Poul Anderson - Fleet of Stars

VIP免费
2024-12-20 1 0 581.98KB 176 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Poul Anderson
The Fleet Of Stars
Scanned on April 03, 2002 by Warburner
1
IN THE ANCIENT faith of her people, Amaterasu was the Sun Goddess, from whom flowed the
light that gives life. The discoverers of a world far and strange named it for her because they hoped that
someday their kind would make it blossom. The explorers that first went there were not human. Nor
were the pioneers that followed, but they wrought mightily, until at last this Amaterasu could begin to
nurture a people.
One evening about fifty Earth-years later, Anson Guthrie and Demeter Daughter left Port Kestrel,
seeking solitude. They could have talked at home, but the news he bore would not let him sit quietly, and
she was always glad of open sky. The little town-boats, bridges, brightly colored buildings soon fell
behind them, screened off by its trees except for a slender communications mast. A path took them along
a fork of the Lily River, beneath whispery poplars, to the seashore, where it bent south.
Plantations and industry lay northward. Here was parkland, turf starred with dandelions and
harebells, down to a strip of sand. Beyond lapped the Azurian Ocean. On several islets grass had taken
hold, shivering pale in the wind. The sun had gone so low that haze turned its disk golden-orange. A
broken road of brightness ran from it over the wavelets, casting glitter to either side. They were purple in
the distance, tawny closer to hand. Here and there swayed dark patches, native thalassophyte; but
overhead, in heights still blue, shone the wings of three gulls.
On the left, hills rolled upward, shadowful, their groves and greennesses drenched with the long light,
houses scattered across them, windows shining. Air blew mild, murmurous, not every daytime fragrance
departed. To someone newly come from Earth it would have felt mountaintop-thin; but then, weight was
only nine-tenths, and besides, to Guthrie, Earth was a remote memory; to Demeter Daughter, scarcely
even that. Elsewhere on the fourth planet of Beta Hydri, glaciers reared above deserts where machines
and microbes toiled to broaden the domain of life. On this big subtropical island Tamura, Amaterasu
Mother had won her victory and reigned in peace. Or so it had seemed.
Man and woman walked awhile along the shore, silent, before Guthrie cleared his throat. "Well-" he
began. It trailed off into the wind.
She regarded him. At forty-one biological years, seventy-two of Earth's, he remained large, burly,
vigorously striding; but furrows crossed the rugged features, the once reddish hair tossed scant and white,
the eyes had faded from steel to smoke. They squinted ahead of him as keenly as ever, though, and the
bass voice had lost no force. In contrast to her graceful, colorful tunic and cloak, sandals on her feet, he
wore just a coverall and his battered old hiking boots.
"Is what you have to tell hard for you?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Not exactly." He flashed her half a grin. "Which you must well know, sweetheart,"
after this lifetime together, and all the centuries and embodiments before. His gaze lingered on her: tall,
slim, hazel-eyed, high-cheeked face marked by age mainly in deepening of the amber complexion and
graying of the black, shoulder-length hair. "No, I started to speak," he said, "and then suddenlike got to
remembering." Another coast, another woman, but she had been very young, a girl, and he was in his first
life, a mortal like her, and it was on Earth. "No importe. Before your time."
Her hand closed on his for a moment, as much as sizes allowed. They walked onward. A massive
live oak and a garnet-leaved Japanese maple spread their canopies ahead, some meters from the strand.
A squirrel scam-pered up a bole and two crows took flight, hoarsely cawing. "Yon should be a good
spot for us," Guthrie suggested.
His companion nodded. "Yes. You can really feel the presence of the Mother here, can't you?"
"Think she'll listen in?"
"Probably not. She has the whole world to look after, and especially now, with the ecological
balance in New India crashing-" It was always precarious, when life sought a foothold in realms that had
been wholly barren, or that at most held a few tiny, primitive native organisms. Nothing less than an
integration of that life itself, globally, through a single awareness, could make it flourish in a span humanly,
rather than geologically, meaningful.
He deferred to her intuition. She had, in sense, herself been Demeter Mother. If now, in the flesh,
her memories of that existence were dim, fragmentary, like scraps of dream, nevertheless they were a
dower of something beyond human ken; and this would be true of every Demeter Daughter, for as long
as the race went starfaring.
"Okay, we'll tell her later," Guthrie said, deliberately prosaic. "And everybody else. But, I did want
you and me to talk first."
They settled down under the oak, side by side, leaning back against its sun-warmed roughness, their
vision turned west overseas. Brighter but more distant than Sol from Earth, therefore smaller in heaven,
Beta Hydri sank out of sight with a quickness increased by the planet's twenty-hour rotation period. A
cloud bank on that horizon burned red and molten gold. The gulls skimmed low, mewing.
