Launch Pad (9 page)

“It’s dominated by people who compulsively search for Ultimate Meaning. They are happy, they don’t really lose loved ones until everybody agrees that they’re tired of them, they themselves hardly fear death because it’s seen as optional, and yet—”

“And yet, what?” Diacolique’s hopes were rising. If they were religious—

“The God gene,” said Smartship. “Apparently along with their superior ability to withstand or repair genetic damage from radiation, they belong to a strain of humans who have a highly evolved God gene.”

Diacolique was ecstatic. She went back, yanked Mirashaw’s chopsticks and bowl from his hands, and ravished him. Because joy always made her creative, and creativity always made her horny.

O O O

“Your deadline is well past,” Mirashaw harumphed. “We must be on our way.”

“But sweetie,” Diacolique said, brushing her crest suggestively over his cheek, “This is such an interesting part of the galaxy. Look at all the constellations we never see when we’re moving at subluminal velocities. And I love the infrared glow of Xh’x.”

“You can’t actually see anything.”

“Oh, I know we can’t actually see it, but subliminally it inspires me. Why not stay until my research is done, and treat this as a second honeymoon?”

“You mean hundred-and-fifty-second honeymoon.” But he didn’t tell Smartship to warm up its engines.

O O O

Diacolique’s plan required a Messiah. The Messiah had to be beautiful, dedicated, intelligent, self-sacrificing, and above all a quick study in the history of human religions. The hunt for an appropriate Messiah was on.

She let Smartship do the final choosing. Mirashaw, when he figured out what Diacolique was up to, didn’t much like her plan.

“She is of all our offspring the most beautiful, gracious, and charismatic,” he groaned. “Cherisamylla. When first she opened her eyes after birth, the room grew brighter. You want to risk her life?”

“Risk her life? Don’t be so melodramatic” said Diacolique. “The question is, will she do it?”

When Smartship summoned her, Cherisamylla was in the nursery, teaching some children how to gene-splice micro-smilodons to dwarf giraffes. She arrived breathless and bright-eyed and listened to a description of her potential mission. Could she descend to in a shuttle to the Rawegg surface? Could she impersonate a religious leader, a savior? Did she understand the dangers of the radiation from the core of the Ronin planet whose population she was to proselytize?

And did she object to the moral implications of what she was to do?

She could act. She did understand. And she believed that her misdirection was for the good of her own people, and would do no harm to the inhabitants of Rawegg.

The plan was that she would be briefed, hypnotically for greater speed, in the three dominant languages of Rawegg. But the education would not stop there: she must learn the deepest philosophical thought of the Rawegg people.

Smartship and she would construct a religion that would appeal to a sizable number of those natives—not all, because no group of people would agree to any abstract principle. This religion would endorse kindness, value beyond selfish pleasure, spiritual growth, and above all the spreading of humanity throughout the universe.

This last might prove a real idealogical hurdle. In fact, to everyone’s surprise, the Rawegg people had no idea that there was any universe beyond the icy ceiling of their world.

No Rawegg person had every penetrated that icy barrier and lived to tell. Optical probes had been sent up, but Xh’x scientists misinterpreted the images of a starry firmament as splotches, some sort of instrument glitch.

The first part of Cherisamylla’s manufactured religion would be a profound truth: that there was a world beyond their sky.

And it was truth. And Mirashaw and Diacolique felt that it was only right that the inhabitants of Rawegg, the Xh’x, should know.

But there was more to the plan.

Cherisamylla—Messiah Cherisamylla—was to find a child and bring it back in the shuttle, up to Spamcan, where the child could be examined as a whole being, not just a bit of DNA. His microbiome, his aura, even characteristics Smartship had only intuited.

Messiah Cherisamylla would tell the Rawegg natives this: the child was to be the One, an emissary from their world to the stars.

Cherisamylla was horrified. “How could you take a child from its parents?”

“You think life here on Spamcan is so awful?” said Smartship. “The child would be adopted on Smartship and given every advantage. He would be treated with kindness and gratitude. The physical examination would be both harmless and painless. And he would be the adopted child of Mirashaw and Diacolique, to live with them and be showered with their love and wisdom. And the gratitude and reverence of every inhabitant of Smartship. When we find a new world, he’ll be the hero of our whole extended family!”

