27. I was halfway through what I can best describe as a thick stew when I remembered. The stew was composed of vegetables, nuts and a species of leaves I could not identify, flavoured with spices equally unidentifiable but no less delicious for that. I swallowed my mouthful and put the spoon down.
“You told me you were going to show me a memory.”
Noema paused in the act of raising her spoon. “Yes.”
“But not like the dreams. Not images or visions, just....knowing something.”
“Yes. See in mind, not with eyes.”
“It will prove God exists?”
“It will show what is after death.”
“I didn’t see it when I was with you. We don’t see everything of each other there?”
“No. It is like when I see with eye of worm. I cannot look everywhere all at same time. Must look in one place, then another. Human mind has many memories. I not know where to look. When you wish to remember worm help you find your memory. But already you must know what you look for. When I see you I not see all your memories. But if you remember then I see.”
“That makes sense. A library. Only the librarian knows where a book is.”
“Yes. Like that.”
“And the memories you gave me. You remembered them first and the worm implanted them into my memory.”
“Worm put my memories where you dream them later.”
I leaned back. “I had one dream in the Hab. Very odd, now that I think of it. I saw you in a desert with pink mountains and two suns. The light was dim. The funny thing was that I spoke to you and you spoke to me. It must have been just an ordinary dream.”
Noema’s eyes were on me. “What you say in dream?”
“Something about your purpose and how it would be revealed in the end.”
Noema was no longer eating. I finished my bowl, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
“It was a real memory, wasn’t it?” I finally said.
“Yes.”
“Who was speaking to you?”
“I not know. I never see him. I hear him speak a few times. Then time come when I wish no more of it. I say to myself I am mad. Then voice speak no more. I tell no-one of it.”
“Do you think it was a hallucination—a trick of the mind?”
Noema shrugged. “For centuries I never have such a thing. Then one day I walk alone in a world and a voice speaks to me. Is that....trick of the mind? I not know what to think.”
“Why did you give that memory to me?”
“I not give it. I not know you have it. Perhaps worm not choose well, put in your mind more than I ask.”
“That makes sense. You were doing it for the first time.”
Personally I had no doubt about what to think of the whole thing. Spend a few thousand years worrying about something as radical as the extinction of one’s whole species and any mind would end up doing something about it. We need some sort of reassurance about our existence, that it is going somewhere, means something. If we don’t get reassurance from the outside then sooner or later we supply it from within.
I wanted to tell Noema my theory but was afraid it would sound dismissive if expressed in words. Let the thoughts speak for themselves when we were together again in the worm. In any case it didn’t much matter. We had more important things to think about. But there was one other thing that made me curious.
“You don’t live here,” I said.
Noema looked around. “No. After Tubal die I not wish to stay here. It is too empty.”
“Where do you stay now?”
“There.” She pointed upwards at an angle. “You wish to see?”
“We have time?”
“We have some hours before we are near Deimos. Come.”
We took the path that led down to the lakeshore. The flat-bottomed boat lay on the grass. I pushed it to the water and we stepped in.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Other end of lake,” Noema answered.
The lake wound between the trees like a wide mirror, its smooth surface reflecting perfectly the green growth above it. As I punted I looked around, taking in the great arches of branches that splayed above my head and the undisturbed glassiness of the lake, then I glanced at Noema, her gaze abstracted, her hand trailing in the water.
After about a mile the far end of the lake came into view. It widened at this point, forming a round body of water in the middle of which was an island. It was about a hundred metres wide, partly covered with trees, and near a sandy shore facing us was a flat-roofed house, similar to the building we had left, but smaller.
As the boat touched the lake bottom I stepped out and pulled it up onto the sand, then offered Noema my hand. The house, of the same yellow-grey mud-brick as the building I had stayed in, was about twenty metres further up. A path, made of large, flat cobblestones, led from the beach to an open doorway in the wall nearest the water. But what really held my interest was the cat.
It was lying on a large stone step before the doorway, fast asleep. As we approached it stirred, rose up and arched its back. Noema stooped to scratch it behind its ears. It purred.
“Heh, gul gu, gullum gu,” she said affectionately.
The cat purred louder, rubbing its cheek against her hand.
