Chapter Twenty-five

PRODIGAL RETURNS

FOUNDERSDOME
GREENHOUSE

“Can’t resist another look?” Villjae asked with a smile as he looked up from his desk.

“You’ve seen it all before a thousand times,” said Elber, staring out the third-story window of the tallest building in the dome—just about the only habitable building in the dome, at the moment. “It’s all new to me.”

He looked down at the tree-lined park, complete with chuckling fountain. The newly planted saplings had taken root and looked to be thriving. So did the new grass in the park’s neat green lawns.

The green turned to brown not so far off—but it was the rich, healthy black-brown of well-tilled soil, already sown with new life. Here and there, he could see a faint green haze over the good earth. He knew that if he looked closer, much closer, he would see the thin tender shoots of the seedlings, just sprouting up. Elsewhere were the new-built, nearly finished, not-yet-occupied dormitories, the commons hall, and all the rest of the structures that seemed to have sprouted out of the ground even faster than the plant life.

Farther off was the solid anchor wall of the dome structure and, mounted atop it, the transparent dome itself, a gleaming soap bubble seen from the inside. Beyond that, the cold hard-vacuum landscape of rocks and dust and craters that was Greenhouse. Near the zenith of the jet-black sky, the looming gas giant planet Comfort hung overheard, showing itself in waxing half phase, its surface still not fully recovered from the shock of NovaSpot Ignition.

There were no fewer than three “suns” visible at the moment. Lodestar, the true sun of the Solacian star system, was closest to the horizon, too bright to look at, but only providing a small fraction of the light and heat that it gave to closer-in Solace. A bit higher up in the sky, almost ready to set, was NovaSpot, a painfully bright dot of glory, barely large enough to show a disk, and yet illuminating a world. Just barely visible in the glare of the NovaSpot was a dim dot of light, all left of the old SunSpot, guttering down to the very dregs of its remaining nuclear fuel.

Between the dome and the sky was a strange and wonderful landscape—and one that held warning of all that could go wrong. Scattered about on the exposed surface of Greenhouse were smashed-up bits of dome material, the torn-up limbs of trees, blackened by heat and vacuum, mats of fire-damaged algae, and other wreckage that was impossible to identify. All of it had been blasted out of the habitat, back when they deliberately blew the dome, not so very long ago.

The environment inside Founder’s Dome had become so infested with mold and algae and other unpleasantnesses that it had become impossible to clean it or repair it. It was easier to destroy everything, kill everything, and start over.

Elber frowned. The message was clear.Habitat domes failed. He had checked the actuarial tables himself and been surprised by the rate of failure. He had the sense that he could almost write a predictive algorithm, the way they did with risk assessment back in the insurance office, that would tell how soon the next one would go and how often they would fail. All of which was cold hard proof that a dome was not a sealed and balanced ecology, but merely a first approximation of one. A domed hab was too simple, not deep or robust enough to last forever—or even for all that long.

Sooner or later, for every dome, would come the day when the balance would fail. This newly refurbished dome already held not only the seeds of new life but of its own death.

But then, every birth was, in the end, balanced with a death. This was the beginning of things. Later would be soon enough to worry about endings.

Beginnings. The first load of refugees had already been flown to SCO Station, transferred to a long-range transport, and launched toward Greenhouse. Jassa and Zari would be here soon. That was enough of a new beginning to keep him from worrying about anything else.

 

The two young men left the admin building and walked along the pathway that led toward the nearly finished dormitories. The dorms were currently home to only ten or fifteen final-prep technicians, tweaking and tuning the habitat’s systems, making them ready for full use. Villjae and Elber were part of the handoff team who would make sure the new occupants knew how to run the place. Elber had emphasized repeatedly that he had reason to know that teaching dirt-farming peasants the ways of life in a habitat dome was going to be a big job.

Still, the resettlement would serve as a splendid bit of propaganda. All of Solace would see that, out of nowhere and nothing, the government had built new places for the Wilhemtonians to live, domes that would provide refuge from the current climate problem. They would see lowdowns, peasants, relocated to a big, new, modern up-to-date habitat dome.

The key to it all was to keep the operationquiet until the refugees were safely in place. The thing Villjae really dreaded was some muddleheaded official wandering out in front of the cameras and telling the good people of Solace that there was no need for alarm. Nothing would be surer to start a panic than that.

“What’s that over there?” Elber asked, pointing to a low, six-sided stone building visible down a side path. “I’ve noticed it a few times, and wondered, but I’ve never managed to ask when I had the chance.”

