David Brin - Heaven's Reach

And what about me? Harry pondered. A career with the Navigation Institute doesn’t offer much promise now. Even if Galaxy Four retains a few hyperspatial links, nobody’s gonna want to hire an E Space scout.

He eyed the blue world, which crept closer at a snail’s gait — the relative velocity determined solely by hard momentum and kinetic energy. Without microjumping to fine-tune the approach, landing could be difficult and dangerous.

They had a pretty good pilot, of course. So that part didn’t worry Harry, much. But once the station was down, it might never leave again. Antigravity relied on tricks that involved balancing forces from several layers of hyperspace. With most of those layers gone, the field generators would probably never be able to push hard enough to climb free of Jijo’s heavy pull.

Most likely, it’s a planet-bound life from now on.

Heck, at least it’s a life.

Jijo sure looked a whole lot better than dusty Horst. Even prettier than Terra, in fact.

And there are neo-chimps here … though of an earlier breed that couldn’t talk yet. Other than that, Dwer says they’re pretty civilized.

He sighed.

I guess being the “ape that speaks” should set me apart.

That … and my white fur …

… and my … tail.

It was enough to make him chuff dry laughter. What an ironic reversal of his time on Earth, where the chatty, sophisticated chims found him taciturn and slow. Here, his mates and grooming partners would scarcely bug him with irritating gossip.

For conversation, I’ll have six other sapient races in the “Commons of Jijo”—or eight, if you include dolphins and tytlal. And soon, chimps will make nine.

He glanced at Kaa, whose brilliant piloting had brought them here, safe and mostly sound. So anxious was the dolphin for those warm coastal waters — and to find his Peepoe — that it might take some persuasion to get him to land ashore first and let everyone else debark.

“Well, well. It is a winsome little place,” commented Kiwei Ha’aoulin. “I suppose it should do for a spell, while I assess the commercial possibilities.”

Harry shook his head. The Synthian had apparently retreated into her former madness, assuming that everything would soon return to normal. For her sake, Harry hoped Kiwei remained cheerful and crazy for the rest of her life, because she would spend it all here, in a small corner of Galaxy Four.

Kaa tossed his dark gray head, emitting a worried sputter.

“I’m detecting shipssss!”

Harry rushed to his instruments.

“I see ’em. They’re mostly behind us. Your last couple of crazy jumps took us past ’em! We’ll reach Jijo weeks before they do.”

Peering closer at the readout, he went on.

“They’re mostly small craft — lifeboats, scouts, shuttles. Survivors, I guess, from those fleets who got torn up in B Space, during the Rupture.” He paused, pulling nervously on both thumbs. “They’re headin’ for the only refuge in sight. The same place we are.”

Dwer blew a long sigh. “So, even if the Commons managed to get rid of the Jophur garrison while we were away, the danger isn’t over.”

Harry nodded. By standards of his former civilization, the oncoming forces were pathetic and weak. Some of the lifeboats would not make it. Others would burn in Jijo’s atmosphere. Still, the remnant would be far more than his little station could stave off. Soon, the Jijoans would face real troubles.

And, he realized, the coming confrontation could have long-lasting repercussions.

Unless there were other sooner outposts, hidden on fallow planets elsewhere in Galaxy Four, this may be the one place where oxygen breathers exist with knowledge and experience of starfaring.

Even if hyperspace is completely cut off, a culture will someday expand outward from Jijo. That culture may fill this entire galaxy, starting a new tradition of Uplift when it comes across promising species along the way.

The implications chilled Harry.

Whoever wins control of Jijo, this year, may establish the morality — the whole social ethos — of that star-spanning civilization to come.

Harry had already been willing to give his life for one community. Now, it seemed there would be no rest. Before even partaking of Jijo’s food and air, he must decide to become part of this new world and take on its troubles as his own.

From what I’ve heard, this Commons of Six Races was a pretty impressive bunch. If Dwer and Rety — and Alvin and Ur-ronn — are any indication, the Jijoans will put up a stiff fight.

He patted the console of his trusty old station. Maybe we can help just a bit, eh?

Their approach spiral took them over Jijo’s dark side, below a big moon that Dwer identified as “Loocen.” Harry exclaimed when he spied a line of bright sparkles along the day-night boundary. Glistening cities shone in a long crescent across the airless surface. Then he realized.

Reflections. Sunlight, that’s all it is, caught at an angle as dawn creeps across the lunar surface. The domes are silent, lifeless. They have been ever since the fabled Buyur departed — how long ago? Half a million years?

Still, he admitted. It is a pretty sight. And maybe someday—

A piping cry made Harry turn around.

Rety was standing by a far window, obstinately refusing to look at the soft beauty of her homeworld. Sullen, with arms crossed, she ignored repeated calls from her “husband,” the miniature male urs called yee. The little centauroid stood on the windowsill, prancing with all four delicate feet, reaching out with his long neck to nip Rety’s shoulder, then gesture at the view outside.

“look, wife! look at this sight!”

“I seen it before,” she muttered sourly. “Scenery. Mountains an’ bushes an’ dirt. Lots of dirt. No ’lectricity or computers, but all the dirt you could ever want to—”

“not scenery!” yee interrupted, “turn and see fireworks!”

Rety stayed obdurate. But others hurried to find out what the little fellow meant. “Douse interior lights,” Harry ordered so glare from the observation deck would not drown the view outside.

Jijo’s night stretched below, a dark coverlet that might come ablaze with city lights within a few generations, no matter who won the coming battle. Now, though, the expanse showed no visible sign of sapience that Harry could detect, even with instruments. Well, the Six Races have been hiding for a long time, he thought. They must be good at it by now.

It was interesting to imagine what kind of starfaring civilization might arise out of the Jijoan Commons, with its fervent traditions of environmental protection and tolerance, and yet an easygoing individualism when it came to endeavor and new ideas. Something pretty interesting, assuming it survived the coming crisis.

At first, Harry saw nothing to justify yee’s excitement. Then Dwer nudged him, pointing to the right.

“Look. A spark.”

“How pretty,” Kiwei commented.

It did look like a flickering ember, blown upward from a campfire, wafting — gently and very slowly — out from that thin film of atmosphere into the black sky above.

“Observer mode,” Harry commanded. “Zero in on the anomaly I’m looking at, and magnify.”

The computer scanned his eyes, judged the focus of his attention, and complied. A holo image erupted, showing the strangest object Harry had ever seen, despite years spent exploring the weird memic corners of E Space.

A long, slender tube hurtled upward pointy-end first … and from its tail poured gouts of white-hot fire.

“It … looks like a burning tree!” Kiwei murmured in amazement.

“Not a tree,” Dwer corrected. “It’s boo!”

Curiosity finally overcame Rety, who turned around at last — barely in time to see the flame go out. While the slim missile coasted for several seconds, Harry’s instruments measured its size, which was many times bigger than his station!