"It happened while I was gone, didn't it?" the woman prompted. She had been on the Northland
continent, where nature was well-established on the eastern seaboard, visiting one of their sons, his wife,
and especially the grandchildren. Guthrie had been too engaged with his latest project, a shipyard, to go
along.
"Obviously," he replied.
"A message from Centauri, no?" she asked softly.
"Huh?" he exclaimed, startled. "Did the Mother tell you?"
She shook her head. "I said I don't believe she's been paying close attention to secure places like
this. In any case, if she did know but saw you wanted to keep it secret awhile, she would have likewise.
You'd have your good reasons."
Reasons that Amaterasu Mother might well appreciate better than he did himself, Guthrie thought.
Her vastness and diversity, growing and growing across this world, As often in the past, the idea flitted
through him that the name of his lady should, strictly speaking, be Amaterasu Daughter. Her incarnation,
like his and that of every other first-generation colonist, had been the work of the Mother here. Demeter
Mother dwelt light-years hence, back at Alpha Centauri, abiding her doom. But... on that planet, his
beloved had first come to being; and in his mind, through every lifetime they might ever share, she would
always be Demeter Daughter.
"I was guessing," she went on. "But I do know the general situation." She smiled. "And I've gotten to
know you rather well, querido."
The endearment touched his inmost spirit. The Kyra Davis part of her had used it, long and long ago.
He put on gruffness. "You know me too damn well, I sometimes think." He returned her smile. "But I
wouldn't swap."
"Nor I," she murmured.
They were silent for a bit. The sunset flared brighter. A flight of cormorants winged across it.
"The news is troublous," she said. He had never quite wanted to ask her whether such occasional
turns of speech came from her reading, wider than his despite his being centuries her senior, or from
some deeper well-spring.
"Yeah," he admitted. Holding to his own style, as a kind of defense: "Not that we should keep it
under the hatch for long the communication team and now us two, I mean. I swore 'em to secrecy after
they'd played it for me, but only till I'd've had a chance to palaver with you. The people have a right to
know, and don't they know that!" Rambunctious lot, he thought, as free folk needed to be if they were to
stay free.
"But if it's that... critical... shouldn't you have brought in the Mother immediately?"
"I wasn't sure. How much can she have to say about a business like this? You, you're human," in her
way, as he in his. Mortal, she had the wisdom of mortality, together with as much of Demeter Mother's
as a mere brain could hold. Amaterasu, however-
"You see, this may be more of a problem for us than for the, the gods," he continued awkwardly. "I
can't tell how she'll take it. Maybe not even you can. Anyhow, we've been partners for quite a spell, you
and me, haven't we?"
"Yes." Quite a spell. In these bodies, brought forth as youthful adults on this world. In the downloads
before them, who had helped in the hard early work until a fraction of the planet was ready for flesh and
blood, and who before then had made the voyage from Alpha Centauri. In the earlier bodies on
Demeter, his built from a genome, hers from two others, an ideal, and a dream. Before then, for hundreds
of years, in his first download and in Demeter Mother, whose mind had grown out of the minds of Kyra
Davis and Eiko Tamura. Before then, afar on Earth, when his download had worked and fought and
hoped together with those two women. And even before then, for into Demeter Mother had also gone
his memories of Juliana, the wife of his first lifetime, when he was only a man, born and maturing and
dying in the ordinary way.
"Okay," he said. "You're right, we've gotten a message from Centauri," more than a quarter century
after it started out. "The Lunarians there, they've heard from Earth-from Sol, at least."
She caught her breath. The sunset light filled suddenly widened eyes. "O-o-oh. Finally, finally," she
whispered. "I'd believed that-never-"
"Reckon we all did, huh?" he growled. "Our kind back at Earth, Luna, Mars, swallowed up-or
whatever happened to them-taken up by the machines, not interested in us anymore. The Lunarian race
maybe extinct, aside from those who moved to Centauri. Someday, someday we might go back and find
out, but it's such a long way and we've got so much to do out here."
She seized his arm. "What has happened?"
"Sorry for rambling. But what we've received is hardly a story, it's more a history, knotted and
tangled, and the laser beam conveyed little better than pieces of it, and I don't claim to savvy what the
devil's been going on, not really." Guthrie paused, marshaling words. "Well, for openers, five-six hundred
Earth-years back, the Lunarians there at Sol found a big, dense asteroid away off in the Kuiper Belt,
amongst the comets, you know. They colonized it. Since then, they've been taking possession of other
bodies in those frontier orbits."
"Wonderful," she almost sang. Anxiety struck. "But what about... our race?"
"Terrans, they're called these days, whether they live on Earth or not." Guthrie grimaced. "They don't
go spacefaring any more, unless you count riding ferries between Earth and Luna, or sometimes Mars.