“It’ssupposed to be Oskar DeSilvo’s tomb,” Villjae said. “There are a lot of funny stories about it, though. Probably just rumors.”

“DeSilvo’s tomb?” Elber was impressed. “I ought to go look at it some time. What are the stories about—and what do you mean ‘supposed’ to be his tomb?”

“Mostly, the stories are that he’s not in there—maybe never was. Back when they blew the dome, supposedly some group went into the tomb and grabbed the cylinder that had his ashes in it. When the survey crews came back into the dome to look things over after it was blown, the cylinder was gone. But then the cylinder got put back later. There are all sorts of stories about what happened. Probably none of them true.

“A lot of fragile objects were removed when they blew the dome. My guess is that the cylinder with his ashes just got added to the list at the last minute. They had to rush in and grab them in a hurry, and maybe they damaged the cylinder so it had to be repaired.”

“Oh, well,” Elber said.

“What? What’s wrong? You sound disappointed.”

“I guess I was just hoping there would be more to the story, that’s all. To give the tomb more history, sort of.”

Villjae chuckled and patted Elber on the back. “Who knows?” he said. “For all we know, there’s a lot more to the story than anyone ever heard.”

THENOVASOL
OUTERSOLACIANSYSTEM
INBOUND FORGREENHOUSE

The rumors and legends had had lots of time to age, but even so, theDom Pedro IV had earned enough of a reputation that it was best she stay out of sight whilst in the Solacian system. Even if she had not been well-known, she might draw attention by approaching the Solacian star system, not from the direction of a timeshaft wormhole but on the straight-line bearing from Glister. And the three large toroids that now adorned her were bound to attract notice. So theDom Pedro IV did what she had done on her previous journey to Solace: She would hide, in the fringes of the outer system. One of her auxiliary craft would carry a party in to make contact.

By all rights, so far as Norla Chandray was concerned, theCruzeiro do Sul should have made the run. Norla was very much of the opinion that a strong case could be made that the oldCruzeiro could claim as much right to fame as theDP-IV . She should have been in on the finish.

But it was the very fact that she might be known, remembered, and recognized that kept her in her service bay aboard theDom Pedro IV . The contact party traveled, therefore, aboard the newly namedNova Sol , one of the two new auxiliary craft provided by DeSilvo.

TheNova Sol was designed for a complement of three. Koffield had to go to prove that he had come back. DeSilvo had to go to prove he wasn’t dead and to present his plan. Norla Chandray took the third seat, and was proud to know that she was the unanimous choice of DeSilvo, Marquez, and Koffield.

But, the honor of the thing to one side, by the end of the journey to Greenhouse, Norla Chandray had come to the conclusion she was not all that glad to be along for the ride.

The flight to Greenhouse was as quiet as a tomb at midnight—and every bit as comfortable and relaxing, so far as Norla was concerned.

TheNova Sol was a small conical three-deck lander of conventional design. The flight deck on top, living quarters mid-deck, and a lower deck divided between engineering spaces and a cargo compartment. The engineering spaces were far from comfortable, but the lower cargo deck was a fair size and serviceable enough to use as living space for a few days. It had been Norla’s suggestion that they divvy up the decks, treating each as a private cabin as much as possible. The two men both agreed at once, with Koffield opting for the cargo deck as most private and DeSilvo taking the mid-deck as the most comfortable. That left her with the flight deck, and the best view.

That was practically the last she saw of either of them. DeSilvo would summon Koffield and Norla at mealtimes. As he was in possession of the lander’s pocket galley and sanitary facilities, he played the gracious host at mealtime, preparing tasty meals out of the dull food available aboard the lander and keeping the conversation light and pleasant at all times. Anton Koffield likewise demonstrated that he could be charming when he wanted to be. Norla almost enjoyed herself at table. Almost. It was hard not to notice that the smiles were forced, the courtesy determined and deliberate rather than easy and natural.

The moment mealtime was over, Koffield would make a polite farewell and instantly vanish back into the cargo bay. DeSilvo would then make it politely but abundantly clear that he desired Norla to retreat back up to the flight deck as well. She was always eager to take the hint.

There was no great mystery about what the two men were doing. They were studying, cramming for the most important final exams of their lives—perhaps of anyone’s lives. Political questions, technical issues, finances—there were endless details to deal with, endless possible questions to prepare for.

