Compete (16 page)

“No, no. . . . Well, nothing is certain yet,” Gennio says. “So we cannot assume anything until it is formally announced—I mean, until the Command Pilot, that is, the Imperial Prince Aeson Kassiopei announces his choice for Imperial Consort.”

“But it’s pretty much a given,” Anu says. “
She
’s a given. Everyone in the capital expects it to be her, Lady Tirinea, of the noble family Fuorai. She is the frontrunner in the media circus—to borrow your wonderful Earth slang—the media circus that surrounds the choosing of the Bride of the next Imperator.”

The cold feeling that has been burrowing in my gut makes itself known full force, washes over me. What is wrong with me, all of a sudden?

“So,” I mutter in confusion. “The Imperial Prince Aeson Kassiopei is getting married?”

Gennio nods. “Yes, by law he has to choose a Consort within three years after reaching the age of sixteen. Otherwise—there are repercussions.”

“And may I ask how old he is now?” I say softly.

“Eighteen Atlantean years, as of—let me think—the equivalent of last Earth October,” Anu says. “Which is close to twenty of your Earth years.”

“I see.”

“As soon as we arrive on
Atlantida
,” Gennio adds, “he is supposed to make his announcement. The Imperator expects it, the Court expects it, the public expects it. He’s been putting it off long enough. There are several possible contenders, all from noble prominent families—”

I bite my lip. “Putting it off? Is he in love with this Lady Tiri or not?”

Anu snorts again, rudely. “In love? What kind of stupid Earth crap do you think? This is the Imperator and the Kassiopei Family we’re talking about. They don’t ‘love.’ They make alliances. They exchange DNA to produce the next generation of their ancient bloodline of gods—”

“Anu! Cut it out!” Gennio says in a loud voice the like of which I’ve never heard him use. “You are crossing the line, speaking in such a crass manner about the Imperial Family.”

“Oh, please. She’s going to hear all kinds of things about Kassiopei soon enough. Might as well start her off early.” Anu raises one eyebrow and gives me a sarcastic look.

But Gennio shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him, Gwen,” he says. “Because whatever things you might hear about the Kassiopei, they don’t apply to our CP. There’s a reason he wears the black armband of honor. And when he chooses his Imperial Consort, it would only be for the right reasons.”

“What right reasons?” Anu snorts. “Even the most honorable man cannot escape his obligations when he’s a Kassiopei.”

I remain silent, processing all this, and finding that somehow I am very disturbed.

In that moment, a disembodied machine voice sounds from the walls of the CCO.

“
Thirty minutes warning. Approaching Jupiter orbital perihelion,”
the ship computer says.

A very timely interruption.

“Oh! We have to see this!” Gennio exclaims, forgetting his upset, and in fact forgetting everything else. His pleasant face lights up with intellectual energy. “To the Observation Deck! Must run!
Now!
”

I sit up. “Are we allowed to leave our work?”

“For something like that, oh yes!” Gennio closes out his work files and swings the console back into the wall, getting up in a hurry. “Especially since Jupiter will be visible! But only for a minute—or a few seconds! Let’s go!”

He has me at “Jupiter” and “visible.” I fly out of my chair.

But Anu glances up at us with a show of boredom, and just shrugs. “Naturally Gennio can never resist the pull of a fellow gas giant. And apparently neither can the Earth girl. Go on, you two, I think I’ll stay right here.”

W
e hurry to the observation deck at a true run, while Gennio chatters all the way, telling me various facts of this particular orbital passage. Apparently we are not the only ones. Other teens and quite a few Atlantean crewmembers move quickly throughout the various corridors and decks, and everyone’s converging on one side of the ship—the side which will have a real view of Jupiter.

“It will only be a brief flyby,” Gennio tells me, panting for air, as we reach the crowded observation deck. “It is true that Jupiter has a much wider orbital range than Mars, not to mention, it is huge and easiest to see even from a greater distance. But at the rate of our acceleration, we are already traveling multiple times faster than we were when we crossed the Mars orbital region.”