“But the parents—”

“Would be parents to a near-deity. Parents throughout history have bowed to the greater destiny of their children,” said Smartship.

Cherisamylla’s bright eyes fixed on Diacolique. “I don’t buy that. You said these people reproduce only occasionally, because they’ve conquered death. So they would cherish every baby born. They’d never let one leave, even if its mission was to be an emissary to the larger world.”

“You underestimate the charisma factor. You know I examined the charismatic ability of every person on this ship. You—” and the ship’s eye squinted at Mirashaw—“do not have a high charisma rating, although you have ruled here without any actual insurrections.”

Diacolique smiled at the machine. “But what about—”

“You mean what about you, Diacolique? Yes, you rate very high on salesmanship. You have, after all, managed to pull the wool over the eyes of every one of your descendants, and even Mirashaw, so they don’t see your obvious character flaws. But charisma? No.”

Diacolique shrank back, tears welling. Her crest drooped.

Smartship continued. “Oh, Diacolique, you’re just melodramatic and scheming, though good-hearted. So you can’t truly charm total strangers. Cherisamylla, however, is able to convince just about anybody of just about anything. It’s mostly because she’s smart and kind and also utterly unpretentious.”

Diacolique ran her fingers through her crest, which was turning a color of orange quite new in its history. “So she has to talk parents into giving up their child.”

Smartship’s voice grew sly. “Actually, with such a huge population, there is a statistical chance that, over a period of time, a mother and father will both die and leave an orphan.”

“Relatives will step in,” Diacolique objected.

“Wait and see,” Smartship continued.

But Cherisamylla was shaking her head emphatically. “I can’t do this. I can’t go kidnap a child and take him away from—”

“Reserve judgment,” said Smartship.

Cherisamylla shook her head, then gathered her skirts up and went back to her tutoring.

O O O

Smartship continued to monitor Rawegg society through optical fiber spies. One day he called Cherisamylla, Diacolique, and Mirashaw for a briefing. “Not all children find themselves in utterly wonderful families.”

“Now you’re talking about a specific child?”

“But of course,” said Smartship. “I have found the right One.”

Cherisamylla furrowed her brow. “You’re implying that this child is abused?”

“Not exactly. I’ve found a child whose fosters have so little experience with real children that they have no idea how much patience this child will require. You, however, do.” Smartship was silent for a beat. If it had possessed a throat, it would be clearing it. “All of you do.”

They looked around at each other.

“In plain language, the foster parents consider him a trophy. If they suspect he might be the One, they’ll be even worse.”

Cherisamylla sat very still, considering. Then she smoothed her own crest and said, “I’ll do it.”

O O O

Some edenyears before, two of Diacolique and Mirashaw’s descendants had died. Deaths were inevitable when you have tens of thousands of descendants, no matter the state of your medical technology The whole ship had been disconsolate for years. Diacolique had to resort to hypnotics, and only by convincing herself that these two had never really existed was she able to go on. On some days, she allowed the post-hypnotic suggestion to slip, and she did know that people could die. Even her own descendants. But to risk Cherisamylla—

“Is it safe?” she asked Smartship.

“No. There is a chance the Rawegg natives will see through the various special effects I’ve created for her. They might very well tear her limb from limb.”

“Then she mustn’t—I won’t let her—” Diacolique seized Mirashaw’s hand. How had she managed to get them into this horrible situation? And it was her own idea.

“It’s out of your hands now,” said Smartship. “Besides, considering their mellow philosophical stance, it’s unlikely they’ll harm her, even if they discover she’s lying.”

Cherisamylla said softly, “I won’t be lying. There is a world above their ocean, and I am taking a child as an emissary to it.”