They-" Again he stopped to find words. The wind, already cooling, rustled the leaves above them.
"You realize," he said, "the word is not from any of them but from the Lunarians on that asteroid,
Proserpina they call it. They're far from the inner Solar System and, well, there seems to be considerable
mutual hostility with the order of things on Earth and her neighbor planets. The message speaks of
intelligent machines-sophotects, you may recall is the term-pretty much ruling the roost there. Not that the
Terrans are enslaved or anything like that. Contrariwise, is the impression I got. But the smartest
sophotects are smarter than they are in more ways than you or I could measure, and at the top of the
pyramid is something they call the Teramind."
"Something foreseen," she said very low, "perhaps inevitable. The ultimate, awesome intellect.... But
it's constantly growing, changing, evolving itself further and further isn't it?"
"Seems like. Bear in mind, the original message was from one set of Lunarians to another, two sets
that'd lived four-plus light-years apart and out of touch for centuries. And then the Centaurian Lunarians
reworded it, to pass on to us whatever of the information they chose. Not everything by a long shot, I'd
guess from the skimpiness of what we've received."
She heard, but her thoughts stayed on course. "The ancestors on Demeter, and your download, and
Kyra's and Eiko's Demeter Mother wasn't in being, not yet, they saw this coming, didn't they? Back
when the people in the Solar System stopped transmitting because they claimed they'd grown too
different from our kind of humans. ... But they didn't foresee Proserpina. Nobody could have. The
Lunarians at Centauri must be happy about that."
"Yes and no. The Proserpinans themselves aren't happy any longer. At least, one thing that nudged
them into trying to reestablish contact, even though they know Demeter hasn't got much time left, one
thing was the machines, the cybercosm, whatever you call it the system that rules over Sol's planets in all
but name it never wanted that Proserpina colony. That's what the message says, anyhow. A wild card, a
chaos factor, the long-term consequences unpredictable and uncontrollable. The cybercosm did its best
to keep the existence of the asteroid secret; then when the news got out, it tried to discourage migration
there; then when that happened regardless, it tried to keep the colony tiny and isolated; and now lately-
"Of course, this is the Proserpinans' side of the story, as filtered through the Lunarians at Centauri.
Prejudiced, no doubt. Just the same"
"Yes?" she urged softly.
"Well, they speak of something new being suppressed, hints of a tremendous discovery made by a
solar gravitational lens way out in space, denials of this that don't quite ring true. And when they tried to
set up a lens of their own, the effort failed, and they're convinced that it was sabotage."
She frowned. Paranoia was foreign to her. "Need it have been?"
"I suppose not. Still, judging by what we've received, the cybercosm seems quite well-informed
about goings-on at Proserpina, distant and lonely though it is." Guthrie did not frown, he scowled, and his
tone harshened. "Which does suggest to me that the cybercosm and its people weren't entirely truthful
when they broke off communications with us out here, claiming there could be no more shared interests.
It could've had its spy robots at Centauri all along. They could be in this system right now, mini jobs we'd
likely never detect unless we knew exactly what to scan for." He made a chopping gesture. "Be that as it
may, the Proserpinans report they've run surveillance missions through the inner Solar System and found
that antimatter production has started up again on Mercury."
"It had ceased?"
"Yes, for a long time. A stable economy, which Earth and Luna had reached, didn't need any energy
source so concentrated, and a plentiful reserve was stored in orbit. But now resumed,Could it be to
power c-ships? The Proserpinans also report detecting signs of what they strongly suspect are spacecraft
of some exotic kind, leaving the Solar System at bat-out-of-hell speeds, or once in a while entering it."
She stared into the sunset. It was swiftly losing color, the sky above the clouds going from blue to
violet. "We didn't think they ever would, the machines," she breathed.
"Naw," he agreed. "I figured those great minds were too concerned with their fancy
mind-games-theory, math, esoteric abstract art forms, contemplating their electrophotonic navels. Maybe
I was wrong."
She shivered. "What would, what could it-the, the Teramind-desire?"
"Queen sabe? But if it is setting out to plant cyber-cosms in the galaxy, then machines can expand
their range a lot faster and more thoroughly than life can, you know."
A point of light blinked forth in the west; dusk had advanced enough that Amaterasu's moon had
become visible there. Day drowned the weak, fitful gleam of a fifty-kilometer rock, a captured asteroid.
Artificial satellites often shone brighter. Guthrie missed Lunalight. He had missed it on Demeter too, but
there Alpha Centauri B, the companion sun, blazed brilliant, from two hundred to two thousand times the
radiance.
