Remnants 13 - Survival (12 page)

“Why are you in such a foul mood?” Since the voices in her head weren’t able to sleep, she often woke to an argument in progress. <> Amelia said irritably. Well, yes. Who else?

“What did he say now?” Tate asked, mustering her patience. Sometimes Yago and Amelia behaved like two ill-suited roommates.

<> Amelia raged. <>

“Come on, Yago,” Tate urged halfheartedly. “What’s your side of the story?”

Yago was silent.

Tate felt a flash of irritation. Bad dreams, the flu,
and
the silent treatment from Yago?

Beautiful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awful.

The ship was completely free of disease-causing germs. So, on second thought, this couldn’t be the flu. It was probably sore muscles, a touch of arthritis. God, she felt terrible. She hadn’t been this sick since — when? Right after Charlie died? Decades ago.

<> Amelia asked.

An easy opening. Tate doubted Yago could resist the temptation of pointing out that Amelia was the queen of sulking — and that she was several years older than he was.

Yago was silent.

Tate experienced a cold flash of fear that made her stumble on the way to her chair Yago was dead. Suddenly she knew it was true. He — he must have felt something. He must have known the end was near. That was why he’d made that comment the day before. He’d known …

Tate was having a hard time breathing. She was alone now with Amelia. Only Amelia. And who knew how long Amelia would live? One day, possibly one day quite soon, Tate would find herself entirely alone in the empty universe.

“He’s gone,” Tate whispered.

<> Amelia said. <> Tate felt as if she had killed him all over again. He’d asked her to take him to Earth, and she’d refused. Perhaps he simply couldn’t stand the disappointment.

All that long and sad day, Tate sat on her bed and told Amelia what she could remember about her dreams.

Amelia listened. She asked questions. And she began to help Tate solve the puzzle.

It took them seven cycles to decide what to do and another 544 cycles to figure out how to do it.

Some of the things they needed to know were there in Daughter’s database.

Other things they needed to know were beyond human understanding when those databases were created. So Tate and Amelia worked on finding the answers themselves. Tate’s patience helped. So did Amelia’s intellect and her deep knowledge of physics.

And the dreams.

Many of the answers came from the dreams.

The puzzle pieces fell slowly into place.

Tate plotted a complicated course, their last, on the day of her eighty-first birthday.

She and Amelia were waiting, seventeen cycles later, when Earth loomed up in the viewscreens. They could see firelight. A few civilizations clung to the coastlines in Europe, Africa, and South America.

Not new civilizations.

Old ones.

Because Tate and Amelia hadn’t just traveled through space, they’d traveled back in time. The year wasn’t important. The only important thing was that the Rock wouldn’t hit Earth for centuries to come.

North America was still largely dark, home to only a few thousand Native Americans.

Somewhere out in space the asteroid was winging toward the planet, destined to wipe out all of the beautiful green and blue.

But now, Tate was convinced, there was a vanishingly small chance that all that devastation could be — not avoided, but undone. She was planting one of the tools to undo it before it ever happened.

“Daughter, identify the continent of Asia,” Tate said.

“Identified.”

“Accelerate,” Tate said.

Mother began to shiver from the speed. Tate and Amelia saw a golden fire around the viewscreens as particles from Mother caught fire as the ship entered the atmosphere.

A few traders felt the impact of the crashing ship.

Tate died instantly. Amelia lingered for a moment longer and then her consciousness also blinked out.