PART ONE:
ARGOSIES OF MAGIC SAILS
PROLOGUE
Sanchez took the opportunity for one last look around. Most of the planet consisted of shallow seas and primeval swampland, but here, on the high grassy hills that passed for mountains on Tau Ceti Prime, the air was more clear than normal, and she could see for kilometres across the forest canopy. The view reminded Sanchez of her childhood home, in the last remaining rain forests of the upper Amazon. But that was several homes ago; her people had gone from hunting monkeys with poisoned arrows to piloting spaceships in one generation; and the corridors of ships, the domes of Mars, and the spinning cylinders of Belter colonies all seemed more like home to her than the dappled green forests that still figured in her dreams at times.
There would be ample time to dream in cryo-sleep on the long voyage back to Earth. If, that is, Fedorova and Davis would finish their last systems check so Sanchez could take off. The willowy blond Russian and the big red-haired Canadian were still busy with their equipment--the last of the ground-based data recorders to be placed. It would send climatic data to Federova's beloved satellites and relay it back to Earth all during their return voyage and--it was hoped--for decades afterwards. Together with the maps that Sanchez and Fedorova had compiled during their many exploratory flights, the data would give a complete picture of changing conditions here. They had even tagged and monitored some of the amphibious fishing-dragons that appeared to be the most active and intelligent indigenous species. It was that, Sanchez thought with a chuckle, or those hibernating sloth-like creatures that seemed to spend their whole lives in one tree--not very exciting for the scientists back home.
Davis and Fedorova turned and started up the hill toward her, the big Chief Engineer carrying his toolbox on his powerful shoulder, and the beautiful Systems Officer trotting childlike beside him. She remained serious and unsmiling as ever, but a big grin spread across Davis' freckled face. As usual, he seemed to find Sanchez amusing.
Well, she must have been a strange sight, leaning against the side of the shuttle with the cloud-forest behind her--dark body rippling with muscles and illustrations. The scars and tattoos that she had been given as a child by her tribe--in hopes of warding off the demons that were destroying their forest--had been embellished with more sophisticated additions in various Belter and Galilean spaceports over the years. Coupled with the skunk-stripes--as Davis called them--which decorated her black hair, the tattoos gave her an appearance that always attracted attention. People were often put off by it at first, along with her brusque manner, but after a while both men and women tended to become curious about unseen parts of her body. She was convinced Davis had been attracted to her ever since she had beaten him at arm-wrestling in the mess-hall, early on in the voyage out.
With their tools and gear safely stored in the shuttle, Davis and Fedorova climbed inside. Davis stretched out in his acceleration couch in the rear--the big Canadian always seemed to find a comfortable spot, like a cat, but he could work on his beloved engines for days without rest--and Fedorova slipped efficiently into her accustomed co-pilot's seat beside Sanchez, as the shuttle's engines roared into life. Fedorova was like a cat, too--beautiful, fastidious, and aloof, moving with a dancer's grace and brooking no nonsense. Sanchez chuckled at the thought of the three of them as cats: a big orange Tom, a haughty white purebred, and a barely tamed ocelot.
The shuttle lifted off in a cloud of dust and the planet fell away for the last time beneath them, the forest and swampland fading into the rolling mist until only cloud-deck stretched below. Aries loomed out of the stars above them--the great interstellar ramjet hanging like some medieval weapon on an armoury wall. At the forward end: the huge magnetic ram-scoop that could collect enough fuel from the thin interstellar medium to power the drivers and--ironically--act as a brake to slow them down as they approached Solar orbit. At the stern: the reaction chambers that would soon be blazing with nuclear fusion light. And amidships: The Y-shaped revolving habitat in which the crew lived and slept during the long voyage. The shuttle slipped into dock, surrounded by the cargo vessels and research ships that were even now in the process of being stowed for the last time.
They cycled through the lock into the controlled chaos of the ship--dozens of figures darting through corridors, equipment rolling by on cargo belts, noise and alarms and clanging and announcements barely heard over the din. It was quite a shock after the primeval stillness of the swamps below.
Over the days that followed, the pace never let up as the great ship was literally put to bed. "Interstellar travel," Davis said, "consists of decades of unconsciousness punctuated by months of exhaustion."
There were endless meetings with Captain Wang, the diminutive, steel-willed great-grandmother who had somehow managed to forge the motley crew of Terrans, Martians, Belters, and Galileans--all experts in their field and eccentrics of the first water--into an efficient team.
There were endless examinations by Doctor Hassan, the two-meter-tall East African Chief Medical Officer. Space is an environment that favours small people, but the Doctor made his way through the ship with amazing grace. Spider Man, Davis called him. "How's the gravity up there?" Sanchez would say, and the Doctor would smile and seem genuinely amused. Five times a day, he would face the faint star that indicated the Solar system and pray. Hassan, who believed that the deity is present in all things, and Davis, who believed that religion is an evil confidence trick perpetrated on the gullible, engaged in lounge-clearing debates that made Sanchez' head spin. "But," Davis said one time, "we're all lucky to have him for our doctor. I figure God couldn't care less if I die horribly, but he might just cure me so Hassan won't be disappointed."
There were endless sessions with the three computers that ran Aries, usually present in the form of holographic projections. It had been Professor Fedorova's idea to call them Selene, Artemis, and Hecate--the three aspects of the moon in Greek Mythology. Selene, as an agricultural deity, ran the life-support systems and the farms that kept the crew fed. Artemis, as goddess of the hunt, ran the navigation systems and controlled the environment of what was called the zoo--the cargo hold in which the ecology of Tau Ceti Prime had been recreated for the return voyage. And Hecate, as goddess of the night, ran the engineering systems and the cryochambers that kept the crew alive and in stasis during the long journey. But in practice they were linked together in triple redundancy to run the whole ship, since most of the time the crew would be asleep.
By the end of the week, Sanchez was ready for the long rest. She sat naked by the side of her cryo-crypt while Doctor Hassan and Doctor Singh, the head of the revival team, attached electrodes and tubes to her body. Singh and his team, experts in cryogenics, would be awakened at intervals throughout the voyage to monitor the systems and, upon arrival in solar orbit, would be awakened first to revive the ship's company at large, beginning with the bridge crew. Davis and Fedorova and Wang were already undressed and prepped and, upon Doctor Singh's insistence, Hassan joined them. Sanchez looked about at her fellow bridge officers in their naked glory and full variety of human sizes, shapes, and colours. The human race, she thought as the cover of the crypt closed upon her, is diverse and beautiful. She clutched the gold crucifix nestled between her tattooed breasts and crossed herself as the warmth of induced sleep overcame her.