Life missed it worse, he reflected fleetingly. Without a freakishly huge moon like Luna to stabilize it,
the spin axis of an otherwise Earthlike planet was apt to wander chaotically, with consequences falling
anywhere between a runaway glaciation and a runaway greenhouse. Without something gigantic like
Jupiter to deflect smaller bodies, the planet would be subject to relentless bombardment, a KT-type
event not every few scores of millions of years, but every few thousand. And the many other parameters
that had to be right for the miracle to happen-
No wonder life was so heartbreakingly rare in the universe (in that infinitesimal minim of the universe
we know) and intelligence might well have arisen only on Earth out of all creation.... Amaterasu, like
Demeter and Isis, was extraordinary. There evolution had gotten to photosynthesizing organisms that
produced an atmosphere humans could breathe. Yes, ships had also reached Hestia, akin to them, and
its fantastic neighbor Bion, but the sun of those two worlds lay far and far....
His Demeter was reproaching him: "You shouldn't say that. Anything that acts, thinks, feels, is
aware-it's alive."
He spread his palms. "As you like. A semantic question. I mean organic life, then. Our kind."
"The difference isn't absolute, you know."
Most certainly and deeply he knew. Had he not witnessed the coming into existence of Demeter
Mother, and afterward of Amaterasu Mother, while other Guthries were present at the geneses of Isis
Mother and Hestia Mother? What but cybernetic technology had allowed, the downloading of those
patterns that were human personality into organometallic matrices, and their joining to form something
immensely more than the sum of them, and its fostering and guidance of nature everywhere around a
whole world? "No, no, sure, of course not," he said. "I've been a sort of machine myself, after all.
Nevertheless-"
"Need the cybercosm be any threat to us?" she pursued. "Why not a friend? Aren't the humans, the
Ter-rans, on Earth and Luna and Mars happy?"
"Pet animals generally are," he snapped. After a moment: "Sorry. Never mind. The situation's
doubtless nothing like that simple. And the Lunarians, those wildcats, it might actually be a good idea to
keep 'em curbed. I dunno. Certainly what we've gotten is an edited extract from an original message that
must itself be one-sided, tendentious, incomplete, and full of superstitions. We'll have to study it and
study it, and then I think we'll still be puzzled."
He paused. The last hues drained from the clouds, and dusk thickened with subtropical haste. She
drew her cloak about her against the wind. He ignored it.
"I don't think we can afford puzzlement, though," he said at length. "Not when the stakes are as high
as this."
" 'This?' "
"The entire universe and future. Yeah, that may be exaggerated. But I don't propose to sit idle
waiting for whatever wants to come along."
"What can you do?" She divined his meaning. Dismay moaned, "Oh, no."
He nodded. "You guessed it. I'd better get back there and try to find out."
"Over those distances, into that unknown? Anson, An-son!" She gripped his arm. "Somebody else,"
she pleaded. "We've plenty of brave men and women."
His tone went gentle. "I am the jefe, darling." She understood full well everything he would say, but
he must say it. "We call this a republic, and I've done my damnedest to keep us simply two citizens of
it,so have you-but it can't be helped; we are what we are." The eternal hero, the incarnation of the Life
Mother. "No decent comandante sends his men into risks he won't take himself."
She rallied. "I should have known it of you. I did. Always I did."
He attempted a laugh. "Anyhow, not me, you realize. I aim to live out my days here with you,
making love and raising Cain till our great-grandchildren finally and with relief scatter our ashes and
compose our mendacious obituaries after which we'll scandalize them afresh in our new bodies."
"A download of you. Yes, that's clear. But he-"
"He won't thank me? He might, sort of. It's bound to be quite an adventure."
"That whole enormous way, alone."
"Not straight to Sol. At the moment, I reckon my- his best bet will be to first go back to Centauri
and confer with the Lunarians there. By that time, they should have lots more information."
"But that adds light-years to the journey," she protested. “Even in a c-ship" Her voice faltered.
"You- he will get to Centauri after Demeter is destroyed."
He winced. "Uh-huh. That hurts. However, the Lunarians should be okay on their asteroids, mostly.
In fact, they should be able to outfit my alter ego for the trip on to Sol. He'll arrive in style, loaded for
bear."
"Do you mean he'll make that leg in a cruiser? But it will take decades longer!"
"What's a few decades more or less, given the scale of space-time?"
Guthrie was mute for another while. Stars were appearing now in the west as well as the east.
Among them he recognized Sol. It glimmered insignificant, about fourth magnitude, near Ursa Minor.
Twenty light-years, an abyss denumerable but unimaginable by humans, was too small a reach in the
galaxy to affect constellations much. But Polaris was not the lodestar of Amaterasu.
He rose. Light from above, in this clear air, and light cast off the sea were ample to find one's way
by. "Let's go home," he proposed.
"I would like some closeness and comfort," she admitted.
"You know," he said, "I can hope that in the end, maybe a hundred years from tonight, my download
will come back here and get reborn." He stroked her hair. "And there'll be a you for him."
