Michael Kube-McDowell - The Quiet Pools

“And I didn’t think I liked riding a Ferris wheel,” he said with a breathless joy.

“No view like this one anywhere on Earth.”

“Which way is north? I should know the constellations.”

“It took me weeks to learn to spot them up here,” she said. “There’s thousands more stars to fill in the patterns and spaces. There—Orion, off to the right. Can you see it? That reddish star is the shoulder—”

“I see it. Oh, God, this is beautiful—”

They stayed as long as their time allowed, through half a dozen reruns of the panoramic movie, each fractionally different from the last as Sanctuary spun along in its orbit. Christopher left the Moon Chamber reluctantly, and part of him stayed behind, still caught in wonder. The proof of that was the smile that lingered on his face all the way to the door of Shelter 24.

“It gives you a different way to look at things, doesn’t it?” he said when he had hugged her.

Deryn did not know just what he spoke of, so she simply agreed. But when she came to get Christopher that next morning, he seemed more at peace, and his first words were to ask how he might arrange to call home. She thought that a heartening sign, never dreaming that chaos was following close on the heels of the new calm.

Christopher had come to Sanctuary knowing that he would not be allowed to stay. But almost from the moment he arrived, the thought began forming that he also did not want to stay.

The suspicion was strengthened when first Deryn, then Anna X, shrugged off the Chi Sequence as inconsequential. It crystallized into a certainty in the Moon Chamber when, watching the darkened globe and the brilliant stars roll by, he suddenly understood that Anna X was right.

Earth had seemed so far away, the bustle of its billions shrunk to a pattern of lights in the night. And the stars that Memphis would soon reach for were unimaginably, unbelievably more distant. In the blink of the mind’s eye, scales shifted, values changed. What was Earth to Sanctuary? A foreign land in the grip of unfriendly forces. What was Sanctuary to Earth? Even less—a carnival ride in history’s sideshow. What happened on Sanctuary did not matter except to those few who called it home.

I don’t watch the news. It’s never about me . How many more felt that way, not only around the wheel, but around the world? It was the turning away, the turning inward. Daniel Keith had described it, and Jeremiah had feared it. Sanctuary was the vindication of a prophecy, the anticipation of the human prospect. It would spin along in its orbit year after year much as it was now, growing older rather than growing, ever more fragile in structure and frail in spirit. And someday, it would fail.

It was the future of the Earth, in microcosm. He required no further proof from Daniel, Deryn, or the midwives—from Sharron’s memory or his father’s legacy. Synthesis was his art and his magic, and the synergy was clear. The twilight of the will was approaching.

That being so, what was the best use of a life? The curtain would not ring down for decades, perhaps centuries. In that time, billions would pass through the whole cycle of existence, and most of the passages would be made in pain. Against that background, what was the moral act? Was it enough to simply take a turn on the wheel and then step aside?

In a life of watching, Christopher had learned to measure his expectations. Wanting little placed the goal within reach. Wanting nothing too badly mitigated disappointment. The path of least resistance beckoned. If he could not be happy, he could at least hope to temper the pain.

But that, too, was a turning away, into emptiness, into numbness. There was a better choice at hand. I’ll gladly trade choice for destiny and purpose , Daniel had said. Better still to choose destiny and purpose, to negate the tail-chasing pointlessness with a summary act of will. The moral act was the same in either conception of the world. A quiet life ending in a quiet death was a song sung in silence. To have meaning, it had to be heard.

In that light, the choice was easy, inevitable. Mercifully, there was still a chance to choose. He would go home and apply what tools he had to rebuild his family and rehearse his song. There was time for a child, for the treasures of his father’s world. And then, Gaea willing, he would join Daniel on Knossos in the first breath of the new century.

The phone in Deryn’s apartment was a simple videocom, barely smarter than an interactive TV, meant only for local messaging. To call out required the help of a tech in the Sanctuary communications center, which required in turn the permission of both Deryn and the station censor. And though Deryn left him alone with her blessing once the arrangements were complete, the censor remained on the line.

He had been off-net long enough that skylink greeted him with almost effusive cheeriness and a subscriber-update menu when he signed in. There were a dozen messages waiting, including blue-bar mail from Loi, Daniel, and the Vernonia District of the Oregon State Police. “Too many to wade through now,” he murmured. “Give me Loi’s.”

It was so long since Christopher had seen her face that he almost failed to listen, savoring the sight of her.

“I got your message, Christopher. I’m sorry so much has come down on you,” she said. “Take what time you need and do what you need to do. Come home when you can.” There was some tenderness in her tone, if not in the words.

He smiled to himself. “Call reply,” he said.

A dozen or so seconds later, Loi’s face returned to the screen. She was tousled and raccoon-eyed, and a beautiful sight.

“Hello, Loi.”

“Christopher?” She squinted off-screen. “Prodigal lover, it’s after four in the morning.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Never mind. Bad manners to do it, worse to complain. Where are you? How are you?”

“On Sanctuary. I didn’t think about the time difference. I’m not even sure what standard we’re on.”

She did not seem to need any explanation about his whereabouts. “Chris, this is showing a conference call. Who else is on?”

“The station censor. Probably being looped, too—I don’t know if this lag is normal.”

“Special treatment?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “I’ve missed you, Loi.”

“The house has been empty. Jessie moved out this weekend.”

“She went to John’s?”

Loi nodded, then rubbed an eye. “Kia was here last night, but mostly I’m alone here now. Are you coming back soon?”

“Tomorrow, I think. I haven’t talked to the Entry staff about openings on the shuttle yet. And I may have to borrow a nickel or two for the fare.”

“It’d be worth a nickel or two to have you back,” she said. “Let me know. Chris, have you been avoiding Daniel Keith?”

“Why?”

“He came by the house tonight, late, wondering if I knew how to reach you. He said he had to reach you before seven tomorrow morning. I mean this morning. He must not think me very bright, because he said it three times.”

“Everyone’s off-net up here. You need special permission just to order out for nachos,” Christopher said. “I’m surprised that Daniel tried to get me, though.”

“You’ve been popular with the oddest people. The Oregon State Police called. A lawyer in Portland. Roger Marshall even asked about you.”

“Who’s Roger Marshall?”

“The L.A. developer. He called to talk over a commission for the lobby of Daley Tower. He said he was sorry to hear about your father, wondered how you were doing.”

“I’ll be damned,” Christopher said. “How did he hear about that? Unless they moved faster than I thought—Loi, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find out what this means, and this phone can only do one thing at a time.”