Noumenon

A nugget of guilt formed in Reggie’s stomach. If Nakamura felt forced into this situation, wouldn’t her clones feel similarly? Maybe he’d made the wrong choice for his genetic materials. He wanted to go into space, but perhaps he’d been influenced that way as a young boy. His clones wouldn’t have his parents to give them star charts and books on planetary formation. There wouldn’t be plastic glow-stars on their bedroom ceilings.

And beyond all that, they wouldn’t have the wonder. Because space would be their norm, not a farfetched, out-of-reach dream.

He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the appropriate words. It wasn’t an apology, or even his sympathies he wanted to offer. It was something more abstract, and simultaneously more primal. “Akane, I—”

“What’s done is done,” she said. “And there are far worse fates.”

Perspective. Yes, he supposed he could use a dose of that. The clones weren’t going off to war, weren’t being asked to commit atrocities or surrender their humanity for an experiment. They were going to be researchers, explorers. They would go down in history like great thinkers and travelers before them. Not such a bad life.

But still, choices were important to him. And he couldn’t shake the regret.

Nakamura turned to the consortium agent. “Is the launch date official yet?”

The agent gave his notes a once over. “Yes. About a year from now—September 22nd, conditions permitting.”

“Excellent.”

They descended from the ship, the tour over. The hangar’s transparent ceiling domed over them, each octagonal pane independently skewing their view of the stars, distorting them. Just like time and distance had distorted Reggie’s view of himself and the project. He was not the same man who’d started this journey. He was still full of hope and wonder, but he felt more like a cog in a great machine than the lynchpin holding everything together.

“How’s your wife?” Nakamura asked.

Her question broke the tension. They were on to a friendly subject. “Good. Stressed. Our youngest is heading off to college next year. We’ll be empty nesters.”

“Soon I’ll know what that’s like.” She looked back over her shoulder at the Mira—the convoy vessels were her children.

Nakamura shook Reggie’s hand in farewell. “I’m off—an engagement with our benefactor. Come rain or shine, I’ll see you in a year.” She came in closer. “And, Reggie, sometimes you have to do what you have to do. And there’s no shame in that. Life’s full of obligations, that’s just the way it is. I appreciate that aspect of life just as much as the moments where I get to choose. It’s part of the human condition, a symptom of being a part of the whole. And it’s all beautiful. Remember that, okay?”

She was right, as usual. Everyone had commitments they couldn’t control, but that didn’t mean they weren’t free to be happy.

They parted, all smiles.

SEPTEMBER 26, LAUNCH DAY

2125 CE

NoumenonSub-Goal 1A: If the variation is determined to be natural, a theory of its formation is to be presented upon return.

NoumenonSub-Goal 1B: If the variation is determined to be unnatural, a theory of its purpose and origin is to be presented upon return.

Even from twelve miles away, the deep rumble of the external graviton cyclers revving up set off car alarms in the parking lot. It was a sound more felt than heard.

The crowd gave a collective cheer and Reggie thrilled at the sight of the nine ships rising into the clear midday sky. If not for their distinctly unusual shapes, someone might have mistaken them for silvery hot air balloons—they lifted so slowly, so smoothly away from the planet.

Each ship was uniquely formed in accordance with its purpose. Hippocrates’ many umbilical docking tracts—like spines on a sea urchin—were withdrawn and stowed for lift-off. Mira’s hull was dotted with the most portholes—dark eyes that peered solemnly onto the planet for one last time. Together, Bottomless and Solidarity looked like massive industrial towers. Windowless, lifeless, but certainly not purposeless.

Unlike traditional spaceships, none of the Convoy’s were particularly aerodynamic. But with antigravity technology, the shape didn’t matter. They didn’t need to push violently against the planet’s hold in order to reach escape velocity, didn’t need to worry about breaking the sound barrier. Which meant their ascent was slow, easy. Minutes ticked by as they steadily put more and more distance between themselves and earthbound humanity below.

Reggie’s insides boiled with conflicting emotions. He was nervous—almost to the point of nausea if he thought about it too much. Anything could happen. One of the ships in the Deep-Space Echo convoy had exploded during orbital takeoff. And there were so many millions of miles between the Earth and LQ Pyx, lots of space for something to go wrong. Any one of countless problems could spring up and endanger the crew and the convoy’s mission.

If they failed today there would be no second launch, no new plan. They alone carried his dream.

Sadness accompanied his anxiousness. The convoy was leaving without him.

But he knew the journey was not for him.

With only a few decades of life left he wouldn’t get anywhere near the star. The team expected the journey there to take one hundred years from the convoy’s perspective—near a thousand from Earth’s angle, due to subdimensional dilation. No, he was still needed here. He could do more good at the university than he could on those ships.

They were high now, but still well within the atmosphere. They’d begin to pick up speed soon, to sail into the stars.

Yes, Reggie could do more good on Earth, though it would have been a grand adventure. Who hadn’t dreamt of becoming an astronaut as a child? What scientist, studying the wonders of the universe, hadn’t fantasized about seeing its miracles up close?

There went his chance, carried into the wispy clouds on an invisible pillar of negative force.

He was tied to the Earth, though the reach of his dreams remained infinite.

C’s ‘flex-tech was clipped to the front of his shirt, giving the PA an unobstructed view. “That’s not something I’ve seen before,” it said. Reggie found the obvious statement endearing.

Alongside his other emotions rested a pensiveness. The Earth-based team would be able to communicate with the convoy only occasionally, due to the time dilatation and the difficulties of SD communication. Once they were out of range, that would be the last of Reggie’s involvement. His project would culminate centuries, maybe millennia, from now.

His was truly a contribution meant for humanity and not its inventor.

Reggie sighed and watched the ships become specks in the distance. Abigail laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. Pride made her face glow.

He wanted to keep growing old with her, to see his children get married, meet his grandchildren. Earth still held more wonders for him. Some more fascinating than anything he could find in space.

Most of those born to the convoy would never know Earth, but they would have experiences most humans could only daydream about. They were an incredibly special group.

What amazements would they discover?

He took hold of Abigail’s hand and turned back to the ships. “Good luck,” he said under his breath. “Come home safe.”

“Will the I.C.C. integrate my memories now?” C asked.

“Yes. Just when you leave home, that’s when you need to remember it the most. Part of you will sail among the stars, C. How does that feel?”

“I am happy to be here. And happy to be there.”

With a broad smile, Reggie patted C’s screen.

The journey of Planet United Convoy Seven had officially begun.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e7c4adc5-c9fc-5b95-966a-af5272c811c2)

MARGARITA: INSIDE TARO’S BOX

SEPTEMBER 26, T MINUS 0 DAYS TO LD

2125 CE