She tried to speak as cheerfully. "By then he may well find this planet entirely green."
"That's our goal, isn't it?" he said. "What the travel and labor are for. Homes, elbow room, personal
gain, yeah, but way down the pike, the object of the game is to make the universe come alive."
Unspoken with our kind of life.
2
THE FIRST MEMORY that stayed with Fenn-and it dwelt in him through all his days-was of space
and the stars. He must have been two or three, not old enough to leave the Habitat for the Moon but
getting around handily on its low-weight decks. The sight would have been commonplace to him, often in
a viewscreen, now and then glimpsed directly through a port. Perhaps what made this time magical, an
epiphany, was that he looked from the after observation turret on the axis of rotation, floating free, the
hyalon bubble virtually invisible, as if he had become a comet on its very own orbit. At least one adult
would have been with him, a parent or a friend of the family,not a preceptor, for then other children
would have tumbled about, squealing and shrilling, Fenn quite likely the noisiest in the class. He did not
afterward recall who had escorted him. They may have chanced to be alone, while the person or persons
kept aside, respecting that majestic stillness.
The Habitat was coming around from nightside. Sky surrounded Fenn, stars and stars and stars,
unwinking sharp shards of brilliance, ice-white, steel-blue, topaz-yellow, ruby-red; the Milky Way
coursed as a frosty river, banked with black nebular headlands; the fire-fog in Orion glowed vague and
mysterious as the neighbor galaxies; there were more lights in heaven than there was crystalline darkness.
In the direction from which he had entered, gray metal curved away to a near horizon. Beyond it on four
sides reached gleaming planes that came to knifelike edges at some distance he did not yet know how to
gauge-four of the solar and magnetic sails that stabilized the great cylindroid on its path and its axis. Their
spin across the star-field made him dizzy, and he turned his eyes away.
Luna hove into view, at first an arc bitten out of the brightness, then rising and gaining an
ever-broader luminous rim, tremendous, mountains and craters and maria ashenly clear. Earth appeared
likewise, also waxing, far smaller, although its marbled blue and white dazzled him until he could see
nothing else nearby. These were splendors, he watched them and watched them as they swelled toward
fullness; yet his gaze kept going back to the stars.
Probably on this occasion he did not stay through a full cycle of the Habitat's course around Luna.
Six hours would have been rather much for a small boy. But as long as he remained inboard, he returned
whenever he could persuade someone, anyone, to take him. More than once he was caught trying to
sneak back on his own. Getting into trouble came natural to him.
Near the end of his residence, the creche sent his class on the customary trip outside. To most of the
children this was not an overwhelming experience. Explanations, multiceiver shows, and vivifer
simulations had fairly well prepared them. Still, it was exciting to sit, harnessed, in a vehicle that crawled
about, gripping the rails, with the monstrous shell of home overhead' and the heavens wheeling wildly by,
the Bears in pursuit of the Peacock and Chameleon, a hasty red spark that Preceptor said was Mars. At
one end of the route, the Lunar disk gyred like a black wheel, jewel-strewn with lights where people
lived, studded on its verge with glints where peaks caught rays from the hidden sun. (For safety's sake,
these excursions always took place while in the shadow.) At the other end, Earth, full, glorious, did not
so much tumble in its lesser circle as tread out a stately measure. And the installations—domes, pods,
masts, dishes, hatchways, the polar port where spaceships came and went, the sails like shining
cliffs—and the machines that scurried about or flitted free as birds or fireflies—yes, those were fine too.
Fenn pressed his nose against the hyalon and hungered.
That evenwatch at home he demanded to be given a spacesuit and taken back out. Didn't the multi
show people walking around all the time? Didn't their clingboots keep them from being flung off, and
when they chose to leave the surface, didn't they have jetpacks to fly with? When told repeatedly that
that was for grown-ups, he at last threw a tantrum that made his father order him to bed.
Birger was Earthbred, from Yukonia; that nation was his polity, although he had connections to the
Foresters of Vernal and, in fact, eventually took an oath of association: He should doubtless have
reckoned himself lucky. Not only did he get gainful employment, it was work he could love,
ranger-manager in the huge wilderness preserve that covered much of his motherland; and then
he'married and begot a child. However, year by year he came to feel more hemmed in, regulated,
restricted, confined largely to shepherding tourists while robots and sophotects did everything important.
Partly on this account, his marriage broke. She kept the child.
Birger was already looking elsewhere. He did not really care to join the Foresters, he found their
style better suited to a vacation than a lifeway, but he had heard of possibilities on the Moon—rather,
within it, where woods and meadows were expanding through cavern after cavern, raising challenge after
challenge. How to keep them healthy, yet resist their often insidious encroachments on the gardens and
nanotechnics of humankind?