There was a rustling in the undergrowth beyond the house. A moment later a dog erupted from leaves and bounded towards us. It was about the size of a terrier, dark brown, and otherwise unremarkable. It stopped before Noema, tongue hanging out. She ran her hand along its back.
“As-e, ur gu, as-e.”
I went down on my haunches. The cat ignored me whilst the dog sniffed my proffered hand with interest. After a few moments I gave it a pat on the head. It was friendly, clearly a pet and not a guard dog. I stood upright.
“I wondered if you had taken any original species onto the worm.”
“We change many plants and animals so they live well on worm. But also bring seeds of plants and animals as An make them. Cat, dog, wheat, barley. Things our people know from beginning.”
“But why haven’t I seen a familiar species until now?”
“I hide them from you. Show you essur but not bird. Give you food you not know. So you think I am from other world. I take away all plants you know before you come in worm.”
“That must have taken a long time.’
“Many months.”
I followed Noema through the doorway—which had no door—into a single, large room, the only one in the building as evidenced by windows in all its four walls. The room served as bedroom, lounge, kitchen and dining room. A low wickerwork bed sat in one corner, a hearth in another, what looked like a wardrobe in a third, and the middle of the room was occupied by a table and a chair. A second small table was placed beneath a window. By the hearth wooden shelves held kitchen utensils. A polished bronze mirror hung on the wall by the bed, at the foot of which was an ornate chest. Two lamp holders were fixed to the walls. The overall effect was of tasteful simplicity.
I envisaged us both dwelling here. As spacers we had been encouraged by NASA to get used to living in small apartments to acclimatize ourselves for the months we would spend in the confines of the Terra Nova. But even without taking that into consideration I instantly liked what I saw. A small house on an island in the middle of a tranquil lake surrounded by a vast hall of trees. I understood why Noema had chosen to live here.
“You built it?”
“Yes. It is not much.”
“It’s perfect.”
“You happy to stay here?”
I took her hands. “I am.”
For a few long moments we said nothing, our eyes seeking a sign from each other. We are already one in mind and heart, I thought, let it be consummated. But then something else emerged: not a thought, more a memory. You have come so far, do not fail now. My heart strove with itself, my will undecided.
Noema saw my hesitation and glanced away, her cheeks reddening slightly.
I kissed her on the forehead. “When the time is right.”
Two hours later we stood at the end of the luminescent passage.
“Put hand on door,” said Noema.
I complied. A moment passed then the doorway peeled back. The worm knew me now.
We took our places on the wide couch-like chair. Noema turned to me.
“I say this is not memory. I not know if you see it, that for An to decide. I can only show you time and place when I see it. Then you see what you see.”
“So there may be a no-show.”
Noema gave a shrug. “Perhaps there is nothing.”
“Then I’ll just have to make do with your company.”
We leaned back. For a few moments there was nothing except a tingling at the back of my head and then, suddenly, I was surrounded by the vast awareness of the worm’s mind. Come play, came Noema’s thought. Come find me.
For some time—it was impossible for me to estimate how long—the game went on. This time I felt more confident.
Can I join in?
Yes. Come see, come see, come see.
I was in the mood for a bit of fun. I touched minds with the worm, a light playful pat. It liked it. Soon we were leaping back and forth in a dance between affection and apparent coolness. It was exhilarating, the speed and freedom of mental play far exceeding its physical equivalent, and it was entirely made up of a simple and affectionate rapport between the human and animal mind. It raised a question.
Did Tubal play with the worm?
No, he ruled it like a master. It took me a long time to teach the worm not to stoop before me, to forget when he was like a slave.
He could not turn against Tubal?
Tubal raised him from a seed. He did not know anything else. And Tubal was not cruel to him, just firm.
Ah.
Gradually Noema took over the game—I understood where she was going and mentally leaned back. Finally the worm’s mind hovered before her, eager to do her bidding. Tubal I was certain would have cut short all such preliminaries.
Show him, show him what I see.
The worm absorbed the request of its mistress then flowed around me. My vision of the chamber faded. All about there was nothing except a vast starry expanse. The picture shifted. One star drew near, I could make out its reddish disc and see the planets orbiting it, all gas giants. I waited.
See them?
Just the star and its worlds.
