Arthur Clarke: The Songs of Distant Earth

“That’s all; nothing happens. Nothing has happened here for six thousand years, since that night when the land barrier gave way and the sea poured in through the Pillars of Hercules.

“The Lento is my favourite movement, but I couldn’t end the symphony in such a mood of tragedy and despair. Hence the Finale, “Resurgence”.

“I know, of course, that Plato’s Atlantis never really existed. And for that very reason, it can never die. It will always be an ideal — a dream of perfection — a goal to inspire men for all ages to come. So that’s why the symphony ends with a triumphant march into the future.

“I know that the popular interpretation of the March is a New Atlantis emerging from the waves. That’s rather too literal; to me the Finale depicts the conquest of space. Once I’d found it and pinned it down, it took me months to get rid of that closing theme. Those damned fifteen notes were hammering away in my brain night and day…

“Now, the Lamentation exists quite apart from me; it has taken on a life of its own. Even when Earth is gone, it will be speeding out towards the Andromeda Galaxy, driven by fifty thousand megawatts from the Deep Space transmitter in Tsiolkovski Crater.

“Someday, centuries of millennia hence, it will be captured — and understood.”

Spoken Memoirs — Sergei Di Pietro (3411–3509).

“We’ve always pretended she doesn’t exist,” Mirissa said. “But now I would like to see her — just once.”

Loren was silent for a while. Then he answered, “You know that Captain Bey has never allowed any visitors.”

Of course she knew that; she also understood the reasons why.

Although it had aroused some resentment at first, everyone on Thalassa now realized that Magellan’s small crew was far too busy to act as tour guides — or nursemaids — to the unpredictable fifteen per cent who would become nauseated in the ship’s zero-gravity sections. Even President Farradine had been tactfully turned down.

“I’ve spoken to Moses — and he’s spoken to the captain. It’s all arranged. But it’s to be kept secret until the ship has left.”

Loren stared at her in amazement; then he smiled. Mirissa was always surprising him; that was part of her attraction. And he realized, with a twinge of sadness, that no one on Thalassa had a better right to this privilege; her brother was the only other Lassan to have made the journey. Captain Bey was a fair man, willing to alter the rules when necessary. And once the ship had left, only three days from now, it would not matter.

“Suppose you’re spacesick?”

“I’ve never even been seasick — ”

“— that doesn’t prove anything —”

“— and I’ve seen Commander Newton. She’s given me a ninety-five per cent rating. And she suggests the midnight shuttle — there won’t be any villagers around then.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Loren said in frank admiration. “I’ll meet you at Number Two Landing, fifteen minutes before midnight.”

He paused, then added with difficulty, “I won’t be coming down again. Please say good-bye to Brant for me.”

That was an ordeal he could not face. Indeed, he had not set foot in the Leonidas residence since Kumar had made his last voyage and Brant had returned to comfort Mirissa. Already, it was almost as if Loren had never entered their lives.

And he was inexorably leaving theirs, for now he could look on Mirissa with love but without desire. A deeper emotion — one of the worst pains he had ever known — now filled his mind.

He had longed, and hoped, to see his child — but Magellan’s new schedule made that impossible. Though he had heard his son’s heartbeats, mingled with his mother’s, he would never hold him in his arms.

The shuttle made its rendezvous on the day side of the planet, so Magellan was still almost a hundred kilometres away when Mirissa first saw it. Even though she knew its real size, it looked like a child’s toy as it glittered in the sunlight.

From ten kilometres, it seemed no larger. Her brain and eyes insisted that those dark circles round the centre section were only portholes. Not until the endless, curving hull of the ship loomed up beside them did her mind admit that they were cargo and docking hatches, one of which the ferry was about to enter.

Loren looked at Mirissa anxiously as she unbuckled her seatbelt; this was the dangerous moment when, free from restraints for the first time, the overconfident passenger suddenly realized that zero-gravity was not as enjoyable as it looked. But Mirissa seemed completely at ease as she drifted through the airlock, propelled by a few gentle pushes from Loren.

“Luckily there’s no need to go into the one-gee section, so you’ll avoid the problem of re-adapting twice. You won’t have to worry about gravity again until you’re back on the ground.”

It would have been interesting, Mirissa thought, to have visited the living quarters in the spinning section of the ship — but that would have involved them in endless polite conversations and personal contacts, which were the last things she needed now. She was rather glad that Captain Bey was still down on Thalassa; there was no need even for a courtesy visit of thanks.

Once they had left the airlock they found themselves in a tubular corridor that seemed to stretch the whole length of the ship. On one side was a ladder, on the other, two lines of flexible loops, convenient for hands or feet, glided slowly in either direction along parallel slots.

“This is not a very good place to be when we’re accelerating,” Loren said. “Then it becomes a vertical shaft — two kilometers deep. That’s when you really need the ladder and handholds. Just grab that loop, and let it do all the work.”

They were swept effortlessly along for several hundred metres, then switched to a corridor at right angles to the main one. “Let go of the strap,” Loren said when they had travelled a few dozen metres. “I want to show you something.”

Mirissa released her hold, and they drifted to a stop beside a long, narrow window set in the side of the tunnel. She peered through the thick glass into a huge, brightly-lit metal cavern. Though she had quite lost her bearings, she guessed that this great cylindrical chamber must span almost the entire width of the ship — and that central bar must therefore lie along its axis.

“The quantum drive,” Loren said proudly.

He did not even attempt to name the shrouded metal and crystal shapes, the curiously-formed flying buttresses springing from the walls of the chamber, the pulsing constellations of lights, the sphere of utter blackness that, even though it was completely featureless, somehow seemed to be spinning… But after a while he said:

“The greatest achievement of human genius — Earth’s last gift to its children. One day it will make us masters of the galaxy.”

There was an arrogance about the words that made Mirissa wince. That was the old Loren speaking again, before he had been mellowed by Thalassa. So be it, she thought; but part of him has been changed forever.

“Do you suppose,” she asked gently, “that the galaxy will even notice?”

Yet she was impressed, and stared for a long time at the huge and meaningless shapes that had carried Loren to her across the light-years. She did not know whether to bless them for what they had brought her or to curse them for what they would soon take away.

Loren led her on through the maze, deeper into Magellan’s heart. Not once did they meet another person; it was a reminder of the ship’s size — and the smallness of its crew.