He emigrated, adapted, got the position he applied for, and did well, steadily advancing in rank and
responsibilities. After a while, he married Elitha. She was of old Selenite stock, with old money, and
artistic; but she also had vigor, an independent spirit, and originality. That last was a rare trait. Some
critics said that her sculptures were not merely beautiful, they might be the harbinger of a creative
breakthrough, the first in centuries—assuming that others like her took inspiration. Elitha did not share
their concern. She was simply interested in what she made.
In due course she opted for a different sort of creation, with help from her man. It was not ah easy
decision. She would have to spend her pregnancy, and the following three or four years if she wanted to
stay with the infant, in the Habitat. Birger would be there too when he was able, but frequently he must
remain on Luna for daycycles that could run into weeks. Nevertheless, he agreed. After all, he was not
quite young anymore. If he was to have this final offspring the law permitted him, he would be well
advised to do it soon.
He tried under the circumstances to be a good parent, and one cannot properly say he failed. He
was, though, on the strict and overbearing side. Having examined the fetal genome, a genetic program
found it normal but forecast friction between father and son, punctuated by explosions. Fenn soon
proved the program right. However, the family was basically an affectionate one, and when at last they
could all go live in Tychopolis, Birger and Elitha felt hopeful.
"Mamita," Fenn asked, "what's a Lunarian?"
He had seen the structures preserved around Hydra Square, and a few other relics, but now
something that somebody said had caused him to wonder why they were unlike anything else. Also,
Elitha thought, he must have caught the word once in a while in adult conversation or on a historical show
or whatever.
"They're the folk who used to live here, a long time ago," she said. "Mostly, they were taller than we
are."
"What happened to them?"
"Well, when Terrans, people like us, started coming to the Moon to stay, till finally there were more
of them than there were Lunarians, the Lunarians grew unhappy. They didn't like living the way Terrans
did; they didn't think much like us. More and more of them moved away, find those who didn't had fewer
and fewer children, till finally none were left on Luna. But we still use the same name for them. So we
here today call ourselves Moon-dwellers or Selenites."
No need yet, she thought, to go into details: the era of the independent Lunarian Selenarchy and of
Lunarian enterprises rivaling Terran throughout the. Solar System. Nothing remained of it but chronicles,
abandoned artifacts, and dust. As space-struck as he was, Fenn would be distressed when he learned of
how the Lunarian settlements on asteroids and on moons of the giant planets had been squeezed to
oblivion because they could not compete with sophotects and robots—for the same had befallen the
Terran outposts. Old, unhappy, far-off things; let them not invade this room where her gardenias
sweetened the air and a full-wall viewscreen showed Mount Denali regal above Birger's Yukonian
forests.
"Where are they now?" the boy wondered.
"Oh, some are on Mars, where they get along with the Terrans there. But most are way, way away
on a world of their own, called Proserpina." Never mind, now, about those whose ancestors fared with
Anson Guthrie to Alpha Centauri. "We very seldom hear from them." Nor bring up conflicts in the past
and tensions in the present, tensions so complex and subtle that she herself was unsure of what they
were, or why.
Fenn knit his brows. "Where'd they come from?"
A quick mind pounced to and fro in that towhead, Elitha thought. If only the child were less willful
and aggressive. He could be such a dear when he chose. Let her honor his confidence with an honest
answer, even though he might not entirely follow her meaning.
Her glance went across spidery tables and chairs, the usual form on Luna, to the lounger. She settled
down in it. Standing was about as easy as sitting, but she hoped he would join her and she could lay an
arm around him. He kept his feet, confronting her. She swallowed her slight disappointment and began:
"The first Lunarians were born to Terran mothers. You see, people had reasons to settle on the
Moon, like building and tending the solar units that beam energy to Earth. They didn't have machines then
that could do everything. But they found the weak gravity was bad for them."
He nodded impatiently. The Habitat had made him familiar with variations in weight. Here his parents
insisted he exercise regularly in the centrifuge at one standard g, like them. It wasn't universal practice,
when biotechnics kept cells and body fluids healthily balanced. However, neither Elitha nor Birger
wanted thin bones and minimal muscles; visiting the Mother World, they would rather be comfortable.
For once, Fenn didn't argue about the program. He enjoyed using his body to the full, and looked
forward to reaching an age when he could safely go under higher accelerations.
"The worst problem, one that we haven't solved yet, was that Terran women can't have babies on
Luna," Elitha went on. "Too much goes wrong. The baby dies before it's born. People soon realized this
and stopped trying. Nowadays we have the Habitat in low Lunar orbit, spinning fast enough to give Earth
weight on the outer decks. I lived there while I was carrying you, and stayed till you had developed so
one-sixth g wouldn't harm you as you were growing."
"I know, I know! What about the Lunarians?"
