“But then the rivers saw us. They saw the Great Ship. Here was the first genuine marvel. A billion years old, and the organisms had finally found their superior. And because of that, they made promises to do everything possible to gain passage on our grand home.”
She paused, returning Amund’s gaze.
Did he understand any of this?
The man was sitting up, which was unusual. But this was an important, sit-upworthy moment. That body would never adapt to the high gees, yet he never complained about aches or the occasional cracked bone. Rococo held some uncharitable opinions about Amund, but despite being doubtful and sullen, the man never quit proving that he was also an exceptionally tough mortal.
“What does that mean?” the luddy asked. “‘The speed of belief?’ ”
Mere glanced at her colleague. “Would you like to explain?”
“You’ll manage so much better,” Rococo said instantly. The portrait of gracious confidence, he had no interest in trying to convince the others that he knew what he was saying.
Mere nodded and thankfully continued.
“Belief isn’t thought,” she said. “And belief isn’t a reflex either. What we believe is woven into our nature, and regardless of how we act and what we say, we can never kill the voice that says, ‘This is what should be, and the rest of it is wrong.’
“And the principle of belief … well, that can be far, far more important inside giant creatures. Vast minds have to work around their size and sluggish reflexes. That’s why convictions are something held everywhere at once. Every million tons of neurological matter is infused with complex expectations and stubborn faiths. The river has one mind, yes. But not a mind we would recognize. Spread yourself across thousands of kilometers. Trillions of tons of stubborn water. That’s what I think we’re watching here. At some level, the rivers decided to embrace this new existence, building industries and reactors and tremendous new machines. Except nothing was decided. One belief had the power, and that power was wielded right up until the contrary belief decided enough was the hell enough.”
Rococo stopped her. Lifting a hand, he said, “Wait. That last transmission, the one that got cut out in the middle.”
Mere nodded, smiling grimly.
“The largest river was sending us some very detailed plans,” he said. “Plans for the conquest of its solar system, including construction of a hundred billion kilometer long river that would spiral out from the sun. A living river thriving inside cultured diamond and fusion light.”
“That might have been the trigger,” Mere admitted. “A fantasy of dream and high physics, and it was too much. Too crazy, too wild. Too dangerous. There’s no being certain here, but sure, that’s why the conservative beliefs had enough and panicked. One daydream, and that’s what nearly killed this world.”
Amund was relatively young, not particularly gray, and carrying those boyish eyes. But his voice had always been older than his appearance, more lucid, and far more thoughtful than Rococo might have expected.
Speaking plainly and slowly, Amund said, “This giant mess. What we’re flying toward. You’re claiming it’s because some voice or voices told a story nobody else liked?”
Mere said, “I don’t know.”
Then, “But I believe that’s possible, yes.”
There was a joke here, but nobody laughed. Glancing at Rococo, Mere’s expression grew even more serious than before. Something new had to be shared, perhaps something that she just discovered.
“What else?” Amund asked.
“What else?” Rococo echoed.
“There’s another belief at work here,” she warned. “I can see it in the last few broadcasts. The rivers that are alive now … they don’t just simply hate the deal made with us. They’re acting like they don’t want to allow us to come close. Maybe we’re contaminants. Or we’re a disease. Perhaps we’re even monsters.”
“But you are all those things,” Amund said. “Didn’t you know?”
The immortals tried to laugh, and the luddy grinned while saying nothing else.
Closing her eyes, Mere examined the latest data.
Rococo couldn’t shake that crippling premonition of being doomed.
“Their world’s mangled,” she reported. “But there’s enough organization and industry left to throw new satellites into orbit. Right now, my best look is showing me a single pusher stardrive powered by hundred-megaton charges. It’s orbiting close to the sun. Judging by its orbit and its focus, I’d guess that it’s watching a specific piece of the sky. The piece of sky that we’ll fall out of. And it could be used to intercept intruders. Which is nobody except for us.”
Their engines surged or Rococo was suddenly weaker. Either way, he felt his legs folding, delivering him to the cabin’s floor.
“Any more splendid news?” Amund asked.
“Actually there is good,” she said. “The rivers tried to attack our other streakship. I don’t know how many bombs were launched. But what’s the difference between a comet approaching at half-light speed and a fusion charge bearing down at a few thousand kilometers per hour? The difference is that bombs are easier to stop. Lasers tore them apart. Only a few detonated, and those at a distance, and the streakship’s armor is too high-grade and proud to shatter.”
She paused long enough to sigh.
“Our salvation ship claims to be ready to launch, and that’s what I would make it do now. I’d launch it now and have it meet us and save us. If I could get the orbital motions to agree. But the motions don’t work and never will. The one blessing we have is that if we survive the megatons, and if we live to reach the surface, and if we happen to be in walking distance too … well, then we have a viable way home.”
One of them was destined
