighted at their interest in his work. “Rare enough for ados,” was the phrase the little robot reproduced for them in a soft, masculine voice. Skye wrinkled her nose, wondering if she should feel flattered or insulted at this comment. Then she decided it didn't matter. M. Hand would see them, and this evening too. He had invited both of them to his home.

So after work Skye waited for Zia as they'd agreed, by the koi pond in Splendid Peace Park. The park encircled the base of the city like a green skirt, and all the neighborhoods spilled down the city slopes to touch on it somewhere in its circuit. She watched as three musicians set up their instruments near the water. The day was drawing to a close. Kheth's light spilled at a sharp angle over the city's rim, so that the musicians' shadows ran all the way across the pond, and beyond.

Zia was late.

Several picnickers arrived, laying out blankets on the grass. Skye felt hungry watching them. She stood on her toes, to see if she could spot Zia coming down the trail from the city library, but all she saw was a little boy out walking his dokey. The furry creature looked a little like a dog. It strolled beside the boy, hardly as high as his calf.

Like the dogs Skye had seen in the VR, the dokey walked on four legs, but it also had two more limbs in front, both with little monkey-like hands. Its face was round and alert, like a flying fox. Most of its body was covered with short, thick, brown fur, except behind its ears where there sprouted tufts of green fur, and on its tail, where long green hair shimmered with every wag.

The first dokey had been created only three years ago, as a class project in a genetic engineering course. Now they were everywhere, the only kind of pet city authority had ever allowed people to have. Skye knelt, careful to keep her skirt out of the grass. She didn't usually wear dresses, but she had decided on one tonight because most real people appreciated a formal style. She patted her knee and smiled at the dokey. The little creature came bounding over to her. Its hands kneaded the shimmery hem of her skirt, while she stroked the soft tufts of green fur behind its ears. “It sure is cute,” she told the boy.

Ord picked that moment to slip out from behind a low gardenia hedge. “Message, Skye,” it announced.

“From who?” The dokey had turned belly-up, encouraging her to stroke the soft brown fur on its underside.

“Zia Adovna,” Ord said. “Play it now?”

Skye groaned, knowing it had to be bad news. She chucked the dokey under the chin, then stood up. The boy clucked at his little pet. It scrambled to its feet, then leaped for his hand, climbing from there onto his shoulder. “Thanks,” Skye told him. The boy waved and walked on while she turned to Ord with a sigh of resignation. “Okay. Play it.”

So Ord started talking, mimicking Zia's voice exactly: “Bad news, ado. I'm due at my dad's tonight. I forgot it was his birthday. You're invited of course! Have Ord reschedule our appointment with M. Hand for tomorrow, okay?”

Skye's hands knotted into fists. “
Zeme dust!
” she cursed. “Of all the nights!”

Why did things have to fall out like this? She liked Zia's dad. He was a lydra farmer, who cloned the tentacled beasts used in zero-gravity construction. On any other night she would have been happy to stop by and help celebrate. . . .

But it wasn't any other night.

Skye looked at Ord. “Let's get something to eat,” she said. “And then you and I, we can go see M. Hand ourselves. How does that sound?”

“Sounds sweet,” Ord crooned. “Sounds nice. Home early. Good Skye.”