Heirs of the New Earth (10 page)

"Before I answer that ... How exactly did the Cluster contact the President? I've looked over the White House communication's logs. The Cluster's communication is not logged."

"I won't ask how you got access to those logs,” said Richards, coolly. “Why do you want to know about the Cluster's methods of communication?"

Eva stood and moved around the desk, blocking Richards’ view of the three-dimensional brain-scan charts. “I'm concerned about planetary security and concerned that the President may be compromised."

"In that event,” said Richards, holding out his hands, “You definitely should have contacted me before pulling up the brain scan records."

Cooper shook her head. “I can't be sure you haven't been compromised as well."

Richards leaned forward. “Now that's beginning to sound a little paranoid."

"Just how did the Cluster communicate with the President? Why is the President implementing all of these new directives, suddenly? Why is she no longer concerned about the Doomsday Dead? Doesn't any of this bother you?"

Dick Richards sat back in his chair, as though the barrage of questions had physically assaulted him. “No,” said Richards simply. “It doesn't bother us, because most of us have spoken to the Cluster at this point. More than anything, I'm surprised it hasn't spoken to you."

Eva Cooper's mouth dropped open. “You've communicated with it?"

Richards nodded.

"What's going on?” asked Cooper, her voice nearly a whisper.

"The Cluster finds humans fascinating. It wants to help us,” said Richards evenly. “The Earth has been dirty and overpopulated for centuries. The Cluster has shown us how to fix that."

Cooper folded her arms across her stomach. “Well, the Cluster seems to have solved the overpopulation part of the problem. Over a third the population of the Earth dead on Doomsday ... People continue to die of depression ... At the rate things are going, we may lose half the population of the planet—maybe more.” She stepped away from the President's brain scan, allowing Richards to see. She chewed her lower lip, thinking that maybe she was paranoid. Dick Richards was an old and trusted friend. The man sitting in front of her looked just as he always had. His sharp blue eyes were the same as they'd always been—commanding, questioning, and compassionate. Dick Richards was not the enemy. At worst, he was a friend in trouble.

"You're right,” said Cooper with a sigh. “I have been looking at the President's brain activity. Brain waves are like a fingerprint in that they're unique to each individual. Unlike a finger print they do evolve.” Cooper pointed to three charts and indicated dips and valleys in each of the graphs that were similar. “Here we see three different scans of the President over the last three years. You'll see that several features are the same in spite of the progression.” Cooper highlighted the fourth scan. “Notice that this one is completely different. It's as though the President has become a completely different person overnight"

"You said yourself that brain scans evolve and change.” Richards shrugged.

"Not this completely,” said Cooper sharply. “Is the Cluster doing this? If the Cluster is doing this to everyone, it would explain a lot of what is happening."

Richards stood and paced the room. “I understand your concern and it's certainly valid. However, I think you should give it time—see what happens. The Earth is evolving and improving. I think you're going to like the new Earth.” Richards stopped pacing and looked Eva in the eye. “The only thing that bothers me is, why don't you know this already? Why hasn't the Cluster communicated with you?"

Eva sat down in her chair and turned off the displays. “That is a very good question,” she said slowly. “Why hasn't the Cluster talked to me?"

Samuel Coffin decided that the first order of business was to test the capabilities of his new ship. While the entire galaxy was now open to him, there was one place he knew no human, Rd'dyggian, or even Titan-built ship could go. However, if he really could go anywhere he wanted, this ship would take him to that forbidden ocean: the center of the galaxy, where the mass of stars was so great, where gravity was so intense that he would find a super-massive black hole. Humans had observed the galactic center from afar using radio and x-ray telescopes, but no one had ever viewed it with the naked eye, even in the 30th century. Coffin summoned the cabin boy. “My compliments to the mate. Set course for the galactic bulge."

"Aye aye, sir,” said the boy, running off.