“So, what does it mean, as far as our actual glimpse of Jupiter?” I say, pushing past Cadets and Civilians and Atlanteans through the tight corridor that opens on the observation deck, after Gennio who leads the way.

“All right, quick numbers here,” Gennio blurts. “Distance from Earth to Sol, your sun, is approximately 150 million kilometers. Distance from Earth to Mars is about 55 million kilometers. Distance from Mars to Jupiter is about 533 million kilometers. But the acceleration rate of our Fleet is sharply exponential. So we might see Jupiter in a very strange visual trajectory. Maybe—to give you an example from Earth—you drive your car on the road, and a sign post flies by. . . . Poof!”

“Are you saying Jupiter will be like that?”

Gennio smiles. “Sort of—but, just watch!”

And so we stand, bumping shoulders with everyone in the twilight of the observation deck, and stare at the great empty universe and the distant elongated dots of stars. The Sun is not visible from this particular side of the observation deck that spans in a perfect circle the entire outer hull of the ark-ship, so it’s even more difficult to have a frame of reference. And the micro-bead of the Earth too is somewhere out of sight.

“
Now entering Jupiter orbital perihelion,”
says the ship’s computer.

“There! Oh! Look!” People all around the deck exclaim.

A pale orange ball the size of a large marble makes its presence on the farthest right of the visible windows. Even as we stare, it hurtles past us, so that boys and girls rush to move from window to window, “following” its horizontal trajectory across our visual field.

“Okay, that thing is giant in reality, but looks so tiny!” a girl exclaims.

“
Mon Dieu!
I thought we would be closer!
Merde!
” another girl says. “We must be so far away from it!”

“Yeah, and moving so incredibly fast!” a boy says.

Only about forty-five seconds elapse, and Jupiter disappears on the far left of the visual field.

“
Now leaving Jupiter orbital aphelion,”
the machine voice sounds immediately after, telling us what we just witnessed.

“Wow. . . .” I exhale. Apparently I’ve held my breath for most of the flyby.

“Beautiful, wasn’t it?” Gennio says, smiling blissfully at me.

Wordlessly I nod.

W
e return to the CCO and Anu greets us with a mumble-grunt. Aeson Kassiopei has not been back to his office yet, so we resume our tasks until 4:00 PM when according to my schedule I have my second class for today.

“You should run, or you’ll miss Culture Class,” Gennio says as I fumble with my console, unsuccessfully trying to snap it back into the wall. “Leave it, I’ll take care of it for you—go.”

“Thanks!” I say, and head out.

By now, the guards outside the CCO doors are used to seeing me enter and exit, so I rush by them, on the way to the Yellow Quadrant Residential Deck Four, where the class is held.

I move at a run through a few long corridors, exit the Blue Quadrant, cross through Green, and arrive in Yellow, all in under three minutes. Then for five minutes more I make my way down through Yellow, moving from the center of the ship outward. I pass the halfway point—a wide dividing corridor separating the Cadet Deck from the Residential Deck—and find the classroom area in another large open space.

The room has ordinary desks and chairs of a streamlined shape, simple writing surfaces, with no unusual consoles or machinery. The desks are long table benches seating at least six people, and they curve in elegant semi-circle rows facing the front of the classroom where the Instructor stands, speaking already.

I am definitely late, because the room is full, so I barely squeeze in at a bench in the back row next to an Asian girl with a Yellow ID token. She is also visibly missing a Cadet star. A few other late arrivals end up standing in the back, with no more bench seats remaining.

Our Culture Instructor is another older teen, who could be my age. She has the usual metallic gold hair, but it’s gathered behind her in an updo knot of some sort, and pinned tightly, so that her oval face has a slightly severe look, with not a hair out of place. However her kohl-highlighted eyes are friendly brown, and her expression is generally benevolent. She is a little on the curvy side, but her uniform sits well on her, emphasizing her pleasing figure. The armband she wears is yellow.

