I wandered over to the picture window and looked down on the city of Tantor. Yes, that’s right. Tantor. Some twit wanted a literary reference when naming the city and left out a letter. So now we lived in an elephant. Amateurs.
I snorted in derision and turned away. Bridget said, “Are you grousing about the city’s name again?”
“You read minds now?”
“There’s a tone in your snort that says morons. You were looking out the window. It’s not much of a stretch.”
I laughed and raised my glass in salute. We’d grown together over the years, and we knew each other as well as any married couple with decades under their belt. Bridget spared a moment to smile at me, then went back to grumbling and poking at the Canvas in the air before her.
In the distance, the city dome separated us from the atmosphere of Big Top. KKP had finally gotten officially changed to Quilt, but the Jovian primary had kept its original moniker. No one seemed to mind.
Blimps, or the local equivalent, floated past outside the dome, with the inevitable retinue of predators. We were beginning to realize that life on gas giants was as ubiquitous, plentiful, and thematically consistent as that on terrestrial planets. There was a mounting chorus of demands that we check out other types of environments as well. Good time to be a biologist.
Tantor’s population—I gritted my teeth as I had the thought—was up around a million, now. We’d expected some reluctance from the population of Quilt when we started building cities in the clouds of Big Top; but it turned out most people were quite happy to leave behind the overwhelming ecological maelstrom of the planet.
I sidled around to get in Bridget’s peripheral vision. “Any new nasties?”
“Hah!” She turned to me. “Honestly, Howard, I think the planet actually evolves new species as fast as we get rid of the old ones. Humans are an unexploited niche, I guess. I’m sure some of these beasties didn’t exist at all ten years ago.”
I grunted. So far, nothing had evolved a taste for android, so I was good.
I raised my martini to my lips, and Bridget said, “Howard, have you ever considered adopting?”
*
Alcohol is surprisingly difficult to get out of clothing and carpets. You’d think it would evaporate quickly, but the odor remains. It took several minutes of cleaning before discussion could continue.
“What?” Not my best response ever.
“There was that shuttle disaster a while ago. A lot of children left parentless. Things happen. People die. More so than in a truly settled, tamed society, in fact. There are similar issues on Vulcan, Romulus, and the other colonies. Adults have risky jobs. Governments are actually having to create departments to deal with it.”
“Bridget, we’re, uh, well, to put it indelicately, we’re machines.”
“This from the man who lectures me regularly about how I’m Original Me? Who once spent a half hour going on about Chinese Rooms? Grrrr. We’re officially citizens. We have friends. We belong to clubs. Hell, Howard, we pay taxes.”
I stared at her for several moments. “I actually do not have a coherent objection. Which is weird, because my immediate reaction is oh, hell, no.”
Bridget cocked her head and smiled. “You don’t have to decide right away. We have forever, right?”
I knew Bridget. This could have only one outcome. I was going to be a daddy.
Well, Hold On
Herschel
April 2257
Sol
Neil and Will popped into my VR together. Neil threw himself down on his favorite bean-bag chair. “The pods are in and connected up. Eight million pods, and it only fills up about two percent of the ship. I forget sometimes how big this sucker is.” He waved a report window open.
Will pulled the window over and began swiping through the report. “Everything looks good. Any issues?”
“Nope. Ours were already set up, of course. Your pods went in without a hitch, and passed all diagnostics. We have just a bit under eight million working stasis pods, waiting for passengers.” I gave Will a Spock eyebrow. “Are you okay, Will? How’d the thing go with the selection?”
“Um, well, about that…” He responded with a sickly grin. “I haven’t actually discussed that particular issue in public. I had a private conversation with a few representatives. We agreed that there is no scenario that doesn’t end with a lot of fear and anger, so we’re putting that off as long as possible.”
I groaned. When this was over, and I had some spare time, there would be a good cry in my future.
“We could hold off the Others, right? It could happen.” Neil looked at each of us.
“With no collateral damage at all?” Will shook his head. “I suppose it’s possible, in principle. But even so, we’ll have made the decision. We’ll have publicly abandoned six million people. I don’t think an apology will be enough, you know?”
I nodded slowly. This conversation was seriously bumming me out. Time to change the subject.
I pulled up my checklist and started ticking off items. “Transports will come in the front, out the back. Offload to the rearmost bays first, working forward. We’ll sit in low orbit to minimize travel time. How low can we safely go?” I looked over at Neil. “Did Bill say?”
“I asked that question specifically. Bill was surprised that we’d added the eight plates, and he said that with those additional plates, we could practically land.”
I laughed. “Now that would be a sight.”
“Maybe we should try it,” Neil said, grinning back at me.
I stopped laughing. “Wait, how serious was Bill?” Without waiting for an answer from Neil, I sent off a text to Bill.
The response came back in milliseconds. Thirty-two plates are sufficient to hold against anything short of ground contact. Why?
I stared into space. Neil kept saying something, but I wasn’t listening. Finally, he planted himself right in front of me. “Dude, are you okay?”
I focused on his face. “I might know how to save everyone.”
*
Will stared at me. “You’ve popped a transistor.” He turned to Bill. “He’s nuts, right?”
We all looked at Bill. I wasn’t entirely sure Will was wrong. Bill stared into space for a full five milliseconds. “Actually, it’s not that far-fetched. I’ve seen the blueprints you guys put together on the structure of the Bellerophon. I think it’s designed to hold atmosphere. They may have been built to double as personnel transport. It would certainly explain some of the design decisions.”
I nodded. “Like the over-engineered cargo bay doors.”
“And the power connections in every bay,” Neil added. “And the configurable walls.”
“Well, hell,” Will muttered. “So, do we just announce it, or do we ask the UN?”
“Do we have time to ask?” Neil added.
“Absolutely!” Will said. “We just don’t have time to wait for them to decide.” He smirked, then grew sober. “I think we have to make the decision, and now.”
“Emergency Bob-moot?”
“There isn’t even time for that, Bill. We’re down to the wire. We’ve been shaving everything as much as possible, trying to get it all done. We’re out of slack.”
“Vote?”