Coffin finished sipping his coffee, then made his way to the deck. The second and third mates were shouting orders and myriad people scuttled up the rigging. Others scattered about the deck, securing hatches and a crew was hoisting the anchor. The first mate paced the deck, observing and shouting an occasional admonition. Coffin took a good look at the first mate and blinked several times. The robust, vigorous man marching about the afterdeck shouting orders should not have been able to do so. “Elisha Folger?” asked Coffin, unusually timid.

"Samuel Coffin!” called the mate. “You old sea dog, I should have known you'd be behind this!"

Coffin climbed up the ladder and shook hands vigorously with his old friend. “How are you here? Last I knew, you were in the hospital on Nantucket, hooked up to machines.” Coffin remembered the image of his friend, over 120 years old, a frail ghost of the man he once was—a living brain trapped in a worn-out, dead body. As he had no living family, Folger had no one who could order the life-support shut down.

"I don't know how I'm here,” said Folger, perplexed. “All I know is that I've been given freedom again. I'm back in my old body.” Folger lifted his arms in the air, feeling the breeze. “Have we died and gone to heaven?” he asked more quietly.

"If I died, I died in my sleep,” said Coffin. “But somehow I know we're very much alive, my friend. Somehow I know this ship can take us places no human has ever been. We'll get to see things with our eyes that no one has ever seen."

"That's why you ordered us to the heart of the galaxy, eh?” asked Folger with a wink.

"Do you think I'm crazy?” asked Coffin.

"You're asking a man who has been living in a dream world for the past decade? For all I know, I'm still in that damned hospital bed and this is all some kind of hallucination.” Folger's eyes swept the deck, making sure that preparations to depart were continuing.

"I hate to say this, but I'm not sure you aren't in that bed—but I don't think you're hallucinating. Somehow this is real—a reality that's somehow physical and not physical. Don't ask me how I know, or even how it works.” Coffin turned around and surveyed the deck himself. He was on a whaling ship, like the type that used to sail out of Nantucket. He noted that there were three masts, with square sails on the fore and main masts, and fore-and-aft-rigged sails on the mizzenmast. Five whaleboats were secured to the ship. Judging as best he could, he guessed the ship was something around 125-feet long: a whale bark with a crew of 30-40, then. With a deep breath, Coffin looked at the first mate. “So, how do we know we'll get where we want to go?"

Folger smiled and looked over his shoulder, indicating a woman talking to a man at the helm. “You see that—our navigator is Kumiko Meiji. Remember? She came to Nantucket just to sail with you on the
Clio II
."

"That's right,” said Coffin, nodding approvingly. “I haven't seen her since she was a teenager. She was one of the few kids I'd let steer the old ship. She wanted to be a cartographer, didn't she? I seem to recall that she went off to work for TransGalactic Corporation.” Coffin looked at Folger. “Are all of us Islanders, or associated with the Island?"

Folger shook his head. “I don't think so. It's just the three of us, as far as I can tell."

"Strange, though. How do you suppose we all ended up commanding this ship?"

Folger shrugged. “You of all people questioning why Nantucketers are the most qualified sailors. I'm surprised at you, Samuel."

Samuel Coffin straightened with mock indignation. “I'll remind you to address me as Captain Coffin."

"Aye aye, sir,” boomed Folger. The two men laughed. Looking around, Folger nodded satisfaction. The anchor was up and the ship was moving, seemingly carried by the wind. Folger and Coffin stepped to the deck railing and watched as the wind lifted the ship up and out of the water. They were moving skyward. “So,” said Folger. “What do we name the ship?
Clio III?"

Coffin's eyebrows came together, thoughtfully. “No, I think
Pequod
would be more appropriate,” he said, watching water flow from the sides of the ship. He could see Nantucket in the distance, growing smaller. The ship passed through a misty veil of clouds and the island disappeared from view.

"You aren't thinking of seeking revenge, are you?” asked Folger.