The view shifted again. A different system came into view. Two stars orbiting each other with a circlet of planets, one glowing red-hot. Time passed but nothing else appeared. My mind darted back to the island. I heard your voice. I stood firm. Let me see what she sees. The stars and their planets remained unchanged, but gradually the impression grew that I was not alone in watching them. Minds other than Noema’s and mine admired their power and beauty, minds that were quick and fierce and exultant.
As I became aware of them I realised that they were taking concrete form—no, not quite—they were moving from place to place, applying their intellects to one planet, then another, absorbing the wonders of each: the vast blue methane clouds over one, the glowing rivers of fire on another, the deep subterranean oceans under a third.
I had thought them fierce, but saw that they were in fact intensely alive. Their thoughts sparkled like diamonds, their wills were as hard as adamant, but utterly devoid of the dead hardness of pride. I could not see the source of their joy, surely not the beauty of the worlds they admired?
No. They see An.
What are they?
Humans.
I froze in shock. It was impossible. My mind was like lead compared to these brilliant flashes of intellect, my will paralytic next to their utter singularity of purpose. I can’t think of better terms to describe it. I was a shadow—we both were shadows—near their dazzling luminescence. And I realised then that it was not a memory I was seeing.
Do they see us?
They have other business. They are not concerned about us at all.
I was happy for it to stay that way. I could not bear their looking at me. Not here, where my thoughts and the swirl of my intentions lay so openly exposed.
Yes, it is the light of An in them. They show us as we are.
We are not fit to be with them.
No, not yet. Neither of us.
I felt her sadness. It was my own. Something was stirring within me, a strange, vast, indefinable longing, a yearning that had no name, no object, but felt its own aching lack before the intense abundance of the beings that leapt back and forth before my gaze. What did they have? Noema called it An—God—but what did that mean? I had thought the comfort of his presence I had felt in prayer was as much as one could ever wish for. Now I realised that it was almost nothing at all.
I have seen enough.
Now you know the curse.
The two suns and their planets faded from my consciousness and the door of the chamber came back in focus. I closed my eyes then opened them and looked across at Noema. She looked back at me. We said nothing for many moments. I smiled ruefully.
“That was a brutal lesson.”
“Truth not always easy.”
“That may be, but I’m hoping you don’t have any more truths in store for me.”
She took my hand. “Like this nothing more.”
I stood up and walked to the doorway, then turned back.
“I’m glad you showed me. Some time, just not too soon, show me again.”
28. I sat on the pod’s chair, alone. For the third time the two leafy layers were open, anchored in the powder and grit surface of Deimos. The black starry expanse of space spread around me, the vast black outline of the worm above my head, one side with a white border like an irregular crescent of a moon. I could not see Mars. Like any satellite too close to its parent body, Deimos was tidally locked, one side always facing the planet. I had landed on the opposite side.
Raw sunlight illuminated the surface of this tiny world, revealing a bright grey vista of low, smoothly rounded hillocks punctuated by meteorite craters filled with black shadows, and a horizon so close it seemed the ground fell away on all sides. I was virtually weightless. My hands, stuck to the chair’s armrests by a strong adhesive bond, kept me from drifting away, but as an additional precaution I had fastened some rope around my spacesuit and tied the other end securely to the elevator cord.
The plan had been carefully worked out. Once the elevator reached the surface of Deimos, Cloe was to alter the Terra Nova’s orbit around the moon until the ship passed close by the spot where the pod was anchored in the regolith. She would then leave the ship and cross the last couple of hundred metres of space in an EVA suit. When she was close enough I would grab hold of her. She would sit in the chair—or rather perch on the edge of it as I had done—whilst I kept a grip on the cord. The leaves would then close up and a quarter of an hour later we would be in the worm.
“Cloe, can you hear me?”
For the past hour during the brief periods the leaves remained unfurled I had called on the suit radio, without a response. Once the Terra Nova rose above the moon’s uneven horizon I would be in radio range. I just had to keep calling until I got a reply.
“ Cloe, I’m on the surface. Do you read?”
“I read you, Jason.”
“Good. Can you see me?”
“I’m getting a directional fix. I don’t have visual yet. OK, I’ve mapped your signal to Deimos, I know where you are. I’m doing an orbital adjustment. Give me about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll call you when the pod opens again.”
