Alastair Reynolds: Poseidon's Wake

‘Can you blame her?’

‘Not me. I’m the last one who’d blame her for anything.’

A few days later, when early evening business brought Mposi back to the parliamentary building in Guochang, he found a visitor waiting for him in the annexe to his office.

‘Goma,’ he said, beaming. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

But his words drew no corresponding sentiment from her, nor even a smile.

‘Can we speak? In private?’

‘Of course.’

He let her into the office, still maintaining a façade of polite conviviality even though nothing in her manner suggested this was a social call. That would have been out of character, at least lately. When she had been less busy in both professional and private spheres, Goma had often visited him for a stroll around the parliamentary gardens, both of them trading stories and titbits of innocent rumour. He realised, with a swell of sadness, that he had almost forgotten how much pleasure those simple encounters had brought him, unencumbered by professional obligations on either side.

‘Chai?’ he offered, drawing the office blinds against a lowering sun as fat and red as a ripe tomato.

‘No. This won’t take long. She can’t go.’

He smiled. They were both still standing. ‘She?’

‘My mother. Ndege.’ Her hands were planted on her hips. Goma was small, slight of build, easily underestimated. ‘This stupid expedition of yours — the one you think I don’t know about.’

Mposi glanced at the door, making sure he had closed it on his way in.

‘You’d better sit down.’

‘I said this won’t take long.’

‘Nonetheless.’ He raised a hand in the direction of the chair he reserved for visitors, then eased his plump frame into the one on his side of the desk. ‘She was under express instructions not to mention it to anyone.’

‘I’m her daughter. Did you think she’d be able to keep something like that from me for long?’

‘You were to be informed when matters were on a more stable footing.’

‘You mean when everyone else learned about it.’

‘I’m not a fool, Goma, and I do understand your feelings. But secrecy is secrecy. What else did she mention?’

‘There’s more?’

‘Please, no games.’

After a silence, Goma said, ‘A signal, from somewhere out in deep space.’

Mposi rubbed his forehead. He could already feel a knot of tension building behind his eyes. ‘My god.’

‘Some possible connection with the Trinity — with Chiku, Eunice and Dakota. I can understand why that would be of interest to her. She lost her mother — watched as she was spirited away by an alien robot. But it’s Dakota I’m interested in.’

‘The elephant?’

‘The Tantor. If you received a signal from Eunice, then maybe Dakota’s out there as well. Do I have to explain why that’s of interest to me?’

‘No, I think I can guess.’ Mposi had always found Goma’s scientific reports too technical to be easily digested by a non-specialist like himself, but he could skim the abstracts, get the thrust of her argument. ‘It was just a signal. It never repeated, and we’ve been listening for it again for six months.’

‘But you believe it was a real message, and that it was meant for us. You think it might have some connection with the Trinity.’

‘This is what I told your mother. In confidence.’

‘If you start blaming her for the leak of your little secret, you’ll have a much bigger problem on your hands.’

‘Goodness, Goma. That almost sounds like a threat.’

‘You need to understand my seriousness.’

‘I do. Fully.’

‘Then I’ll cut to the point. Whatever that message says, Ndege’s not going.’

‘I rather think that choice should be your mother’s.’

‘It isn’t, not now. I’m going in her place. I’m a quarter of her age and much stronger.’

‘Be that as it may, Ndege is still alive. She has also consented to join the expedition.’

‘Only because you gave her no choice.’

‘I merely pointed out that volunteering for such an expedition could be turned to her immediate advantage.’

‘You dangled the idea of a pardon in front of her. I thought better of you.’

‘It was meant with all sincerity.’ Mposi picked up the paperweight he kept on his desk — the skull of a sea otter, polished to a pebble-like glossiness. It had been sent across space, a gift from his half-brother. ‘You have a nerve, Goma, lecturing me on my treatment of Ndege. If you doubt that, ask your mother.’

His outburst — delivered calmly enough — had an immediate and chastening effect on his visitor. She looked contrite, sad, momentarily ashamed at herself.

‘I just don’t want her expectations raised.’

‘Nor do I,’ Mposi answered softly. He put down the skull; it made a pleasingly solid thunk. ‘I would never put a false hope before your mother, not after all she’s been through. Are you serious, though — would you consider going in her place? You love this world, you love your work. You have a fine companion in Ru. Why give all of that up?’

‘Because I’d rather it was me than Ndege. And I’ve seen those ships of yours, swinging overhead like a pair of new moons. They’re huge. You can’t tell me there isn’t room for thousands of people on them.’

‘In their original design,’ Mposi answered. ‘But if one of the ships were to be refitted for a long-range expedition — and that’s still not a given — a great deal would need to be reorganised.’

‘I bet you could still find room for Ru.’

Mposi could hardly believe his ears. ‘You’ve spoken to her as well?’

‘Out of respect for your secret, no. In fact, I haven’t spoken about it to anyone except Ndege. Does that make you happier?’

‘Marginally.’

‘But I will put it to Ru. She’ll feel the same way about Dakota. We lost the Tantors, Mposi. We lost the most beautiful, surprising thing ever to happen to us as a species. New friends — new companions. And we let them die. That’s all Ru and I have ever done — chart the decline, the tailing-off of their intelligence. But now we have a chance to recontact one of the original Tantors, or at least her offspring. Even if all we recovered was fresh genetic material, that would give us something new. Ru knows that, too. She’ll want to come with me.’

‘Does Ndege know of your intentions?’

‘I told her I’d speak to you about it.’

‘And did she approve? No — you don’t need to answer that. Ndege would try to protect you just as you’re trying to protect her. She wouldn’t want you to leave.’

‘Ultimately, though, the choice would be yours, uncle. Commit your sister to something she won’t survive, or take a chance on your niece?’

‘When you put it like that, it sounds so simple.’

‘That’s because it is. Agree to my being on that ship, uncle.’

He felt himself on the brink of consenting. But he would not — could not — allow the decision to be made in haste. Too much was at stake. It was vastly more complicated than Goma understood.

‘I wished to do something good for your mother.’

‘You still can. That ship won’t be ready for a while, will it?’

He sighed, seeing where this was heading. ‘Another five years, so I’m told.’

‘Then that’s five years in which you can make things easier for Ndege. Are you ever going public with this?’

‘Some sort of limited disclosure will be required once it’s clear we’ve altered our plans for one of the ships. A year or two from now, perhaps.’

‘Then you can tell the world that Ndege has volunteered for the mission. Let her have that moment. Only the three of us need know that she won’t be going.’