Meru, page 27
They spent almost an hour like that, Nakis surprising zirself with motion, Rithu keeping up and cheering zir on.
When Nakis finally tired, Rithu took zir by the hands and led zir back to the platform. Their bodies were close enough for Nakis to feel the warmth radiating from Rithu’s sunward side, and zie missed it as soon as they entered their separate berths. By the Nivid! Had zie always fallen so easily for others? Zie hoped zir vent-spawned hormones would adjust quickly.
Nakis nodded.
Rithu’s phores rippled with amusement.
Nakis shook zir head. Much in those first days with Rithu had turned into a blank, like other portions of zir organic memory.
Nakis winced at the slur.
Nakis glowed with surprise. Zie hadn’t realized that stasis caused that much atrophy. It made sense once zie thought about it, especially for someone as athletic as Rithu.
—he waved at the blue giant beside them—
Nakis looked at zir tail.
Rithu’s phores glowed gently.
Nakis flashed, unable to keep the depression from zir phores.
Stasis had its allure. Nakis couldn’t deny that, but faced with Rithu and his story, zie considered trying a second life. Zie must not have been a complete failure as a pilot if zie had ferried a human. Someone had contracted zir services at least once. Rithu’s offer gave Nakis a chance to rehabilitate zirself. Even if zie could never be the multimodal pilot zir maker had designed, zie didn’t have to surrender to stasis. Zie could live actively, in a different way, and still contribute to society.
A long-term commitment. Nakis wondered if zie could recover zir microgravity flight with Rithu’s help in that time. Atmospheric flight would help with Rithu’s work, but MG would allow Nakis to take on longer-range projects.
Rithu smiled.
THYAAGA—SACRIFICE
Jayanthi spent her first week on Chedi recovering her strength and getting to know the other residents. They weren’t all quite as friendly as Sunanda, but they were welcoming and kind. Some lived for pure hedonism, swimming in Chedi’s pools, playing games, eating delicious meals, catching up on a year’s worth of entertainment. Others balanced their pleasure with simple work, as people did on Earth, and a few studied and attempted to master subjects.
She discovered that Chedi’s pedia had plenty of literature about human pregnancy, so that became her main occupation for several days. Her body had started to change in noticeable and expected ways. Her bladder acted like it had shrunk to the size of a pea. Her breasts felt sore for the first time she could recall. And her stomach alternated between ravenous and rebellious.
When she read the parts about giving birth and the many risks and complications, she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake. Humankind—and mammals in general—had produced children for millions of years, but plenty of mothers and infants had died in the process. Science and medicine had helped over time. The development of womb technology had, of course, voided it entirely. Not getting pregnant came with its own set of costs, though, only some of which could be avoided later in life. The topic fascinated her endlessly.
Raya had been thrilled to learn that Jayanthi was pregnant. She’d insisted on Jayanthi holding Hui while she related everything that had happened with her own body. Raya had dealt with some complications, and her descriptions of Chedi’s care were wrapped in glowing words.
“Chedi has delivered quite a few babies,” Raya had said. “And Sunanda was a gem when it came to assisting me with the labor and the first weeks with Hui. They didn’t have any prior experience with it, but they were so calm and supportive. Jesan was too much of a nervous wreck.”
Hui had stared at Jayanthi with wide eyes as his mother talked. She’d expected the baby to feel delicate, but he was solid and warm in her arms, and he smelled wonderful. Will it be the same with my child? It was so strange to say those two words—my child—but the more she did, the easier it got. She wished that Vaha’s incarn had been there to experience it all with her.
At every conversation with Chedi, she asked whether there had been any sign of zir. She received the same answer every time: no news. She hadn’t mentioned Vaha or Meru to any of the passengers, and none asked, not even Sunanda. They’d acknowledged her desire to return to Earth and agreed to put it to a vote at their next full meeting, which was two weeks away. In some ways, it was a relief to move among them without the weight of responsibility on her, and with Chedi acting as her confidante, she didn’t feel guilty about neglecting her obligations to the Meru project. She allowed herself to relax a little for the first time since she’d left home.
Guhaka, the oldest resident, had taken a liking to her, and the three of them had tea together every day in the shade of the grahin.
“So, Jaya, you’ve been here a full week,” Guhaka said one afternoon. “What do you think of the place? Do you like our little floating paradise?”
Jayanthi smiled around the rim of her teacup. “I think it’s amazing. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t live this way.”
“Not everyone wants to inhabit a megaconstruct,” Sunanda said. “And not everyone is suited for this kind of life. We’re a small group with a limited set of activities.”
“From what I’ve seen,” Jayanthi said, “you have a great variety of things to do—study, play, relax, create, cultivate. You have everything good about Earth and you don’t have to live under the rules of the compact. You get to travel the universe. No one cares if you have excess ambition.”
“So you think everyone should have access to this kind of life?” Guhaka said.
“Oh, here we go.” Sunanda rolled their eyes.
Guhaka feigned innocence. “What? Can’t an elder inquire about a young person’s philosophy?”
Jayanthi laughed. “I’m not a strict follower of Sahaya Amritsavar, if that’s what you’re wondering. I don’t think human beings need the same rights as alloy beings, but neither am I a conservative like Bantri. For something like life on Chedi, I guess I’d like everyone to have a choice, but I don’t know if that’s practical. You’d need millions of constructs to carry everyone, and making them would create an enormous environmental impact.”
