habitats orbiting Saturn now, along with their
subsidiary industrial stations, their numbers tangible evidence of just how important the bitek starships had become to the
whole Edenist economy.
The starship sent power flashing through its patterning cells, focusing energy towards infinity, the loci distorting space
outside the hull, but never enough to open a wormhole interstice. They rode the distortion wave towards the habitat like a
surfer racing for the beach, quickly accelerating to three gees. A secondary manipulation of the distortion field generated
a counter-acceleration force for the benefit of the crew, providing them an apparent acceleration of one gee. A smooth and
comfortable ride, unmatched by Adamist star-ships with their fusion drives.
Athene knew she would never be quite so comfortable if she ever took a trip in a voidhawk again. With
Iasius
she could always feel the nothingness of the vacuum flowing by; a sensation she equated with being in a rowing-boat on some
country river, and letting her hand trail through the calm water. Passengers never received that feeling. Passengers were
meat.
Go on, she told the starship. Call for them.
All right.
She smiled for both of them at the eagerness in the tone.
Iasius
called. Opening its affinity full, projecting a wordless shout of joy and sorrow over a spherical zone thirty astronomical
units in radius. Calling for mates.
Like all voidhawks,
Iasius
was a creature of deep space, unable to operate close to the confines of a strong gravity field. It had a lenticular shape,
measuring one hundred and ten metres in diameter, thirty metres deep at the centre. The hull was a tough polyp, midnight blue
in colour, its outer layer gradually boiling away in the vacuum, replaced by new cells growing up from the mitosis layer.
Internally, twenty per cent of its mass was given over to specialist organs—nutrient reserve bladders, heart pumps supplying
the vast capillary network, and neuron cells—all packaged together neatly within a cylindrical chamber at the centre of the
body. The remaining eighty per cent of its bulk was made up from a solid honeycomb of energy patterning cells which generated
the spatial distortion field it used for both propulsion modes. It was those cells which were decaying in ever larger quantities.
Like human neurons they were unable to regenerate effectively, which dictated the starship’s life expectancy. Voidhawks rarely
saw out more than a hundred and ten years.
Both the upper and lower hull surfaces had a wide circular groove halfway out from the middle, which the mechanical systems
were slotted into. The lower hull groove was fitted mainly with cradles for cargo-pods, the circle of folded titanium struts
interrupted only by a few sealed ancillary systems modules. Crew quarters nestled in the upper hull groove, a chrome-silver
toroid equipped with lounges, cabins, a small hangar for the atmospheric flyer, fusion generators, fuel, life-support units.
Human essentials.
Athene walked around the toroid’s central corridor one last time. Her current husband, Sinon, accompanied her as she performed
her final sacrosanct duty: initiating the children who would grow up to be the captains of the next generation. There were
ten of them, zygotes, Athene’s ova fertilized with sperm from her three husbands and two dear lovers. They had been waiting
in zero-tau from the moment of conception, protected from entropy, ready for this day.
Sinon had provided the sperm for only one child. But walking beside her, he found he held no resentment. He was from the original
hundred families; several of his ancestors had been captains, as well as two of his half-siblings; for just one of his own
children to be given the privilege was honour enough.
The corridor had a hexagonal cross-section, its surface made out of a smooth pale-green composite that glowed from within.
Athene and Sinon walked at the head of
subsidiary industrial stations, their numbers tangible evidence of just how important the bitek starships had become to the
whole Edenist economy.
The starship sent power flashing through its patterning cells, focusing energy towards infinity, the loci distorting space
outside the hull, but never enough to open a wormhole interstice. They rode the distortion wave towards the habitat like a
surfer racing for the beach, quickly accelerating to three gees. A secondary manipulation of the distortion field generated
a counter-acceleration force for the benefit of the crew, providing them an apparent acceleration of one gee. A smooth and
comfortable ride, unmatched by Adamist star-ships with their fusion drives.
Athene knew she would never be quite so comfortable if she ever took a trip in a voidhawk again. With
Iasius
she could always feel the nothingness of the vacuum flowing by; a sensation she equated with being in a rowing-boat on some
country river, and letting her hand trail through the calm water. Passengers never received that feeling. Passengers were
meat.
Go on, she told the starship. Call for them.
All right.
She smiled for both of them at the eagerness in the tone.
Iasius
called. Opening its affinity full, projecting a wordless shout of joy and sorrow over a spherical zone thirty astronomical
units in radius. Calling for mates.
Like all voidhawks,
Iasius
was a creature of deep space, unable to operate close to the confines of a strong gravity field. It had a lenticular shape,
measuring one hundred and ten metres in diameter, thirty metres deep at the centre. The hull was a tough polyp, midnight blue
in colour, its outer layer gradually boiling away in the vacuum, replaced by new cells growing up from the mitosis layer.
Internally, twenty per cent of its mass was given over to specialist organs—nutrient reserve bladders, heart pumps supplying
the vast capillary network, and neuron cells—all packaged together neatly within a cylindrical chamber at the centre of the
body. The remaining eighty per cent of its bulk was made up from a solid honeycomb of energy patterning cells which generated
the spatial distortion field it used for both propulsion modes. It was those cells which were decaying in ever larger quantities.
Like human neurons they were unable to regenerate effectively, which dictated the starship’s life expectancy. Voidhawks rarely
saw out more than a hundred and ten years.
Both the upper and lower hull surfaces had a wide circular groove halfway out from the middle, which the mechanical systems
were slotted into. The lower hull groove was fitted mainly with cradles for cargo-pods, the circle of folded titanium struts
interrupted only by a few sealed ancillary systems modules. Crew quarters nestled in the upper hull groove, a chrome-silver
toroid equipped with lounges, cabins, a small hangar for the atmospheric flyer, fusion generators, fuel, life-support units.
Human essentials.
Athene walked around the toroid’s central corridor one last time. Her current husband, Sinon, accompanied her as she performed
her final sacrosanct duty: initiating the children who would grow up to be the captains of the next generation. There were
ten of them, zygotes, Athene’s ova fertilized with sperm from her three husbands and two dear lovers. They had been waiting
in zero-tau from the moment of conception, protected from entropy, ready for this day.
Sinon had provided the sperm for only one child. But walking beside her, he found he held no resentment. He was from the original
hundred families; several of his ancestors had been captains, as well as two of his half-siblings; for just one of his own
children to be given the privilege was honour enough.
The corridor had a hexagonal cross-section, its surface made out of a smooth pale-green composite that glowed from within.
Athene and Sinon walked at the head of
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