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Eric Flint: Slow Train to Arcturus

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Eric Flint Slow Train to Arcturus

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And then, in a blaze of terawatt laser, came the Slowtrain's fusion plant's parting blessing. The sudden flash on those braking wings that had alerted the Miranese astronomers. The Slowtrain proceeded onward at its steady pace, to drop the next seed of humanity-New Eden-at a star 7.7 light-years away.

Unity continued its braking infall on Miran's sun and her companion. It would take two years to get into a suitable orbit before the solar sails must be converted to solar harvesters, and a lifecraft set out on the final leg of the journey home for the two Mirans aboard.

^ Epilogue

"Gentlemen, you miss the point of space engineering. The equipment needed to build a single habitat by melting an m-class asteroid, spinning it so that we centrifugally separate the metals, and then using the 'mosquito' to remove the fraction wanted for other purposes, and then injecting water to 'blow' it into a bubble is expensive, yes. But the process itself is simple and relatively cheap, even if getting there and setting up isn't. The point is-once we've got there and set up we're not just going to build one bubble. Even when humans get to other stars, the first thing they'll do is build more.

"We build. That's what we do. That's what we are."

Transcript of Dr. W. Andrea Asiago's address to the new-formed Interstellar Colonization and Exploration society, considered by many to be the germinal point of the Slowtrain Project. From: A Concise History of Human Space Colonization. P233, Chipattari, H, and Shah, G.D. (Ed)

There was much work to be done, but Howard made time to come to the observation pod. It was accessible from within the habitat through an airlock, having been hidden under the equatorial ridge. Now, as Unity spun on her axis, he could look through the floor and see the Slowtrain-an ever-shrinking, racing string of beads lit by their future sun. Then, when the habitat turned, he could see Miran's suns.

And in between, the vast emptiness. The glory of stars and space.

Lani put her arm around him. It was good to have him to herself for a bit-and to get his nose out of a screen. He read too much. He wanted to read everything.

He smiled at her.

"A penny for your thoughts. As long as they involve me and supper," she said lightly.

"Actually, I was being philosophical."

"Oh, dear. Why did I ask?" She gave him a squeeze. "Tell me."

"Well… Earth sent out its misfits. I suspect it also, unwittingly, sent out many of its best. I don't know that they realized that the two were one and the same, a lot of the time, and that they needed us, not that we needed them. They sent us their danger-loving probes, their troublemakers, their fighters, their radicals and their arch-conservatives. From what I have now read they sent us the stock that have always founded colonies. I think humans are like plants. You can't plant the same crop on the same ground forever. The plants use up the soil, even if they die there and fertilize it. Our species is a colonist one. A frontier one. We need to move and mix and dream."

Looking at the double star they were heading for, and the endless panoply beyond, Lani squeezed his hand. This was the dream. This infinity was space enough-just-for the biggest dream. She looked away from it and back at Howard, also looking out at infinity, at the same dream. She touched his cheek and kissed him. "Do you realize that-populated or not-each of the habitats is a laser relay station? We can send messages back to Earth… at lightspeed."

"Then we should," he said.

She shrugged. Earth's solar system seemed very far away and very insignificant. "What would we say to them? That people are not sociological experiments?"

He was silent for a while. "Maybe. But I would tell them that mankind is a colonist species and belongs on far frontiers. I would thank them for their unintended generosity. And what I would tell them was this: It's from a poem I recently read by an Earth poet called Emma Lazarus:

"Give me your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore."


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