And endless new information coming in. That was what kept Norla busy. The main comm center was on the flight deck, and she was pulling in massive amounts of information from Solace and Greenhouse, mostly in the form of public broadcast transmissions, but from other sources as well—ship-to-ship transmissions, for example. Indeed, the number of ships transmitting was a datapoint in and of itself. There was a hell of a lot of traffic between Solace and Greenhouse.

Even so, once she had the ArtInt more or less trained to watch for what interested her, the collection process was largely automated and she had a great deal of time to think.

Few of her thoughts were comfortable.

 

Five days into their journey, with one day left to go, the pattern of their days ended. Apparently without any discussion or prearrangement, Koffield and DeSilvo not only stayed together after breakfast, but even ventured up into the flight deck.

There were other reasons for it, but the main thing was that it was time—and perhaps past time—for all of them to get a look at where they were going. After all the mountains both the men had climbed, for good and ill, it was time to face the start of the last and greatest challenge.

“Things have changed down there,” Koffield said as he stared out the main viewport. “More than I would have believed possible in the time we’ve been gone.”

Norla could only nod her head. She had been staring at Greenhouse, and at Comfort and NovaSpot, for the last three days. She had been there too, back when Koffield had been on the world they were approaching. That was in the days when the SunSpot was dying, its waning light focused down into an elliptical beam that could only illuminate a narrow band around the equator.

As a result, virtually every habitat dome outside the equatorial region had died. Even many of the habs near the equator had failed. Some were simply abandoned. Others, badly infested by one or more unpleasant organisms, had been deliberately blown after the interiors were set afire, using heat and explosive decompression—followed by a stiff dose of vacuum—to kill everything inside. Others had been killed more gently, simply by venting the air and cutting the power, letting the vacuum in to kill but preserving the integrity of the habitat and dome structure.

The habs had died almost in order, moving from the poles toward the equators. Little by little, the small world of Greenhouse had grown dark and dreary.

Now the NovaSpot was ablaze, lighting Greenhouse from pole to pole—and it seemed that every abandoned habitat had already been restored. That was impossible, of course—but certainly many of them had been brought back to life already, and it was plain from the radio traffic Norla had intercepted that more were being revived almost every day.

The Greenhouse they saw was a grey stone flecked with glittering jewels, the domes of the habitats on the daylight side catching the light of the NovaSpot, and those on the nightside shining by their own light, cast from streetlights, office lights, and the lights of newfound homes.

“It’s not so different from the last time I saw it with my own eyes,” said DeSilvo. “But even back then, the SunSpot was starting to dim. It was a dying place. Now it’s come alive again. The difference is almost something you can see.”

“A difference you can’t see at this range is the amount of traffic, inbound and outbound,” said Norla. “Enough that they’ve established much more sophisticated landing control than they used to have. I was sort of envisioning us just setting down outside some semiabandoned dome without anyone noticing, then just sneaking into town to place our call. That’s not going to happen.”

“Leave that to me,” Koffield said. “It’s part of what I’ve been working on these last few days. I’m pretty sure I can send the proper requests and queries to get us cleared for landing wherever we want.”

DeSilvo chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much about getting down safely, Officer Chandray. That ought to be the least of our troubles.”

 

They were only a kilometer off the ground, descending smoothly under automatic control, in the most normal manner possible, when it occurred to Norla just howunusual a normal approach or takeoff had become for her. The set-down on Glister, the Mars landing and takeoff, even that long ago—or was it that long ago?—docking with SCO Station. . . . It had been a long time since she had flown any maneuvers as boring as these, without being forced to make split-second choices every few seconds, without the stakes being life-and-death—or higher. She found herself enjoying the ride.

It was automatics and ArtInts all the way to the ground. TheNova Sol set down neatly, smoothly, without any trouble—and without Norla so much as touching the controls. She wouldn’t want that as a steady diet—but it certainly did make for a refreshing change of pace from all the endless emergencies.

They landed at the spacefield for Research Dome, the main center for terraforming work on Greenhouse. Their entry into the dome was every bit as nondramatic as their landing. An automated personnel carrier mated with theNova Sol ’s airlock, they entered the carrier’s pressurized cabin, and rode in comfort to Research Dome’s airlock center.

Then the airlock opened. With a hat pulled low over his eyes, and wearing a big, bulky coat, Dr. Oskar DeSilvo set foot on Greenhouse for the first time since his supposed death, roughly 115 years before. With him, Admiral Anton Koffield, who had gone out from this place sworn to track him down, sworn to seek justice and vengeance—and who now walked alongside him, as a partner and ally.

