AND PROTECTS ALL EXPLORERS WHOM GAIA INVITES INTO ITS UNIVERSE.
As in the fundamental Gaia-ist tradition, no artistic rendering
appeared, nor was any gender attributed to the Highest Creator. The golden statue of St.
Darius, on the other hand, was lifelike and detailed. He stood in a helmetless environmental
suit and held out his hands in benediction.
“If you’re interested, Ms. Kedros, there are services here every day at
nineteen hundred.” Charlene’s voice came from behind her.
Turning, Ariane saw that the group had moved past the pews toward the
airlock. She followed them to the ladder that led upward through the vertical airlock between
modules. What looked like spires from afar were towers of stacked modules that could separate,
provided the disconnection charges blew properly. The deck of each module was “down” toward the
engines or, when in habitat mode, toward the gravity generator.
She looked up the ladder and saw all three ports yawning open. Anyone
could climb up onto the control deck, but generational ships were more concerned with the
dangers of long-term real-space travel, rather than security. There were many examples of the
hazards generational ships faced: the mysterious loss of the Voyage
II , or the disastrous mission of F-58, when less than fifty percent of the Expedition I made it to the buoy setup point. As she climbed through the thick
middle where the airlock separated, Ariane noted that the inspection date was two days ago and
the autohoist, used to move heavy items through the airlock when the ship was operating with
gravity, was securely tied to one side. What the Pilgrimage ’s crew
lacked in security, they made up for in safety.
She stepped onto the control deck after the others. The primary control
deck was circular and lined with every conceivable type of console layout. There were
mechanical switches as backups to automated systems, even though this ship couldn’t transition
into N-space.
“Hey, Ariane. Glad to see you back.” Justin, the communications officer,
waved at her.
“You’re working third shift now?” She drifted over to Justin’s console
while the commander made a determined effort to give Joyce, the newcomer, an introduction
briefing. She looked up at Justin’s bandwidth readings, noting the amount given over to the Pilgrimage was largest. After that, the research and development
bandwidth ranked second.
“Can you show me the contractor bandwidth distribution?” she asked,
smiling back at Justin.
He obligingly expanded the display so she could see which contractors
were using the bandwidth, and where they were located.
Meanwhile, the parade had worked its way around to the traffic console.
She heard Joyce ask sharply, “Who’s on that ship?”
Her gaze followed Joyce’s pointed finger and her smile faded as her face
went numb. On the list of recent arrivals to G-145 and ahead of Aether’s
Touch by several hours, was the Candor Chasma —a name forever
embedded in her mind. Printed beside its Terran name were the words, “Planet Registration:
Mars, Purpose: Dignitary Transport.” Her stomach twisted. Parmet’s
ship . Its next destination was the Priamos moon of Laomedon.
“That’s Terran Overlord Three’s Assistant for the Exterior. They left
for Priamos an hour before you arrived,” Charlene said.
“State Prince Parmet?” Matt glanced at Ariane, his expression a mix of
shock and resignation.
“Did you know about this?” Ariane asked Joyce, her voice low with anger. So help me, if Owen knew and didn’t warn me. . . .
Joyce, however, looked concerned also. He shook his head to answer
Ariane’s question and turned to Matt. “Now it’s even more important that I get to Priamos as
soon as possible. Remember my appointment?”
Joyce and Matt locked glances. Meanwhile, the generational ship crew
looked on with lively interest.
“Do you know the Terran State Prince, or is this a matter of
As in the fundamental Gaia-ist tradition, no artistic rendering
appeared, nor was any gender attributed to the Highest Creator. The golden statue of St.
Darius, on the other hand, was lifelike and detailed. He stood in a helmetless environmental
suit and held out his hands in benediction.
“If you’re interested, Ms. Kedros, there are services here every day at
nineteen hundred.” Charlene’s voice came from behind her.
Turning, Ariane saw that the group had moved past the pews toward the
airlock. She followed them to the ladder that led upward through the vertical airlock between
modules. What looked like spires from afar were towers of stacked modules that could separate,
provided the disconnection charges blew properly. The deck of each module was “down” toward the
engines or, when in habitat mode, toward the gravity generator.
She looked up the ladder and saw all three ports yawning open. Anyone
could climb up onto the control deck, but generational ships were more concerned with the
dangers of long-term real-space travel, rather than security. There were many examples of the
hazards generational ships faced: the mysterious loss of the Voyage
II , or the disastrous mission of F-58, when less than fifty percent of the Expedition I made it to the buoy setup point. As she climbed through the thick
middle where the airlock separated, Ariane noted that the inspection date was two days ago and
the autohoist, used to move heavy items through the airlock when the ship was operating with
gravity, was securely tied to one side. What the Pilgrimage ’s crew
lacked in security, they made up for in safety.
She stepped onto the control deck after the others. The primary control
deck was circular and lined with every conceivable type of console layout. There were
mechanical switches as backups to automated systems, even though this ship couldn’t transition
into N-space.
“Hey, Ariane. Glad to see you back.” Justin, the communications officer,
waved at her.
“You’re working third shift now?” She drifted over to Justin’s console
while the commander made a determined effort to give Joyce, the newcomer, an introduction
briefing. She looked up at Justin’s bandwidth readings, noting the amount given over to the Pilgrimage was largest. After that, the research and development
bandwidth ranked second.
“Can you show me the contractor bandwidth distribution?” she asked,
smiling back at Justin.
He obligingly expanded the display so she could see which contractors
were using the bandwidth, and where they were located.
Meanwhile, the parade had worked its way around to the traffic console.
She heard Joyce ask sharply, “Who’s on that ship?”
Her gaze followed Joyce’s pointed finger and her smile faded as her face
went numb. On the list of recent arrivals to G-145 and ahead of Aether’s
Touch by several hours, was the Candor Chasma —a name forever
embedded in her mind. Printed beside its Terran name were the words, “Planet Registration:
Mars, Purpose: Dignitary Transport.” Her stomach twisted. Parmet’s
ship . Its next destination was the Priamos moon of Laomedon.
“That’s Terran Overlord Three’s Assistant for the Exterior. They left
for Priamos an hour before you arrived,” Charlene said.
“State Prince Parmet?” Matt glanced at Ariane, his expression a mix of
shock and resignation.
“Did you know about this?” Ariane asked Joyce, her voice low with anger. So help me, if Owen knew and didn’t warn me. . . .
Joyce, however, looked concerned also. He shook his head to answer
Ariane’s question and turned to Matt. “Now it’s even more important that I get to Priamos as
soon as possible. Remember my appointment?”
Joyce and Matt locked glances. Meanwhile, the generational ship crew
looked on with lively interest.
“Do you know the Terran State Prince, or is this a matter of
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