the tinkling streams that cut swift ways through rock.
Indeed, here and there you even found a use for the tides. There were more watts lurking there, in kinetic energy. You fashioned push-plates to tap some of it, to run your substations. Thrifty gods do not have to suck up to (and from) Earthside.
And so the sphere that, when you began, had been the realm of strip miners and mass-driver camps, of rugged, suited loners… became a place where, someday, humans might walk and breathe free.
That time is about to come. You yearn for it. For you, too, can then manifest yourself, your station, as a mere mortal… and set foot upon a world that you would name Selene.
You were both station and more, by then. How much more few knew. But some sliver of you clung to the name of Benjan-
- Benjan nodded slightly, ears ringing for some reason.
The smooth, sure interviewer gave a short introduction. “Man… or manifestation? This we must all wonder as we greet an embodiment of humanity’s greatest-and now ancient-construction project. One you and I can see every evening in the sky-for those who are still surface dwellers.”
The 3D cameras moved in smooth arcs through the studio darkness beyond. Two men sat in a pool of light. The interviewer spoke toward the directional mike as he gave the background on Benjan’s charges against the council.
Smiles galore. Platitudes aplenty. That done, came the attack.
“But isn’t this a rather abstract, distant point to bring at this time?” the man said, turning to Benjan.
Benjan blinked, uncertain, edgy. He was a private man, used to working alone. Now that he was moving against the council he had to bear these public appearances, these… manifestations… of a dwindled self. “To, ah, the people of the next generation, Gray will not be an abstraction-”
“You mean the moon?”
“Uh, yes, Gray is my name for it. That’s the way it looked when I-uh, we all-started work on it centuries ago.”
“Yes you were there all along, in fact.”
“Well, yes. But when I’m-we’re-done,” Benjan leaned forward, and his interviewer leaned back, as if not wanting to be too close, “it will be a real place, not just an idea-where you all can live and start a planned ecology. It will be a frontier.”
“We understand that romantic tradition, but-”
“No, you don’t. Gray isn’t just an idea, it’s something I’ve-we’ve-worked on for everyone, whatever shape or genetype they might favor.”
“Yes yes, and such ideas are touching in their, well, customary way, but-”
“But the only ones who will ever enjoy it, if the council gets away with this, is the Majiken Clan.”
The interviewer pursed his lips. Or was this a he at all? In the current style, the bulging muscles and thick neck might just be fashion statements. “Well, the Majiken are a very large, important segment of the-”
“No more important than the rest of humanity, in my estimation.”
“But to cause this much stir over a world that will not even be habitable for at least decades more-”
“We of the station are there now.”
“You’ve been modified, adapted.”
“Well, yes. I couldn’t do this interview on Earth. I’m grav-adapted.”
“Frankly, that’s why many feel that we need to put Earthside people on the ground on Luna as soon as possible. To represent our point of view.”
“Look, Gray’s not just any world. Not just a gas giant, useful for raw gas and nothing else. Not a Mercury type; there are millions of those littered out among the stars. Gray is going to be fully Earthlike. The astronomers tell us there are only four semiterrestrials outside the home system that humans can ever live on, around other stars, and those are pretty terrible. I-”
“You forget the Outer Colonies,” the interviewer broke in smoothly, smiling at the 3D.
“Yeah-iceballs.” He could not hide his contempt. What he wanted to say, but knew it was terribly old-fashioned, was: Damn it, Gray is happening now, we’ve got to plan for it. Photosynthesis is going on. I’ve seen it myself - hell, I caused it myself-carbon dioxide and water converting into organics and oxygen, gases fresh as a breeze. Currents carry the algae down through the cloud layers into the warm areas, where they work just fine. That gives off simple carbon compounds, raw carbon and water. This keeps the water content of the atmosphere constant, but converts carbon dioxide-we’ve got too much right now-into carbon and oxygen. It’s going well, the rate itself is exponentiating-
Benjan shook his fist, just now realizing that he was saying all this out loud, after all. Probably not a smart move, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Look, there’s enough water in Gray’s deep rock to make an ocean a meter deep all the way around the planet. That’s enough to resupply the atmospheric loss, easy, even without breaking up the rocks. Our designer plants are doing their jobs.”
“We have heard of these routine miracles-”
“-and there can be belts of jungle-soon! We’ve got mountains for climbing rivers that snake, polar caps, programmed animals coming up, beautiful sunsets soft summer storms-anything the human race wants. That’s the vision we had when we started Gray. And I’m damned if I’m going to let the Majiken-”
“But the Majiken can defend Gray,” the interviewer said mildly.
Benjan paused. “Oh, you mean-”
“Yes, the ever-hungry Outer Colonies. Surely if Gray proves as extraordinary as you think, the rebellious colonies will attempt to take it.” The man gave Benjan a broad, insincere smile. Dummy, it said. Don’t know the real-politic of this time, do you?
He could see the logic. Earth had gotten soft, fed by a tougher empire that now stretched to the chilly preserve beyond Pluto. To keep their manicured lands clean and “original,” Earthers had burrowed underground, built deep cities there, and sent most manufacturing off-world. The real economic muscle now lay in the hands of the suppliers of fine rocks and volatiles, shipped on long orbits from the Outers and the Belt. These realities were hard to remember when your attention was focused on the details of making a fresh world. One forgot that appetites ruled, not reason.
Benjan grimaced. “The Majiken fight well, they are the backbone of the fleet, yes. Still, to give them a world -”
“Surely in time there will be others,” the man said reasonably.
“Oh? Why should there be? We can’t possibly make Venus work, and Mars will take thousands of years more-”
“No, I meant built worlds-stations.”
He snorted. “Live inside a can?”
“That’s what you do,” the man shot back.
“I’m… different.”
“Ah yes.” The interviewer bore in, lips compressed to a white line, and the 3Ds followed him, snouts peering. Benjan felt hopelessly outmatched. “And just how so?”
“I’m… a man chosen to represent…”
“The Shaping Station, correct?”
“I’m of the breed who have always lived in and for the station.”
“Now, that’s what I’m sure our audience really wants to get into. After all, the moon won’t be ready for a long time. But you-an ancient artifact, practically-are more interesting.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” Stony, frozen.
“Why not?” Not really a question.
“It’s personal.”
“You’re here as a public figure!”
“Only because you require it. Nobody wants to talk to the station directly.”
“We do not converse with such strange machines.”
“It’s not just a machine.”
“Then what is it?”
“An… idea,” he finished lamely. “An… ancient one.” How to tell them? Suddenly, he longed to be back doing a
