Things Fall Apart: Chapter 44

Newer York, Forward Docks, 5 Tammuz 2541, mid-afternoon

Singer allowed the ambassador to take her arm and guide her, like they were two long-lost friends, and tried not to let her discomfort show. Despite having her shields up, Ellison's volatile emotional mix was as readable to Singer as the signs directing foot traffic toward various bays and, in their case, the nearest spinward train station. Particularly once they were in physical contact—contact only slightly buffered by their uniforms—Singer read fear, anger, hope, and dread, all swirling around in the older woman's nervous system.

Singer had also spent enough time in the presence of heavy drinkers to recognize the feel of Ellison's addiction tugging at her. She filed away for later investigation whether the ambassador was a life-long alcoholic, or had succumbed under the pressures of current events.

Forewarned is forearmed! Singer thought, making the best of it to help bolster her countenance, and letting Ellison set their pace and talk all she liked. "These of course are the Forward Docks. They're actually about the oldest part of the original structure. Materials to build out the rest were ferried up to orbit from Earth, or in a few cases down from Luna, and they all came through here. Of course, these days, they're pretty mundane, and usually much busier."

Fortunately, they did not have all that far to go reach the train station. The two police officers gestured off to one side, and Ellison explained, "They've arranged a private pod for us for the ride aft to the Ellis Ring. It'll get hitched to the next regular train out, but we'll have privacy there—well, except for our escort, until we reach that station. We'll have to share the second leg, down the spoke, with the commuting public, but we shouldn't have any trouble."

Singer could tell the Ellison was not as certain of that as she wanted to sound, but she let it pass. Together, they all filed into the indicated pod. It didn't seem particularly ambassadorial or VIP, but it was clean and comfortable. They all sat down, with the guards discreetly sitting a bit further away.

As soon as the doors closed, Ellison's facade fell away. Her head fell back against the headrest, her eyes closed, and she let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Commander. I know that has to have been distressing for you. It was...necessary art."

Singer looked at the other woman directly, and said evenly, "I had thought it must be. I hope I didn't freeze up too badly."

Ellison shook her head. "No, again, you were perfect, at least, for our current purposes, which is that you should be underestimated. You were properly attentive to my ramblings and let me drag you for all the worlds like a rarely seen cousin I want to show the sights. I also meant what I said: you were also perfect with the admiral and the governor." This last brought a genuine, if weary smile to her face.

"I guessed right about where that welt on Himself's face came from?"

"I'd deny it, but there was a witness. And anyway, it was far too satisfying. I don't really want to leave here, pretty much ever, but if they expel me for that, I think I could learn to live with it."

"That seem likely?"

"Nothing seems less likely, honestly. Donato's an ass, but he usually knows he's earned it when he gets what's coming to him."

They'd felt, and seen through the windows, the pod get attached to the back of a train that had just come in, and as they were talking, that train had started moving. It was only as they left the station that Singer realized Ellison had deliberately sat facing backward, and gestured Singer and her officers to sit facing forward.

They were in the agricultural core. This was the oldest, longest-serving example of actual farming—not hydro- or aeroponics—in space. Including the ship's travel time, this space had been growing food for humans to eat for something like ninety gigaseconds.

And it was beautiful. Singer had known, intellectually, that the station simulated seasons to some extent, and apparently they were here at high summer. Green was everywhere. It wasn't the only color, but to eyes too long in space, the sheer greenness of it all was almost overwhelming. Singer found herself having to remember to breathe.

Espinoza, of course, had seen it before, but still seemed to appreciate the view. Even Cadotte's eyes were rapt.

It wasn't until they hit the next station, and thus the view was obstructed, that Cadotte recovered enough to ask, "I know I should know this, but how did all that work when the ship was under thrust?"

Ellison smiled, as did Espinoza, who answered, "It's not really a solid cylinder, of course. It's actually a series of trays ranged around the cylinder. There's some complicated mechanisms that allow those trays to swing in the right direction. These trains would basically become elevators and the seats get rearranged accordingly. We...they still actually test the whole thing out about once every seven years to make sure it still works if they need it some day. They spread out enormous netting to hold down the soil. Some always escapes, but thrust of course guarantees it eventually falls 'downward' and can be collected."

Cadotte was clearly fascinated. "So the rings are built to adjust to the ship under thrust, too?"

"Less so than the core, but yes. The station could never withstand the kind of thrust it originally underwent, but it all still holds together for the Sabbatical Ride. It's a big holiday."

Singer asked, "Are the other stations here in-system built along the same lines? Most city-stations I've been to don't seem to be."

Espinoza and Ellison both shook their heads, but Espinoza answered, "No. While all the bigger cities, here and elsewhere, take their basic shape from Newer York, they don't usually feel the need to also be starships. They have thrusters to adjust their orbits occasionally, but that's about all."

Then the train started again, and conversation ended. Maybe I shouldn't ask for shore leave for my people after all, Singer thought, not seriously. I might have a hard time getting them back aboard ship!

The whole ride took perhaps two kiloseconds. Conversation at the other stops was less about the engineering achievements of Dream of Spring, and more the subtle differences in culture one would find between the different rings. "There's no direct way to go between them, you see," Ellison said at one point. "You have to walk to a spoke, go up that spoke, then take one of these trains, then back down a spoke, then walk to where you're going, It's all free, but it's time consuming."