The headphones fell silent. A few minutes later the inner leaves twitched then curled upwards, recreating the inner chamber. The pod could not expose itself to the vacuum of space for very long. Time passed. Then as suddenly as they had closed up the inner leaves opened out again.
“Cloe?”
“I’ve done it. I’ll be there in an hour ten minutes, coming from south-south-east.”
“Ready and waiting.”
I lifted my gloves from the armrests, swinging myself about as I did so. I was now floating free. A gentle tug on the rope pulled me to the elevator cord. Gripping it with one arm I steadied myself then waved my other arm above my head. It was the signal. The leaves shivered for a moment, then closed up around me again. Noema had seen me. She would keep the pod closed until the Terra Nova was almost upon it.
The ship would need to complete another orbit before initiating its final approach towards me. There was no way of hurrying the process. Relative to Deimos the Terra Nova was moving at 14 km/h, a little below the average running speed of a man. A single low orbit covered a distance of 22km. I would have to wait.
I kept an eye on my watch. An hour later I was ready. As the pod opened itself again I was facing the direction the Terra Nova would appear. The minutes ticked by. I could see nothing. Then, among the motionless pinpoints of the stars I could make out a tiny glint, climbing with infinitesimal slowness above the grey line of bleached hills. If Cloe had done the adjustment correctly the ship’s orbit would now be elliptical, more or less following the irregular oval shape of the moon but approaching to within a couple of hundred metres of the surface at the place where the pod had landed. I watched the approaching glint anxiously. Any mistake and the Terra Nova would crash into Deimos, possibly rupturing the crew habitat and killing or trapping Cloe in the process.
The gleaming dot of light grew brighter and took shape, resolving itself into the front end of the ship. Then a few moments later a second glint separated from the Terra Nova, dropping down towards the moon. As the ship’s details became discernible the point of light below it also grew into the bulky shape of a space suit.
“I see you Cloe. Do you have visual?”
“I see you.”
“If the pod closes up, wait. When it opens again come in right away.”
The seconds passed. The space suit grew larger. I could not yet make out Cloe’s face. The thin layer of gold that coated the polycarbonate plastic of her visor reflected all infra-red radiation but also a good portion of visible light, making it difficult to see through it. All right, girl, nearly there. Start slowing down, that’s it. Now come closer.
About five metres from me the spacesuit came to a complete halt. I waited.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. There was no reply.
“Cloe?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“If I come you will do nothing.”
I did not reply.
“Jason, let me do it.”
“No.”
“Somebody must do it. You should live. You love her. You’ll take good care of her. Let me do it.”
“No. Never. If it’s anyone it’ll be me.”
“I can’t live for myself. I can’t be like him. We have to save them.”
“I will not....”
“I can’t let them die.”
There was a silence.
“Make her understand. Maybe the worm can be programmed to do it all on its own. Then you can both come with me and we’ll be safe. But I’m not going with you. I’m sorry, Jason.”
With that the spacesuit slowly turned upwards and began to head back towards the Terra Nova.
“Cloe. Come back. Please. We’ll find a way, it’ll be all right. But come back.”
“Find a way, Jason.” And the speakers fell silent. Cloe had switched off her radio.
For a wild moment I contemplated launching myself with all my strength towards her. But I knew the idea was insane. I would almost certainly miss her. She might never see me, and by the time she knew what I had done I would be miles away from my starting point, far out of radio range, impossible to find and soon dead. I gripped the cord, helpless. After what seemed an eternity the leaves twitched and closed up, sealing the pod shut. There was a jolt. The pod had begun to move. Noema must have seen what happened and told the worm to bring me back.
For some time I stayed where I was, holding the elevator cord. Finally I levered myself into a sitting position on the chair, hands on the armrests to keep me in place whilst the pod moved through the worm’s airlocks. A few minutes later the pod’s leaves opened up. The great trees rose up around me. Noema stood a few metres away.
“What happen?”
I removed my helmet then opened the backpack and slowly pulled the suit off me. I contemplated it as it lay on the humus of the forest floor.
“She won’t come.”
“Why?”