"People didn't have a Habitat in those early days. What they had was what we call 'genetic
technology.' We can take a living thing and fix it to have little ones that aren't quite the same as it is. An
animal, a plant, a microbe—the new kind of thing we call a metamorph. You've seen plenty of
metamorphs, like glitterbugs and daybats in the woods or the giant flowers in the Conservatory. Others
make a lot of the stuff we use, food and fiber and fuel and medicines, oh, a lot.
“Well, the scientists fixed it for Terran women to have metamorph babies. When those Lunarians
grew up, the low gravity was right for them. They didn't need bio-stabilizers and special exercises to stay
well, and they had babies without any trouble. After a while, most of the people on the Moon were
Lunarians."
Fenn pondered. "But the Lunarians are gone," he said.
"Yes, they are. What nobody back then, when they knew less about genetics than they do now, what
nobody back then foresaw was that Lunarians wouldn't be different just in their bodies. The
biochemistry, the ... well, everything about them made them, makes them, different in their spirits too, in
what they like and don't like, how they want to live their lives, everything. They aren't bad people, no,
don't think that. But they aren't happy under Terran laws and customs."
"How 'bout Mars?" he exclaimed.
Quick mind indeed, Elitha thought gladly. "Mars is a special case. It's got a gravity in between Luna's
and Earth's. Terrans and Lunarians can both live there and have babies. And Mars is bigger than Luna,
with lots of territory that isn't claimed either for homes or for eco-balance. A community can be off by
itself and do pretty well what it wants to." Let him not hear, today, how the human presence yonder was
also dying.
His eyes, blue as heaven above Tahiti, grew big. "Lunarians in space," he whispered, "way out on
P'serpina—" And then a shout, while his fists doubled: "Why, aren't we?"
Over the years, piece by piece, never directly, he— sometimes bewildered, sometimes enraged—got
an answer. How complete or truthful the answer might be, he was never certain. That stoked the anger
always smoldering deep inside him.
It was not that anyone in any important way lied to him or evaded his questions. On the contrary, as
he once heard a philosopher remark, in a set of societies that had long held their total population to little
more than a billion, for whom the necessities and most of the comforts of life were essentially free goods,
education was bound to become less an occupation than a preoccupation, at least among the intelligent.
To a considerable extent, the difficulty lay in getting a perspective—in realizing that there was a
perspective to be gotten—on what everyone took for given. Would Rameses II have wondered about
the divine status of kings, or Thomas Jefferson have inquired whether machines had rights?
Machines, devices, were everywhere around Fenn, shaping and maintaining his world, pervading his
life, and indeed making it possible. They ranged from spacecraft, land vehicles, power transmitters, cities,
on through the multiceiver that entertained and helped to school him, down to engines he knew only from
micrographs, because they were of molecular size: Their benefits were as hard to see as were the benefits
of drinkable water or breathable air. When he came to the study of ancient history, it took an imaginative
effort to comprehend how average life expectancy had been perhaps thirty years— a fourth of his!—and
most people must spend most of their waking hours at work if they were to survive, whether they liked it
or not. Why, after you were adult and out of the lyceum system, work was a privilege, something you
had to earn, like Birger, or make for yourself, like Elitha. Not too many ever managed it.
Like all his friends, Fenn was in continual interaction with computer terminals and robots; the
distinction got blurry. He had much less to do with sophotects. He met some when his father took him
around in the Lunar wilds, where they did more work but were less noticeable than the human
caretakers. In Tychopolis, the community counselor used a specialized body to give him routine physical
examinations. In its role of teacher, it synthesized a holographic human image for itself when it delivered
lectures or gave demonstrations to students. Likewise did it when, after an egregious escapade of Fenn's,
it conducted several private sessions for his betterment. Those were sympathetic. Not being stupid, he
took heed of them; but he scarcely took them to heart.
Aside from what he read or otherwise absorbed vicariously, this was about the extent of his direct
exposure to the machines in his first ten or twelve years. He needed a preceptor to spell out the
distinctions between them for him, as we need to have the grammar of the language we learned by
osmosis explained to us.
"Robots and computers—computers are a subclass of robots, actually—can seem to think," the man
said. "Many of them are able to do a wide variety of things, to learn from experience, make decisions,
carry on conversations, and generally behave like people. But they are limited. No matter how clever and
powerful their programs, what they basically do is carry out an algorithm. The development of true
artificial intelligence— conscious, creative minds like ours—had to wait till the quantum aspect of
consciousness was understood. You've been told something about quantum mechanics. You'll hear more.
"Meanwhile, rather early on, the researchers found how to make a download." He laughed. '.'I'm
throwing some rather big words at you. Ask me or your home terminal about them when you've mulled
them over.