It was a fair reminder for people who spent most of their lives on ships, which were much more compact in their layout. Singer vaguely remembered that different cities on Cherryh's World, even different neighborhoods of Cherryhtown, had different flavors to them, as well. But she hadn't been home in so long that she'd sort of forgotten.

Finally, they came to the station for the Ellis Ring. "Last stop," Ellison said. "From here, we transfer to the lift. They try to time it so no one has to wait too long." Singer and her people took the hint from that, and wasted no time debarking for the platform. They all paused just long enough to be polite to their escort, and then headed where the large signs all pointed toward the lift.

Sure enough, the queue for the lift was already moving into it. The lift itself turned out to clearly be a commuter vehicle in its own right. It was toroidal, with seats ranged in several concentric rows around a core. It reminded Singer a bit of a planetarium or a theatre-in-the-round. The core held displays that included newsfeeds of various kinds. The lift was populated, but not crowded, so while they did not have the same kind of privacy, they were still easily able to find a block of seats together, apart from other folks. People seemed to take the hint of the uniformed escort, and perhaps recognized the ambassador as well, and kept a respectful distance. Singer did not read it as wary or as hostile, which was a relief.

There were smaller screens set into the headrests of the seats in front of them, with the same kind of display they'd seen in the lift coming down from the pier, with a reading of the current perceived gravity and a reminder to fasten safety harnesses. After maybe three hundred more seconds, the lift began to move "down", surprisingly slowly. Singer asked, "Is it always this slow?"

Ellison, sitting next to her, nodded. "Even people who have lived here their whole lives need a bit to acclimate from quarter-G to three-quarter-G. It takes remarkably little time in the lower gravity to kind of get used to having less of a weight on one's shoulders."

Singer remembered the seconds right after the catastrophe, and the many kiloseconds after when Bellerophon's gravity was not up to standard. She had, in fact, gotten used to it, and missed it later, a little. She knew full gravity was healthier, but still...

They rode in silence for a while—not an uneasy silence, but they had largely run out of innocuous things to say. The display made it clear the ride was going to take about forty-five minutes—somewhere between two and three kiloseconds if Singer was remembering right. Singer spent that time skimming the newsfeeds on the core wall. There was very little about what was going on beyond the system, and nothing so far about their own arrival, which she found a little odd. Their arrival did not seem to be a secret, per se, but the local media wasn't talking much about...oh, no, there was a headline. "Delegation From TCTO Arrives". Not much, but at least it was a mention.

Maybe Singer had twitched when she saw it. Maybe Ellison just had sharper senses than Singer had thought. Either way, the older woman said, quietly, "I wouldn't worry too much about the news. There are people who are upset, of course, but nobody in any kind of official position is out for blood. Mostly, people are busy speculating why we hadn't heard anything until now."

Singer nodded, and considered asking her own question, wondering why nobody from David's Star had yet gone out and looked. She decided it could wait a little longer.

Finally the ride ended. Singer definitely felt the heavier weight, now, as she got up with the rest of her crew. The escort made it clear, without saying anything, that they'd rather their party be the last ones off, but it still didn't take too long to exit. The whole thing was very orderly, and the entry queue was at a different door from the exit. It reminded Singer suddenly, absurdly, of a theme park ride, and she had to suppress a chuckle.

Leaving the lift station, they came out into a street in the Ellis Ring. Some city-stations built more like ships—everything was corridors and cabins. Newer York had chosen to build like a city, instead, with buildings and streets. There were parks everywhere—more green—and, as they walked to the embassy, even a faint mist. Cadotte asked, surprised, "Rain?"

"An approximation, yes," Ellison said. "Very approximate, for those of us who grew up on dirtworlds at all, but still, it's important to them. It's a good way to keep all the parkland hydrated, and it turns out that humans like weather, even when it's simulated."

Singer could feel Cadotte's skepticism on the point, but they did not protest their own opinions of getting slightly damp without notice.

Finally, they arrived at the embassy. One of the police officers said the first words any of the escort had said the whole trip: "Ambassador, we'll take our leave here."

"Thank you for your service, officers!" If there was any irony in the statement, Singer didn't detect it. The embassy guards, meanwhile, peeled off quietly in the lobby without a word.

Once inside, they went right past the reception desk to a small, ordinary lift, and up to the residence level. A tall woman with almost translucent skin and the look of a local, or at least, someone who had grown up in lower gravity, was waiting for them. "Ah, Rachel," the ambassador said to the woman, "perfect timing as always. I thought we would show the commander and her officers to their quarters and let them freshen up, maybe get into their undress uniforms or even civilian togs, before we finally get down to business." Singer could feel what it was costing Ellison, once again, not to just sit them all down and have it out right here in the front hallway. "Shall we say two kilos?" she said to Singer.

"That sounds like more than enough, Ambassador."

"Excellent. Rachel, when they're ready, bring them to the parlor. The subject matter is going to be uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean we have to be."

The other woman replied, "Yes, ma'am!" respectfully. "Commander, gentles, if you'll come this way?" She also gestured at the robot, who had been quietly following them with their bags this whole time.

Singer had to admit getting out of her dress uniform sounded like a very good idea, so she let herself and her people be led down the hallway. But her thoughts remained on the ambassador.

This briefing was really not going to go well at all.