“For those of you who are still coming in, please try not to be late in the future, because our time on this ship is precious. The year will fly by, and you still have so much to learn in this one short class,” the Instructor tells us in a soothing-balm voice that I recognize immediately as a
power voice
, namely that of the Storyteller. I am immediately reminded of my first Atlantis Culture Instructor Nefir Mekei back in Pennsylvania.

“I am Nilara Gradat,” says the Instructor. “And I will be conveying to you not only cold facts—the kind you already learned in your brief classes during Qualification on Earth—but the true
spirit
of life on Atlantis. This way, when you first arrive, you will smell the scent of the land and it will be instantly familiar to you. When you hear the language, it will sound like home. And when you see the people, you will find them welcome and comfortable, like family.”

“Not if they are
como mi familia!
” A boy chuckles. Then he grows quiet, suddenly remembering his family, and the reality of what’s coming to Earth.

Nilara Gradat ignores the outburst and continues, looking over us with a serene gaze. “The things you will learn in this class will help you understand
Atlantida
, and us. Notice, this is a mixed class, and some of you are Cadets, while others are Civilians. This is because the concepts you will learn here apply to everyone in our society. There are no tests in this class, only common sense and wisdom that will help you personally. I want you to feel free to speak to me any time after class, if you need help with any aspect of Atlantean life. My office is #34 here on Residential Deck Four.”

A few whispers sound around the room.

A boy raises his hand. “If no tests, how do you know we learn anything?”

Instructor Gradat smiles at him. “I will know by the way you respond a year from today. And, speaking of years—do you know that a year on Atlantis lasts longer and has different seasons and months than Earth?”

I look up with interest.

“We have long seasons that last four months, not three. And instead of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, we have Green, Red, Yellow, and Blue. For example, right now it is Blue season on
Atlantida’s
upper hemisphere, cold and bleak.”

“So, Blue is Winter?” a girl asks.

“Approximately, yes,” Nilara Gradat replies. “We will therefore keep to the Atlantean Seasonal Calendar here on the ships, for the duration of our journey, so that you get used to it, even though the duration will still be short and based on your Earth seasons.”

The Instructor pauses and begins to gently pace the room before us. “The first two seasons you will experience on our ships are Blue and Green, for three Earth months each. Then there will be the Jump. That is the first half of our journey. Immediately after, we will enter the seasons of Red and Yellow. At the end of Yellow we will arrive on Atlantis, and from there on you will experience the true longer seasons on the surface of the planet.”

There are a few whispers, and then another boy raises his hand. “Okay, is an actual
year
really necessary to get to Atlantis from Earth? I mean, a whole frigging year, that’s kind of a super exact number. Kind of a weird, unnatural coincidence—”

Nilara Gradat nods. “I see what you’re saying. And, no, you are correct, an exact year is not precisely necessary. There are many variations in interstellar travel, based on the type of space vessel being used, the number of ships in the Fleet, the rate of acceleration, and some other factors. Together they generally amount to a time period relatively close to an Earth Year. A single light ship traveling at ultimate speed can probably make the trip in four to five Earth months, but certainly not the entire Fleet. This journey calendar was carefully planned and set, in order to transport the whole Fleet safely, and also to give you time to acclimate. We could have flown a bit faster, but it would have been unsafe for the number of ark-ships involved. The stability of the Quantum Stream
state
depends on so many variables, and these were deemed to be the best-case scenario. You might ask your Pilot Training Instructor for a more detailed explanation. Any other questions?”

“What kind of holidays do you have?” someone asks.

“Excellent question.” Instructor Gradat takes out a gadget and suddenly all our ID tokens flash brightly. “I just sent out a Holiday and Months Calendar to all of you. Next time you check your schedules you will see the Atlantean seasons and holidays for each day.”