"Knowing what they did about atoms and quanta, the researchers became able to scan a nervous
system molecule by molecule. They could record the basic patterns of memory and personality, and then
map these into a program for a neural net that was an analogue of the person's personal brain. A
download like that was a.sort of copy of a person's mind. They could give it sensors, a speaker, a
machine body. You haven't heard much about downloads because there have never been more than a
few. Hardly anybody has liked that kind of existence. It's mainly become a transition stage for
syn-noionts after they die. I'll tell you later about synnoionts.
“The thing is, experience with downloads showed how to make the first sophotects, electrophotonic
hardware and software that actually thinks, is aware, and knows that it thinks and is aware. Given these
machines, the whole cybercosm soon began to improve and evolve itself. That evolution went faster and
faster, further and further. We don't know where it will end, or if it ever will."
The speaker paused before he went back to ordinary speech. "Don't get me wrong, please. A
sophotect is not a single being with a single mind like you or me. All sophotects can draw on the same
global database. They can link and unlink, merge and unmerge, just as they choose. A particular
sophotect—for instance, our counselor here in Tychopolis—can have its own personality, but it comes
out of the whole. Its mind is not separate like an island in a lake; it's more like a wave on the water. The
wave is distinct from every other wave, and it may go on for quite some time, but it happens within a
larger whole, and it can join with others to form a new and different wave.
"What we call the cybercosm is really the entire system of machines, computers, robots, and
sophotects, all One. If you want to think of it as a pyramid, with your everyday appliances and power
tools at the bottom, why, then the top, the peak, is the Teramind."
He smiled. "But don't worry. The Teramind doesn't rule us, or anything like that. We have no more
relationship with it, really, than we do with the stars— magnificent, but strange and far away. The
cybercosm, its ordinary part that surrounds us, is our partner."
Fenn had bristled when the speaker so lightly dismissed the stars, but kept his mouth shut.
Later, when he had studied more history and civics, he began to gnaw out his own interpretation of
the universe in which he found himself.
Before the Synesis, he learned, was the World Federation. And before the World Federation, old
men—“governments," they were called—had somehow, again and again, compelled young men to kill
each other, along with vast incidental destruction, for causes that the old men claimed were important.
Governments had also robbed, regimented, and terrorized their subjects, often in the most incredible
fashions. Toward the end, they generally did it in the name of something called "democracy."
And yet.. . that was when humans first went forth into space.
Like many a youngster, Fenn toppled in love with the legend of Anson Guthrie. In Fenn, though, the
passion endured as he grew up, unquenched by common sense. Fireball Enterprises, free men and
women faring out to the planets; their final, unresolvable conflict with the Federation; the dissolution of the
company, but the exodus of some to Alpha Centauri, accompanied by equally rebellious Lunarians,
under Guthrie's leadership—Guthrie, long dead, yet alive and indomitable in his download.... How was it
today with their descendants?
They knew beforehand that Demeter, the planet they sought, would come to wreck within a thousand
years. By now, the catastrophe had happened. Fenn had seen the spectacular images sent back by robot
observers. They included nothing about the settlers. Were the Lunarians still there on the asteroids they
had colonized? What of the Terrans on Demeter? Did any escape? How, and to where?
The indifference of the cybercosm had been matched by that of the people here at home. Fenn
wondered why hardly anybody seemed curious; soon the whole business was well-nigh forgotten. He
heard in reply that efforts to find out would have been difficult, and unrewarding at best, provocative of
hostility at worst. The colonists had severed communications centuries ago, declaring themselves
alienated from an Earth, a Solar System, turning unhuman.
Fenn's preceptors pointed out to him that nothing of the kind had occurred—he need only look
around him— and that the fate of a few eccentric malcontents was scarcely even of academic interest.
This attitude had long since become the received wisdom. The stars are too remote. The removal of
Guthrie's handful to the nearest of them exhausted the resources of mighty Fireball. Nothing of the kind
will ever happen again. Why should it, when everything one might sanely want is available, either in
material form or as virtual experience? Besides, practically every planet around every sun is dead, always
has been, always will be.
Let the cybercosm operate its network of astronomical instruments across the Solar System as far as
摘要：

PoulAndersonTheFleetOfStarsScannedonApril03,2002byWarburner1INTHEANCIENTfaithofherpeople,AmaterasuwastheSunGoddess,fromwhomflowedthelightthatgiveslife.Thediscoverersofaworldfarandstrangenameditforherbecausetheyhopedthatsomedaytheirkindwouldmakeitblossom.Theexplorersthatfirstwenttherewerenothuman.Nor...

展开>> 收起<<
Poul Anderson - Fleet of Stars.pdf

共176页,预览36页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：176 页 大小：581.98KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-20

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 动力学连接体 力的合成 配电装置 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 176
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注