The Clockwork Rocket

further, or the whole thing will be too patchy to have any real chance of working.”

Yalda wondered if she should wish him luck with his new endeavor and leave it at that, but then she decided that she had nothing to lose.

“You’re not tempted to join us?” she asked. “No one can see this through to the end, but you could watch over the Peerless for a little longer.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Eusebio’s face, hardening into defensiveness. “I always made it clear what my role would be. I never promised to do more than build the rocket.”

“I know,” Yalda said mildly.

“I could leave my children if I had to,” he admitted. “It’s my father who’s raising them, more than me. And it’s true that other people would champion the fire watch.” He trailed off.

Yalda fought against an urge to fill the silence, to tell him that she understood his choice and that she had no reason to reproach him for it. She didn’t want to hurt him or embarrass him. But she wanted to hear his whole answer.

“If I joined you,” Eusebio said, “and the Peerless failed… then I doubt that anyone else would have the resolve to try the same thing again. It would still be our only real chance to protect ourselves, but most people would see the whole idea as discredited. That’s why I’m staying. I need to be able to fight for this”—he gestured at the mountain that surrounded them—“all over again, if it comes to that.”

Yalda couldn’t fault his reasoning, but the prospect he was painting chilled her. She should have been happy to imagine a second chance for the people she was leaving behind, but the thought of even the Peerless being dispensable in the end didn’t do much to bolster her justification for her own choice.

She was spared the need to respond; an elderly man was approaching with an apologetic countenance. “I took a wrong turn,” he explained. “This place is a labyrinth.”

“Could you tell me your name, sir?”

“Macario.”

As Yalda fetched Macario’s tag, Eusebio left her and took to the stage. By the time the latecomer had his necklace in place, the hall had fallen silent.

“Welcome back to the Peerless,” Eusebio began. “It’s almost seven years now since I approached my friend and teacher, Yalda, to discuss what could be done about the Hurtlers. At that time, there didn’t seem to be much chance of defending ourselves. We barely understood what we were confronting—and most of what we did know only made us feel more powerless. But now we have the start of an answer. Across the world, the Peerless and its travelers are reason for hope.”

There were lamps throughout the hall, and no lighting technicians here to extinguish them and throw a spotlight on the stage. Yalda watched the audience with her rear gaze as Eusebio thanked them for their courage and commitment. She could see signs of apprehension here and there—bodies hunched anxiously, gazes lowered— but most people appeared steadfast, reconciled to their decision.

“My colleagues and I have worked as hard as we could to ensure that your journey will begin in safety and comfort. But I have never lied to you in the past and I won’t lie to you now: we don’t have the power to promise you anything. In spite of our best efforts, seven people have already died: six construction workers, and a volunteer undertaking a test flight. I can’t guarantee that in two days’ time, this whole mountain won’t be turned into rubble and flames. If anyone in this hall believes that can’t happen, then you should leave and return to your homes, because you are here under false premises.

“My colleagues and I have also tried to anticipate what you and your children will need in order to survive and flourish as the Peerless travels through the void. But nobody has made this journey before. There is no compendium of knowledge on these matters; there are no experts on the territory that lies ahead. If anyone has misunderstood this—if anyone thought that they’d been guaranteed the necessities of life for a dozen generations— then you, as well, should leave and look for those certainties elsewhere, because they are not present on the Peerless.”

Yalda understood Eusebio’s need to speak plainly, but she wondered if he wasn’t going too far. Many people were clearly uncomfortable now, and a few were visibly agitated. It was not that they were learning anything new, but everyone had their own way of dealing with the same difficult truths.

“In two days’ time, if all goes well, you will leave the world behind,” Eusebio continued. “Your fate will be in your hands then, not mine. But the Peerless is a complex machine, and though you have all been trained as thoroughly as possible for your particular duties, only a few of you understand that machine in its entirety. The process of education will continue—and I hope that within a generation or two every adult living in the Peerless will grasp its intricacies more fully than I do myself. For now, though, it is Yalda’s role to determine how best to operate this machine, how to ameliorate any crisis, how to resolve any dispute among you, and how to deal with any other difficulty or controversy that arises. Yalda, her deputy Frido, and whoever else she appoints to assist and advise her, are responsible for keeping you safe, and their decisions must be final. It’s not for me to tell you how the Peerless will rule itself in the eras to come, but as of this moment—and for as long as she sees fit—Yalda must be your sole authority. If you can’t promise her your absolute loyalty and obedience, then leave now, because you are a danger to everyone here.”

Only a few people were discourteous enough to respond to this proclamation by turning to stare appraisingly at Yalda, and she suspected that she was, by far, the traveler least satisfied with these arrangements. But since her omnipotence included the power of delegation, it was probably Frido who should have felt most put upon.

“To those of you I have persuaded to walk away tonight,” Eusebio said, “be assured that you’ve already earned my gratitude and respect, and you will not lose it by reappraising your position. But now I’m done with warnings and discouragement. To all of you who choose to remain—with your eyes open to the dangers and rigors ahead—my message is one of promise. Together, we’ve built this beautiful, intricate seed, and as we prepare to cast it into the void I believe that it has not only the resilience to survive, but also the capacity to grow into an extraordinary new civilization. I am already humbled by your courage and tenacity, but I leave you now with the hope that the achievements of your descendants will be the marvel of all ages. Good luck—and welcome to your home.”

As the audience began cheering, Yalda decided that Eusebio’s judgment had been right after all. If he’d said nothing to remind them of the risks they faced, all his praise would have sounded like empty flattery. Now, even if a handful of people backed out, those remaining could take some strength from the fact that they’d passed one more test of their resolve.

Eusebio called Frido to the stage. “I’m sure that everyone knows their stations for the launch,” Frido said, “but I need to ask you to wait here and confirm them with me, or Rina or Lavinia—they’ll be standing over to my right, shortly. And first of all, anyone leaving us, please come forward and return your name tags.”

A few people began moving tentatively toward the stage. Eusebio spoke briefly with Frido, then embraced him. Frido had told Yalda that it was the sight of his grandchildren that had swayed him into joining her; he’d been paid well enough for his work on the project to ensure that they’d want for nothing, but whatever the prospects for dousing a Hurtler’s fire, only the Peerless offered any hope of dealing with the coming orthogonal stars.

When they parted, Eusebio approached Yalda. “I need to get moving,” he said. “The evacuation’s on a tight schedule. Do you want to walk down with me?”

Yalda’s launch station was three strolls below the hall, almost at ground level. They could spend a day traveling together, reminiscing, exchanging their final thoughts.

“I need to stay here and see how many people we’ve lost,” she said.

“Frido and his staff can reallocate their duties,” Eusebio replied. “You have to trust them to handle things like that.”

“I do trust them,” Yalda said. “But I should be here with them, until everything is sorted out.”

“All right.” Eusebio seemed confused by her decision, but he wasn’t going to argue with her in front of so many onlookers. “Have a safe journey, then,” he said.

“You too.” She buzzed softly. “It’s going to be a long four years for both of us. Just don’t let my descendants find three suns when they get back.”

“I’ll do my best.” Eusebio met her gaze, trying to judge where things stood between them. Yalda let nothing show on her face but simple friendship and a contained sorrow at their parting. There was no untangling the rest of