Greg Egan - The Eternal Flame

What more do you want? This is the time.

Carlo opened his eyes. He reached up and took hold of the nearest rope and pulled himself out from beneath the tarp. He stared at the clock in the moss-light until the dials became clear. It was too early to light a lamp and pretend that the day had begun.

He dragged himself out of the bedroom, then released his hold on the rope and let himself drift. The ache in his chest was as strong as ever, and the voice that spoke for it refused to be silenced. What did he have to be ashamed of? Had he locked up his co, like Tamaro? Had he contemplated a single act that went against her will? If Carla listened—if his words made sense to her—how would he have wronged her?

His skin brushed the cool stone of the floor. He scrabbled about for a suitable rope, then pulled himself into a corner. If he wasn’t going back to bed, he should at least be touching something solid that could draw away the heat.

It had been his suggestion that they sleep together, on this last night before the trip. He’d argued that the signal to her body from his presence—the reminder that she hadn’t been widowed or abandoned—would help protect her during their separation. The logic of that was impeccable, but it proved nothing about his real intentions. A different message seemed to have reached his own flesh: his co was heading into danger, and she might never return.

Carlo spread his fingers against the stone. How many times had he silently cursed Silvano’s weakness? You really couldn’t stop yourself? You really couldn’t wait? But what was his own great strength, then—being divided against himself? Despising the one act that would complete his life?

His father had died young. What if he died, himself, before his children were grown? Before they were even born?

His father’s death had been down to chance, though, brought on by a harmful influence, not some heritable disposition. He had no reason to expect the same fate. In a year or two—or three, or four—when Carla’s work was done, they’d make the decision. She wasn’t spurning him, she wasn’t leaving him, and she wasn’t going to let herself die in the void.

Let herself? As if she’d have a choice about it, when the Object lit up like a star and engulfed the Gnat in its flames.

Carlo reached up and hooked his arm around the rope, then moved his hand through a full circle; the helix of rope bit into his forearm, but he locked his hands together and let the pain drive a spike of clarity into his thoughts. If they’d woken together—side by side, eyes still closed, oblivious to the plans of their waking lives—anything might have happened. He hoped that danger was past now, but at the very least there was still a chance that he might spew out some idiotic plea to Carla to change her mind.

He would wait here until morning. Wait a bell, then light a lamp, then wake his co to wish her a safe trip and a speedy return.

The great workshop where the Gnat and the beacons that had gone before it had been built was all but empty now. From the entrance, nothing could be seen rising from the once-crowded floor but a mound of half-disassembled scaffolding. When Marzio called out a greeting from afar, the echoes were so disorienting that Carlo couldn’t stop himself looking around for accomplices in some kind of aural prank. Carla raised a hand, and held off her reply until they were closer.

“Are we early?” she asked Marzio. No one else was in sight.

“Everyone’s early,” he said. “The others are down near the airlock.”

The three of them headed off together. Carlo was glad they had a guide; in the dim light from the ceiling’s moss, this part of the workshop looked as featureless as empty space.

“Viviana and Viviano spent the last three bells conducting final checks,” Marzio offered reassuringly. “Everything’s in good order, cleaned and calibrated.”

“Thank you,” Carla replied. Carlo took some comfort in the record of the beacons: of the gross that had been launched, only three had failed to light up after their long periods of dormancy. Marzio and his team knew how to build machinery that could function in the void, and Carlo trusted the astronomers to guide the Gnat to its destination. It was only the behavior of the Object itself that lay beyond anyone’s experience.

As they approached the airlock, Carlo could see some of the people gathered there, their bodies emerging feet-first from behind the horizon of the convex ceiling. A little nearer, he understood why there were a few more legs than he’d been expecting. The crew had decreed that only their families should see them off, but three Councilors had decided to put in an appearance, regardless.

Silvano stepped forward to greet Carla effusively. There was no throng of constituents to witness the gesture, no crowd on whose behalf he could claim the Object, but this moment could still feature in later speeches. By the time the next election rolled around, whatever good had come from that lump of rock might well be seen by half the Peerless as Silvano’s personal benison.

Councilors Prospero and Giusta didn’t hang back for long, either. Carlo was impressed that a full nine of their colleagues had deferred to the crew’s request for a private departure, but then, as incumbents when the Gnat ’s construction was approved they probably felt secure already in their ownership of the mission.

With Carla monopolized by the other Councilors, Silvano turned to Carlo. “You must be feeling proud.”

Carlo struggled to suppress his irritation. “You make it sound like she’s a child who just won a school prize. Today I’m more concerned with her safety.”

“Everything will be fine,” Silvano assured him.

“Really? How would you know?”

“I know that a lot of good people have done their best.”

Carlo gave up on the conversation. He knew that he should have been willing to tolerate a few platitudes from a well-meaning friend, but all he could hear in Silvano’s words these days was Councilor-speak.

Ivo was off to one side with his son and grandchildren, but he raised a hand in greeting to the new arrivals. Carla dragged Carlo past the politicians to join Ada and Addo, their father Pio, and Tamara.

“We should meet up at the observatory, just before the rendezvous,” Addo suggested enthusiastically. “Roberto was telling me that we might be able to see some signs of the first experiments.” Carlo listened with an awful fascination. Did he want to watch for those flares of light, and try to judge their significance from a distance? A sequence of orderly, isolated flashes would prove that the crew were still in control, but what would he make of a sustained light, or prolonged darkness? He watched Addo talking and talking, and wondered how peaceful his night had been.

Tamara said, “We should start boarding now.” The words were like a knife against Carlo’s skin, but there was nothing to be done about it.

He embraced Carla briefly. “Safe voyage,” he said.

“Stay happy,” she replied. “I’ll see you soon.”

As he stepped away, Tamara caught Carlo’s eye. “I’ll bring her back,” she said. Carlo nodded in acknowledgment, but he felt uneasy before her gaze, as if her ordeal might have left her with the power to judge exactly how close other men had come to repeating the sins of her co.

The crew separated from the onlookers. Carlo watched as the four fitted their cooling bags with practiced movements. Once they’d donned the bulky helmets it was hard to tell the women apart. The airlock was big enough for two people at a time; Ada and Tamara went through first. When it was Carla’s turn she raised a cloth-covered arm in farewell, then stepped through the door with Ivo.