The Consuming Fire (The Interdependency #2)(56)

The Dalasyslan started again, much more slowly, and this time Marce could almost make out things that sounded like they might have been words he might have known.

“This is Chuch and he—I think ‘he’ is right—is their captain, and this is what remains of Dalasysla,” Seve said, then nodded at Chuch to continue. “He says that this ship has been the home of what remains of Dalasysla for the last hundred years.” More talking. “There used to be more, but other ships and habitats failed over time. He says that they have survived by moving the ship from habitat to habitat and from ship to ship and scavenging what they need.” Another burst. “But now they are no longer able to do that.”

“Why not?”

More listening. “I think their propulsion systems are screwed,” Seve said. “They have enough power to propel the ship, but they don’t have the ability to maneuver it.” Another pause. “They have power to run some ship systems, but they can’t get to any of the habitats they scavenge to repair the ship anymore. It’s falling apart around them, and eventually, it’ll fail entirely.”

“How long?”

Seve asked, and Chuch looked at another Dalasyslan, who answered. “It’s been eighteen months since the propulsion system failed,” Seve said. “This person is the chief engineer, and he estimates another year to two before too many critical systems fail.”

“They have a chief engineer?” Lyton said.

“They’ve kept this ship running this long,” Marce said. “Of course they have a chief engineer. Don’t assume these people are stupid, Lyton.”

“Sorry,” she said.

Chuch asked Seve something, and Seve responded. “He just asked me what was said.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Yes.” Chuch said something and Seve listened. “He agrees they are not stupid, just desperate. He asks for our help.”

“What kind of help?” Marce asked.

“Help with the propulsion systems, for a start. Other technical assistance. Food—sorry, not food, food stock. Things they can grow. Medical supplies. Information. New technology.”

Chuch looked at Marce and said a word. Marce looked over to Seve. “Did he just say ‘everything’?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Well, I can’t blame him for that,” Marce said. He was quiet for a moment.

“What is it?” Seve asked.

“They don’t seem surprised to see us,” Marce said.

“What do you mean?”

Marce motioned around the room, to the Dalasyslans assembled there. “They’ve lived on this ship for a hundred years at least. Before that they were eking out an existence on one of the habitats. The Flow stream to here collapsed eight hundred years ago. How would you react if after hundreds of years of isolation you were suddenly discovered?”

“I really don’t know,” Seve said.

“I’d probably shit myself,” Lyton said. Seve looked at her oddly.

“You think they should be treating us like gods or something?” asked Dr. Ells.

“No,” Marce said. “But I don’t think this is the way I’d be reacting, either.” He turned to Seve. “Ask him.”

“Ask him what?”

“Ask him why he doesn’t seem surprised to see us.”

Seve asked, and blinked at the answer.

“What did he say?” Marce asked.

“He said he wasn’t surprised to see us because the last ship to come always said that more would come back.”

“What?” Marce said.

Chuch spoke again. “He says the last ship arrived three hundred years ago, and its crew stayed here. He says that every one of his crew, including him, has some of their blood. And he says that their captain always said more would come, eventually. So they weren’t surprised when we came. We were expected. They were waiting for us. And we chose a good time to arrive, so thanks for that.”





Chapter

15

Archbishop Gunda Korbijn was thinking about art again.

Specifically, she was thinking of the statue Rachela at the Assembly, by Admirable Pritof (“Admirable” was not Pritof’s actual first name, but sometime after his death a particularly canny art dealer with an overabundance of his sculpture did a very good job of PR). The sculpture was itself based off a painting of the same name by Hippolyta Moulton, which hung in the Imperial Art Institute, not too far from Xi’an Cathedral.

In the painting Rachela is expounding to an assembly of political and corporate luminaries who will be so moved by her words that they will immediately put aside all their petty differences and form the Interdependency. Moulton imagined the moment with Rachela pretty, her face serene and her expressions iconically blank; apparently the politicians and the businessmen were so amazed at her words that they didn’t mind they were coming from a mannequin.

Pritof’s sculpture had another take on the moment. The sculptor had kept Rachela’s pose exactly the same as in Moulton’s painting, but the expression on her face was wildly different. Instead of serenity and blankness was canniness, and awareness, and, some would argue—exhaustively, in art and academic journals for centuries—sardonicism. Moulton’s Rachela was a religious icon; Pritof’s Rachela was a woman with an agenda.