“Most humans don’t want this,” Sunanda said. “I can almost guarantee you that. We’ve had so many people leave over the years. They get bored, or they miss their families, or they want to see the real sun and birds and animals. They want to eat meat. They want human tutors for their children. The reasons are endless. And some people just aren’t happy in space. That’s why we still have humans, right? Otherwise we’d all be alloys.”
“I’d give anything to be an alloy,” Jayanthi said.
“Then you should stay with us,” Sunanda said. “Living with Chedi is as close as it gets.”
“For space travel,” Jayanthi agreed, “but not for rebirth or baby making or contributing to the Nivid.”
Guhaka clasped his hands behind his head and settled back in his chair. His mouth curved in a small smile as he half turned toward Sunanda. They must have had this kind of discussion many times.
“We don’t need any of those,” Sunanda said. “Most of the alloys don’t, either. Think of life in Chedi like being in stasis. Our basic necessities are taken care of—food, health, climate, education, and entertainment. We can spend our days producing or consuming, as we choose. We’re only constrained by Chedi’s resources. What do we want reputation or respect for, other than the minimal amounts to get along with each other?”
“Ambition, Sunanda,” Guhaka said. He pointed his chin at Jayanthi. “I suspect she has it.”
“We can accommodate that,” Sunanda said. “You can achieve things here. We won’t ask you to curb yourself or your pursuits.”
“Achievement in a vacuum—pun fully intended—doesn’t gain you a legacy,” he said. “Most people are content with having others think well of them, but some need more. They want to feel accomplished, like they’ve pushed at the boundaries of all knowledge and made it yield to their efforts. They want to make a lasting contribution that will carry their name forward into the centuries after they’re gone. This is why we have the Nivid.”
Jayanthi found herself nodding in agreement. “Did you?” she asked Guhaka. “Want that?”
“In my younger days, yes. That’s how I ended up here. I was a Voice of Compassion and traveled as far as the Venusian padhrans. I saw the Primary Nivid once.” His eyes went distant. “It is truly a marvel, and beautiful to behold, too. Then I hitched a ride with a retired pilot for a while, and she brought me to Chedi, and I’ve never looked back. The alloys have a whisper network for humans like us and those who wish to support us. Of course, Hamsa has turned the volume up now. When his proposal inevitably fails, it will reduce the likelihood of getting more constructs like Chedi.”
“What do you mean?” Jayanthi asked.
“Hamsa’s the one who commissioned Chedi. She’s a negative mark on his record. Now he’s staked his reputation on opening Meru to human settlement. If he can’t get that done, people will start questioning his judgment. They won’t vote to expend resources on his future project proposals, especially those that involve human space travel, and they certainly won’t vote in favor of his amendment to the compact. Those who attempt similar ventures in the future will have an uphill struggle to show how their ideas are different and why they’re more likely to succeed—”
“But,” Jayanthi interrupted, “there’s nothing wrong with Chedi.”
“She’s at a fraction of her capacity,” Guhaka said. “That’s a problem.” He popped a cardamom cookie in his mouth and pushed the plate at Jayanthi. “Eat!”
“What Guhaka means,” Sunanda said amiably, “is that after they finished making Chedi, they asked for volunteers to populate her. At the start, she had a thousand passengers. We’re down to less than a hundred now, between the travel restrictions and the people who keep leaving. Humans think they’d love this life, but more often than not, they hate it. Beings are maladapted to their environment, not their bodies. Most people don’t feel like they belong here. This great experiment”—they gestured expansively—“demonstrated that humans prefer to live on Earth, where we naturally fit. That’s the argument that some alloys use against Hamsa and people like us. They’re skeptical that humans would want Meru, no matter what Amritsavar and her faction say.”
“Even if the vote to amend the compact goes in Hamsa’s direction,” Guhaka said, “if he can’t find a heritable way to integrate humans into Meru’s ecosystem, or if not enough humans decide to relocate, people won’t give him a third chance, nor will they look favorably upon anyone who wants to build more Chedis.”
Jayanthi looked at the two of them with a growing suspicion. “Do you know who I am?”
Two quizzical expressions faced her.
“Should we?” Sunanda asked.
As Jayanthi debated whether to tell them, Guhaka slapped his knee and leaned forward.
“Really? You? Is that why you’re in this system? But what were you doing drifting away from Meru?”
Sunanda looked back and forth at the two of them. Jayanthi watched as realization dawned on their face and their lips formed a pink O of surprise.
“It’s a long story,” Jayanthi said.
Guhaka leaned back again. “We don’t have anything pressing to do.”
So she told them the abbreviated version that she’d given Chedi: about her sickle cell gene and Meru’s atmosphere, about Vaha and the first weeks on Meru, about Kaliyu’s and Vaha’s sudden disappearances. By the time she finished, they’d drunk four pots of tea, and their daylight had dimmed. In the opposite corner of the grahin, two people played a long game of chess, but the pavilion was otherwise empty.
“We should get you back to Meru, not Earth,” Guhaka said. “Let you continue this grand experiment, since it appears to be working in Hamsa’s favor—and therefore ours, too. Then we can return to Sol and tell the Exploration Committee to send you a new pilot.”