I didn’t answer, but let my eyes wander over the nearest row of tree trunks before me. Nature in her habitual state is motionless: silent, serene, settled. Very little changes and every change is simply part of a cycle that constantly renews itself, making the natural order immortal even if no single organism in it can live forever. No wonder humans worshipped it, envying its peace.
“She wants to take the worm to Ganymed.”
Noema looked at me but remained silent. I held her gaze for a few moments then turned back to the forest. Neither of us spoke.
“What you do?” she finally asked.
“Go back to Mars. Talk to her and make her come.”
“You not make her do anything. If she come she come because she wish it. If she think stay here is wrong then it is worst thing she come.”
She was right of course. I bowed my head, suddenly weary. The world was not a tube twelve metres long. It was not a living vessel four hundred times longer. The world was the world, filled with nine billion human beings, that stretched all the way to Mars, to the Terra Nova, to the worm, to me. But my heart was given to Noema.
“Then we wait. She can return to Earth or come to us.”
“Best thing to do.”
When does betrayal start? The shifting of motivation, the awareness that interests no longer coincide, the loss of simplicity born deep in the mind, growing in the dark regions of conscious thought whilst the sun still shines on the waters above. Let that sun shine brighter, let it penetrate the darkness of the depths and make them darkness no longer. Let the heart be one again.
We returned to Tubal’s house. I sat at the table whilst Noema filled two bowls with an assortment of fruits and nuts. She placed one bowl before me then sat opposite with the other. We ate without speaking. I picked up a nut and examined its corrugated orange-brown surface.
“Do you want to go to the Terra Nova?”
Noema’s eyes were wide. “Why I do that?”
“Then you will be safe when I take the worm to Ganymed.”
“And you die.”
“And I die.”
She slowly shook her head. “No.”
“No. And I cannot make you. You are stronger than me.”
“Why you say this?”
“We must tell it to Cloe. We cannot save the Earth. She must come to us.”
Noema looked away, her great eyes troubled.
“We must tell her now,” I said. “No delay. I don’t want Trinny or anyone else working on her longer than we can help. She must know that it’s not a choice between her and Earth. Whatever happens Earth goes where your people went.”
“Yes,” Noema said after a pause. “Yes. We speak to her.”
An hour later we were in the pod. As it began to move I felt once again settled in my mind, almost tranquil. I would never sacrifice Noema. She would never sacrifice me. Cloe would understand. Nobody could use her as leverage; there was nothing to lever against. I chaffed only at the length of the journey to the surface of Mars. I wanted to get to the Hab, contact Cloe and bring her round to common sense. Thinking of her helped me not to think of Earth. It was almost a ghost in my mind, already dead, mourned and half-forgotten. I could do nothing for Earth. It did not bear dwelling on.
We sat together against the luminescent wall for long periods, not saying anything. At other times we conversed. Noema dozed in the chair whilst I slept on the floor. Once I stirred from sleep at the sound of a strange subdued monotone chant. I opened my eyes a fraction to see her standing, arms outstretched, praying in her native tongue. It seemed to be a formula, learnt by heart long ago, but I could discern the earnestness that filtered through the ritualism of the words. I closed my eyes and listened the soft cadence of her voice as we descended through the Martian night.
Uma mulumu barta kúamen Uma mulu éamu barta kúamen Ena kana aggaka barta kúamen Damanigim náa bani indurruné esam Tumunigim náa bani indurruné esam Anu mulu addi addizu nammu Anu mulu erri ergulzu nammu....
We reached the ground as dawn broke on the Echus. The sun shone weakly through a brown haze in the distance. A Martian dust storm had formed, filling the thin air with microscopic particles of iron oxide that could cut sunlight by up to 80 per cent for months on end. Bad news for solar panels but otherwise nothing to worry about. The suitcase reactor that supplied power to the Hab was unaffected by sunlight. The only worry was the lithium cooling system. If the damaged section could be repaired or at least isolated....
An idea emerged from my subconsciousness. Isolated. There might just be, after all, a way of achieving that. As the SUV crawled over the sandy surface I turned the idea over in my head. I would need to run numbers on it, but a priori it could possibly work. I mentally filed it away. Repairing the cooling system did not matter now and probably wouldn’t later on, but it was something to keep in my pocket.