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Shores of Silver Seas; Collected Short Stories: 2000-2006
The Prometheus Project
Chapter 1 Page 38
Shores of Silver Seas; Collected Short Stories: 2000-2006
The Prometheus Project
Chapter 1 Page 38
"And now listen while I tell you why. Why Prometheus. Why me. Why you." The deathbed scene returned, and he watched as a robot gently but rudely cared for his decimated body, which continued speaking while its every orifice and wound was opened and inspected and treated. "Well, first, it's not just you or me. It's not just the Brigantine. As you have no doubt already pointed out to the ship's systems, the Brigantine is dead, as its passengers are all dead. None will survive the disaster, we know this by now. It's just a matter of walking, or lying, about until the end finally comes. There will be no new births to replace the aging population, and we are still many generations, even in warped space, away from our enigmatically distant destination.
"This expedition, therefore, should fail. Except for one detail that you likely do not know, a detail that was excluded from your biotic incorporation due to understandable security concerns. Being that you are here now, however, it is assumable that you have been repaired and tested and that you are, more or less, you. Which is to say, you are me. Except for the puss and open wounds, of course." It gargled a sick laughter, even as the robot inserted an incredibly long and menacing implement into its grotesque abdomen.
"I know you will understand Prometheus better, then, when I say that there is a higher purpose in your suffering. You are not acting for Brigantine's sake, friend, rather you are performing the heroic rescue of another warp ship, the Long March, which was launched with its burden of pilgrims short years after the Brigantine was sent on its happy way. And the destination of Long March? Austere Nine, of course. That's right, roll your mechanical eyes, friend, and groan a bit. For it is, indeed, a wonderful corporation that owns us.
"It was a time-saving, not to mention profitable, undertaking, you see. Our executives saw no reason not to assume that Brigantine should arrive on station on schedule and complete the terraformation of the planet on time, and so they could see little reason to delay launch of the Long March until we were safely delivered. The Long March will arrive in orbit with its vast guts bursting with men and women and small children, friend, and what should become of them if Austere Nine has not been 'formed? They are pilgrims, not engineers, and will have come with the stuffs of colonization in hand, not the 'forming tools they will need to make the air breathable and the water potable, should the Brigantine fail. You see how it is now, I hope.
"Imagine our little disaster multiplied by a hundred fold. We were less than a million when our warp drive went sub-nova, but the Long March will carry one hundred million when it brakes to make orbit. One hundred million suffocating mouths. One hundred million screaming throats. One hundred million doomed souls. Fifty million of them are likely to be young children, too, as pilgrims always get a head start on their colonies with the last ship-bound generation."
"This expedition, therefore, should fail. Except for one detail that you likely do not know, a detail that was excluded from your biotic incorporation due to understandable security concerns. Being that you are here now, however, it is assumable that you have been repaired and tested and that you are, more or less, you. Which is to say, you are me. Except for the puss and open wounds, of course." It gargled a sick laughter, even as the robot inserted an incredibly long and menacing implement into its grotesque abdomen.
"I know you will understand Prometheus better, then, when I say that there is a higher purpose in your suffering. You are not acting for Brigantine's sake, friend, rather you are performing the heroic rescue of another warp ship, the Long March, which was launched with its burden of pilgrims short years after the Brigantine was sent on its happy way. And the destination of Long March? Austere Nine, of course. That's right, roll your mechanical eyes, friend, and groan a bit. For it is, indeed, a wonderful corporation that owns us.
"It was a time-saving, not to mention profitable, undertaking, you see. Our executives saw no reason not to assume that Brigantine should arrive on station on schedule and complete the terraformation of the planet on time, and so they could see little reason to delay launch of the Long March until we were safely delivered. The Long March will arrive in orbit with its vast guts bursting with men and women and small children, friend, and what should become of them if Austere Nine has not been 'formed? They are pilgrims, not engineers, and will have come with the stuffs of colonization in hand, not the 'forming tools they will need to make the air breathable and the water potable, should the Brigantine fail. You see how it is now, I hope.
"Imagine our little disaster multiplied by a hundred fold. We were less than a million when our warp drive went sub-nova, but the Long March will carry one hundred million when it brakes to make orbit. One hundred million suffocating mouths. One hundred million screaming throats. One hundred million doomed souls. Fifty million of them are likely to be young children, too, as pilgrims always get a head start on their colonies with the last ship-bound generation."
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