And Norla Chandray was the only one there to take notice. She paused, just inside the airlock entrance, and took a moment to witness the event, see the two men walking ahead of her. Even the two principals seemed unaware of the moment’s significance, more concerned with whether either of them would be inconveniently recognized and which exit tunnel to use to get them where they were going.

It should have been a moment of grand historical drama. Norla could almost see the great mural that would be painted of the moment.The Arrival of DeSilvo and Koffield, full of dramatic color, rendered from some impressive angle, with both figures striding purposefully forward, eyes lifted on high, each pointing to the way to the future. She could almost see the plaque that would be placed in the wall.Dr. Oskar DeSilvo and Admiral Anton Koffield first entered Research Dome together through this airlock.

“There! Up ahead!” Koffield cried out eagerly.

She laughed at herself and at the two worried-looking men up ahead of her. She hurried to catch up. She was looking forward, into history. They were looking for a comm booth.

THEDIAMONDROOM
PLANETARYEXECUTIVESMANSION
SOLACECITY
THEPLANETSOLACE

Planetary Executive Neshobe Kalzant bustled about, straightening her desk, checking her carry case, and generally fussing about as some people do before a journey.

Olar Sotales, who had arrived shortly before, summoned from SCO Station by the PlanEx, still didn’t have the whole story straight in his head, despite his wiretaps and Kalzant’s explanations. It had, apparently, been a tumultuous twenty-seven hours. It had all been set in motion by the initial coded comm call from Koffield—nothing more than a prearranged signal that he had arrived.

“So you’re actually going?” Sotales asked again.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Yes, Captain Sotales, I am. We confirmed the contact with Admiral Koffield four hours ago—and I’ll be aboard theLodestar VII in another four. I want you to be aboard as well.”

Sotales frowned, and chose his words carefully. He still was not sure what she assumed he already knew. “If you want me along to offer security advice, I’ll start off by saying it is not only dangerous, but even improper for the head of government to go roaring off halfway across the Solace system, just to meet with—with some adventurer. It could be dangerous—and if it gets out, it won’t look good.”

“Well, as far as security goes, given the danger of his being spotted, and the mess things are in now, I don’t think it would be advisable to bring himhere . Besides, we have an excellent cover story.”

“And that would be?”

“One of your pet projects. Renewal of the habitat domes on Greenhouse.”

Sotales reddened a bit. Apparently the PlanEx knew more about his activities than he had thought. “Oh,” he said. “That.”

“Yes,” she said dryly. “That. The formal reopening of Founder’s Dome is next week, and I have let the powers that be know that Planetary Executive Neshobe Kalzant would gladly accept an invitation to attend. I was toying with the idea of going there, anyway. It’s an excellent cover story, don’t you think? And it has the advantage of being completely legitimate.”

“I see,” Sotales replied. “That eliminates my objections insofar as appearances go, but there is still the security angle. It’s a long journey, and you’d be away from Solace for a critical period of time. And I still don’t see what your friend Admiral Koffield could have brought back that would be valuable enough to merit all this effort.” But, of course, Sotales reminded himself, even he had never been briefed on the whole Koffield file—hardly anyone had.

“I don’t know, either, exactly,” Kalzant admitted. “All that Koffield’s told me is that he has returned, and that he has gathered a lot of useful information. In fact, he said he had brought back everything—everything,he emphasized that—he had gone in search of, but that all of it was trivial compared to other things he had found. He promised me that the trip to Greenhouse would be well worth my while.”

“What, exactly, was ‘everything’?” Sotales asked.

“‘Everything’ consisted of two main items,” Kalzant replied. “One—a faster-than-light drive.”

Sotales snorted derisively. “A fairy story.”

“If so, it’s one that Koffield believes in. And I got the impression that they had used one to get back here.”

“I didn’t believe that rumor when it was floating around a couple of years back, and I don’t believe it now,” he said, shaking his head. But then he looked at Kalzant quizzically. “‘They’? Who is ‘they?’ ”

Kalzant grinned. “The other item on the list he promised to bring back. Dr. Oskar DeSilvo.”

Sotales looked up sharply. “But—but he’s been dead for, what? A hundred and fifteen years or more!” Officially, at least, he wasn’t supposed to know otherwise. Better to play it that way.

“Apparently,” Kalzant replied, “he’s feeling better now.” She closed her case and looked up at Sotales. “So,” she said. “I’ll leave it up to you. Are you coming, or not?”

Olar Sotales found himself impressed with the Planetary Executive’s skill as a speaker. She had managed to make it sound as if there were more than one possible answer to that question.

But there wasn’t, of course.