"No, but I think our souls may be at stake on this voyage, Mr. Folger. Somehow, I think we may be just as doomed as the men of Ahab's ship.” The sky began to grow dark as the atmosphere around the ship thinned. There was still plenty of air to breathe on the ship's deck as stars appeared. Below the ship, Coffin could see the curve of the Earth, and the oceans and continents. As they continued, he began to make out cloud-shrouded continents and blue oceans. The Earth was a ball receding in the distance. Looking ahead, Coffin saw the bulge of the galaxy, bright and sparkling on the edges, obscured by black clouds of dust in the center. He nodded satisfaction. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Folger."

"Steady as she goes,” echoed the mate.

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"And every shipmaster, and all the company in ships, and sailors, and as many as trade by sea, stood afar off, and cried when they saw the smoke of her burning, saying, ‘What city is like unto this great city?’”

Revelation 18: 17-18

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After breakfast and a nap, John Mark Ellis rode the lift to the command deck of the TransGalactic Mapping Vessel
Sanson.
Once there, he stepped out and surveyed the deck. The shipyard was supervising most of the repair activities. With little damage to the command deck itself, things were unusually quiet there.

The command deck was the nerve center of the
Nicholas Sanson
. At the front was a sophisticated holographic tank capable of showing different views of space in three dimensions. It served as a chart room for the mapping vessel as well as a means by which one could see space around the vessel. In front of the holographic tank were two unmanned consoles that met in a V-shape. One console was the navigation station, which oversaw both ship navigation and the recording of pathways through fourth dimensional space. The other was communications, which oversaw communications within the ship and with other ships as well as the dissemination of information to the galactic networks. Each was capable of presenting a holographic control panel that could be customized to suit the user's needs. Some users preferred black pads with colorful buttons. More eccentric users might choose levers and knobs set in a simulated wooden panel. Behind the control stations were the command chairs—captain's to the left; mate's to the right. Each of the command chairs had a holographic station similar to those at the front of the bridge, only somewhat smaller. The holographic controls allowed for different jobs to be performed at different locations. On
Sanson,
the first mate generally acted as helmsman—steering the ship—while the captain oversaw all ship functions, including engine performance during flight. Behind the command chairs were the offices of the corporate officer and the captain.

An image of the
Sanson
itself filled much of the holographic tank. When Ellis had approached the
Sanson
earlier in the day aboard the launch, it had appeared that the repair crew was a large swarm. Now, it seemed that there were so many people working on the ship that Ellis feared they might get in each other's way. Below the hologram of the
Sanson,
Ellis could discern a pair of booted feet.

"Mr. Yermakov?” asked Ellis, tentatively.

Yermakov looked around from behind the image of the ship. His features were set in a grim scowl, but there was a certain gleam in his eye that had been missing during Ellis’ earlier conversation with the mate. “Yes, Skipper,” called Yermakov.

"How go the repairs?” Ellis stepped toward the holographic tank, inspecting the image of the ship.

"Very well,” said Yermakov, coming out from behind the image. “The burned out Erdon-Quinn Engine is mostly repaired. New conduits are being installed.” Yermakov shook his head. “I've never seen this many people come together to get a ship in operational condition. I'd never guessed it could be done this quickly."

Ellis nodded slowly. “They're all concerned about what's going on back at Earth. All humans came from there, after all. They want to do their part for the mother world."

Simon Yermakov's eyes rolled skyward. “Don't push your luck, Captain. I've already decided to go back to Earth with you. But, if you start in on speeches about why I should do my part for king and country, forget it."

Ellis inclined his head. “Do you mind me asking why you're going?"

Simon looked at the holographic representation of the ship, then back to Ellis. “Some of it is the number of people helping us to get going. Some of it is a conversation I had with Mahuk while you were in your quarters. Most of it is probably selfishness. I don't want the Cluster to take over my mind. If I'm not willing to do the work to make sure that doesn't happen, I can't ask anyone else to do it for me."

"Fair enough,” said Ellis, simply. “How long before we'll be ready to depart for Earth?"

Yermakov looked at numbers scrawled in the air of the holographic tank. “I'd say we'll be ready to leave orbit in about 36 hours."

"I need to make an announcement to the crew—letting them know what we are about to do and asking them to decide whether they want to come along or not,” said Ellis.