David Marusek: Mind Over Ship

To them I say that no sacrifice is too dear and no danger too great to ensure the very survival of our human species .

A second Eleanor clone, Elaine Starke, along with a Cabinet clone, attended the ceremony from the ESV Garden Hybris . All of the ship’s illustrious plankholders not in the crypts had gathered before a giant holoframe in Nightlight, one of the four inhabited drums. Cabinet appeared as a fashionable young woman, the same age as Elaine; it was the old mentar’s first new persona in fifty years. The clone of Million Singh, Seetharaman, was also present, as well as clones of Andrea Tiekel and E-P.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Elaine whispered.

“Don’t get cocky,” warned her mentar.

What will we find when we arrive at our new homes? That’s an open question. For a century, deep-space probes have reported alien lifeforms, but thus far none which we recognize as intelligent beings. Are we the only biological intelligence in the universe? Perhaps our definition of intelligence is too narrow, too specio-centric .

In the next Hybris hab drum over, and in the next few dozen more, in the core of the drums where it was weightless even under rotation, were the biostasis crypts. And in the crypts, among the inert colonists, lay thousands of secret soldiers of one stripe or another. Some were only slumbering, ready to answer their leader’s call at once, and some were dry and brittle, like old paper, tucked away for the long haul.

In one cryocapsule crouched, not a human soldier, but a mentar with a rare tolerance for solitude. In its pasty brain festered schemes and plots of mass destruction.

For, are not trees intelligent, who know to shed their leaves at the end of summer? Are not turtles intelligent, who know when to bury themselves in mud under the ice? Is not all life intelligent, that knows how to pass its vital essence to new generations?

And among the sleeping soldiers and colonists in the crypts lay one apart, a woman who had forgotten the meaning of life.

While at Trailing Earth, a man in a bar attended to a conversation in his spex.

“What will you do now, Commander?”

“What do you mean? I’m coming aboard. You agreed to smuggle me aboard.”

“Not yet. There’s still some time. We suggest you return to Earth while you still can.”

“I won’t leave Mary alone.”

“But you’ll never be able to quicken her without a cure, will you? And you won’t find a cure up here. Don’t worry about Mary; we’ll take excellent care of Mary.”

Because half of intelligence resides in the body, be it plant or animal .

And on Earth, in a carton in the evidence room of the Chicago police department, among the physical clues of a triple kidnapping at the Lin/Wong gigatower, lay the smashed and lasered bits of a tiny blue mech. A timer switch inside the dead mech closed, and its noetics rebooted and released its millions of self-repair bots.

While under the Earth there pooled a slurry of quicksilver honey and pollen.

I now commend these brave colonists to the galaxy, to join their minds and bodies to the community of living beings they will encounter there, and to establish our rightful place among the stars .

Merrill Meewee swiped a control plate that sent a signal racing to a relay station orbiting the Earth that dispatched five invisible particle beams across space to the waiting Oships. The celebrants in the skybox milled about, drinking champagne and entertaining each other for 8.33 minutes as the beams found their torus targets, and another 8.33 minutes as pictures returned to Earth. Then everyone turned to the ships and cheered with one voice. The five hoops were encased in shivering energy that nudged them the first precious millimeters of their arrogant voyage.

Mary gulped cold water and awoke in a panic. There were bubbles — bubbles! — streaming from her nose.