City Without Suns (29 page)

Epilogue

I travelled back to the site of the landing on a surface raft.  The place was not hard to find.  The surrounding water in the sea formed a subtle yet conspicuous liquid hill, evidence of the unshielded gravity stones in the ship underneath.  The submarine that delivered my predecessors out of the depths from Neptune can no longer be powered by the depleted fuel cells, and free diving is not possible to the depths where the lock entry sits.  Maybe someday we will build a new submarine to reclaim the lost artifact that brought us here.  For now, I only have stories from my parents to describe Neptune.  I have the memories of my mother Nova that span generations all the way back to the original planet, memories that include transmissions received by Neptune from Taurus and logs as far back as the ones on Gambler, and memories that include many second-hand accounts from our ancestors who had contact with my mother and her older clones.  I have enough to understand our history and how we got here.  There is something satisfying in that.

I can only imagine the scene on the bridge where Ultima might have remained as an image of the spotlight from the submarine travelled across the wall.  Against a backdrop of dark water, it would have resembled a lone star on the display previously showing thousands.  They would have to return, maybe he thought.  Like lost pets in an unfamiliar world, the humans would eventually have to return home to Neptune. 

My father Breccan did return, at least for supplies.  The Keepers had dispersed.  There is no telling how many there are now in the vast bodies of water on Gamma.  He told me of a lone Keeper on the ship several years after the landing.  They did not disturb each other.  They were both content with what they had found.  Now Neptune is just empty, as far as I know.  Before his death, my father extracted some of the bat creatures, and now they are thriving outside the walls where they were confined for so long.

After paying homage to the landing site in remembrance of my father, I returned to the shore.  The dwellings made primarily of indigenous clay grew larger on the horizon as I paddled.  Most of our hundred and twenty people were outside laboring in the seaside crops.  I knew a place where there would be at least one person indoors.  I beached my raft and walked down the path to the observatory.  Orr and Nirav were there looking through a telescope through a rare break in the overcast sky.

“What are you looking at?” I inquired.

“The approaching sun,” Orr answered.  “I’ve been watching it for some time.”

“The conditions look right.  I think we are falling into its orbit,” Nirav added.

“Is that possible?” I asked.

“We think so.  Our trajectory and speed look about right for Gamma to be captured.”

“Is that good?” To me, a star sounded like a dangerous thing to approach.

“Oh, yes,” Nirav and Orr affirmed almost simultaneously.  The perfect climate here could not be sustained forever, so they say.  The reaction at the core of the planet that radiates out the other side and heats the atmosphere would eventually deplete. 

By the time I left the two elders, the cloud cover had accumulated overhead again, and the crystals reflected the light generated from beyond the horizon out of the planet core.  The glow of the sky was sufficient to completely light the way as I traveled inland to plow the new field.  My mother was there.  I could hear her voice providing instructions to some of the others.

A single bat circled my head.  I swatted at it with my hands as it easily dodged my flailing arms.  It was not bothering any of the others.  I had no idea how to communicate with it and could only assume it thought I was like my father.  I was not. 

I was also unlike my mother in most respects.  I could not see in the dark.  I had no remarkable abilities.  I looked over at her and she smiled.  She was at peace with this world, the only one I have ever known or will ever know.  I do not share the worries of the others.  Somehow my mother knew it was where we were meant to be, and I trusted her.