O O O

And so Cherisamylla took a cocktail of cleansing antibiotics so she wouldn’t contaminate Newegg. Then she boarded the shuttle. Melting through two hundred kilometers of ice had been hard enough for the small sampler drones. Penetrating the ice with a capsule large enough for a person—ultimately two people—was even more difficult. Smartship could have blasted a hole through the ice with a stream of antimatter pellets, but that would have been very destructive. This capsule was designed to burrow though Rawegg’s frozen surface ocean like a screw being driven through a wall. She had memorized the tenets of the religion she was to take to Rawegg, and she had done thousands of hours of hypnomemorizing to learn several Xh’x languages. More important, she had studied the Xh’x culture and practiced hundreds of simulations to adapt her message to those who would hear it.

Diacolique had to hold back tears when she saw the shuttle leave Smartship’s airlock, but she knew this project was for the good of all her children.

“In theory,” grumbled Mirashaw.

And Diacolique suggested they Nap.

O O O

Cherisamylla took a pantry of Smartship technologies to Rawegg. Miracles, they seemed to be. Because a great deal of science and technology grows out of knowing the immensity of the universe, the Rawegg people were technically rather backward. So Smartship gave Cherisamylla some antivirals, some secrets of gene manipulation (curing numerous individuals of myopia being just one example), and a superior system of computer evolution.

And as the heart of her message, Cherisamylla showed the Xh’x pictures of other stars, other planets, of the sky above their ocean, which they had never seen.

Her message was greeted with incredulity by the masses, but some scientists reluctantly agreed that it might explain mysterious images acquired from drones sent through the thick ice to the surface. Perhaps those spots weren’t instrument bugs. Perhaps they were lights, lights in the sky!

And she said they were other worlds, that there was an infinity of other worlds, many settled by creatures related to them by blood, however distantly.

Cherisamylla sojourned from city to city through networks of tubes between bubbles. Her reputation as a messenger from a world above grew. She didn’t even have to tell people she was a Messiah. They consulted their sages and their philosophers. And they found her doctrine of a larger universe accorded with mystical concepts handed down from ancient myths. She educated and preached everywhere she went.

She was so gracious, so sweet in disposition, and basically quite healthy, but she felt herself decline from the radiation that came from Rawegg’s environment. However, Smartship had provided her with medications to halt the outward signs of deterioration. So the people of Xh’x didn’t notice that the radiation was taking its toll on her.

She didn’t have to tell the natives she was a Messiah. They came up with the idea themselves.

Of course, her gene-spliced ability to glow in dim rooms helped.

She carefully worked herself closer and closer to the city where her target child lived. He was the object of a fierce custody battle, and that’s where Cherisamylla stepped in.

One day, she looked out into the crowd who were listening to her message and saw the target child—his name was Q’b’xh, which, translated from the regional Xh’x language, meant something like Ninebubble. Smartship’s robo-spies had gathered images and taught her to recognize his face. When she realized that his current custodians had brought him to hear her, she stopped speaking and focussed a gaze of infinite awe and love upon him.

He pulled his hand away from the foster woman who had legally won the right to be his permanent new mother. And he toddled toward Cherisamylla. Cherisamylla realized with a pang that perhaps, despite her crest and exotic Spamcan appearance, somehow she herself looked a bit like the child’s biological mother.

Or perhaps it was the pheromones Smartship had given her.

The foster mother’s eyes grew large. It was clear she knew what Cherisamylla was about. She dashed after the boy and pulled him back to her side. “Mine! My child!” she sobbed.

Later, Cherisamylla contacted Diacolique and Mirashaw through one of the fiber optic connections. “I’m still not sure I can do this.”

Smartship sent her a video. “Watch this. It was recorded only moments ago.”

Here’s what the video showed:

The foster mother: “These green gleaths are good for you. You have to grow big and handsome, and you will eat them.”

The child, Ninebubble, screwed up his tiny face and yelled, “They taste nasty! And you’re not my real mother. My real mother wouldn’t make me eat slimy green stuff!”

The foster mother left the frame for a moment. She reappeared clutching a struggling, furry little q’iq, not full grown, by the nape of its neck. In her other hand was a bag. Somehow that bag looked unhealthy for small furry creatures. “Eat,” said the foster mother. “And you will call me Mother.”

The recording continued, but Cherisamylla said, “That’s enough.” She exchanged looks with Mirashaw and Diacolique. “Get the return shuttle ready.”