“We were too shocked to think logically, but we were certainly far more than a handful. As I said, there were thirty-five thousand of us, with slightly more men than women. And we had ample power and materials available. There was no question that we could survive very well if we pooled our resources and all worked together. We knew it might be centuries before Earth could be re-visited and repopulated, but there was no reason why we could not go on indefinitely as a stable, spaceborne society.”
Ferranti smiled bitterly. “God knows, many of us had said we wanted just that for long enough. Then when we had no choice, most of us in our dreams imagined ourselves back on Terra.
“There’s one good thing about humans: we forget. Despair can’t last forever. We pulled ourselves together, little by little, and began to think again. On Salter Station we finally arranged for a radio conference of all the space groups. It was difficult to handle, because one arcology had been out near Mars, and we had long radio lags. But we pulled everyone into the circuits — all the arcologies, the mining groups that had been smelting from the Amor asteroids, and the scientists who had been building the Farside station up on Earth’s moon. Everything in space had always been controlled from Salter Station, so it seemed natural that we would still be the organizers.
“Natural to us, on Salter Station. But others didn’t see it that way. “The arcologies had been set up to be as self-sufficient as possible, with independent power plants and six-nines recycling systems. The other space facilities were different. They were dependent on supplies provided from Earth, or on spaceborne resources provided by the mining and extractive industries. “The first planning session to discuss pooling of resources went smoothly. Everyone participated. But when the time came to act, three of the arcologies backed out. I believe that they each operated independently, without even discussing it among themselves. They were afraid, you see — scared that the total group might not be stably self-sustaining, even though they had no doubt about their own ability to survive. There were other reasons, too. From the very beginning the arcologies had been developing their own social and political preferences and differences. Like called to like — colonists tended to apply to the same place as their friends, and to avoid a colony where their views would be ridiculed or in the minority. The last thing that Helena, Melissa, and Eleanora wanted was a merger with Salter Station and the other arcologies. They didn’t ever admit that they were not going to cooperate; they simply cut off radio contact and moved farther out, away from Earth.
“The rest of us were angry with them, but we didn’t take as much notice as you might think. We had our own hands full without them for the first few years. We had to establish our own system, self-sufficient and as foolproof as we could make it. That took ninety-nine percent of our energies. And the rest went into the work on reduced metabolic survival — what we finally called S-space existence. As a doctor I was naturally interested in that, and after a while I began to work on it exclusively. Within a couple of months of the first experiments with human subjects on Salter Station it was clear that we had something absolutely revolutionary, something that changed all our ideas about perception and human consciousness. But it took several years more before we saw the other implications. With our work, humanity had found the easy way to the stars. “There was no need for multi-generation arcologies, or for faster-than-light drives — “
“ — which seem to be impossible,” murmured Sy softly.
“Which may be impossible,” said Ferranti. “Keep an open mind. Anyway, we didn’t need them. The drive system research on Salter Station would allow us to accelerate a ship up to better than a tenth of light-speed, and that was enough. In Mode Two consciousness — S-space — a human being could remain fully aware, live an extended subjective life, and travel across the whole Galaxy in a single lifetime.
“That led to a new crisis. Everyone loved the idea of an extended subjective life span — if it were safe. But everyone was terrified of possible side effects. “We split into two groups. Some of us said, let’s move to S-space, and wait there at least until Earth is habitable again. No one knew how long that would be, but in S-space we could afford to wait centuries and perceive them as only a few weeks. Others were afraid. They argued that there were too many unknowns and too many risks in S-space living; until those were pinned down it was better to stay with our normal perception.”
Olivia Ferranti smiled ruefully. “As it turned out, both groups were right. Earth recovered slowly. It took more than a thousand years to develop new and stable plant and animal communities. None of us had ever dreamed it would be so long. And at the same time, we were discovering serious physical consequences of S-space living.
“Fortunately we didn’t fight over our differences of opinion on the move to S-space. Maybe the destruction of Earth had taught us all something about the need for peaceful resolution of conflicts. We agreed we would pursue both actions. Most people elected to stay as they were, creating a decent society in the spaceborne environment. After a few generations it was clear that a life in space was as satisfying as most of us had ever hoped. By then a few hundred of us had long since moved to S-space, using ourselves as the subjects for experiments that might reduce the risk for those who followed. While we were doing that we discovered a new mode of metabolic change, this one a true suspended animation. Five of you have personal experience of that cold sleep, here on the ship. We still don’t know how long someone can remain safely unconscious in that mode, but it’s certainly a long time — thousands of years at least.
“The move to S-space had two other important consequences. First, we realized that we couldn’t go back down and live on Earth, or anywhere with a substantial gravity field, even if we wanted to. That had been deduced when the experiments were still all on animals, and it was one major reason for moving the work out to orbit and away from the surface of Earth. You see, perceived accelerations — “ “We understand,” said Peron. “Kallen and Sy” — he pointed to them — “figured it out.”
“Smart.” Olivia Ferranti looked at the group appraisingly. “When I’m through, perhaps you’ll tell me a little more about yourselves. All I know so far is what I was told by Peron and by Captain Rinker.”
“Won’t he be wondering what’s happening?” said Rosanne. Then she stopped and put her hand to her mouth.
“He might — in a few more days.” Ferranti smiled and Rosanne grinned back at her. The initial tension of confrontation was fading. They were all increasingly absorbed in the first-person tale of remote history.
Olivia Ferranti leaned against the wall and pushed back the blue cowl from her forehead, to reveal a mop of jet-black tight curls. “We have lots of time. At the moment, Captain Rinker and the others hardly know I’ve left.” “But you’ve got hair!” blurted out Lum.
Olivia Ferranti raised her dark eyebrows at him. “I’m glad to hear that you think so.”
“It’s what I told them,” said Peron. “I thought S-space made you bald.” “It does. Didn’t you ever hear of wigs, down on Pentecost? Most of the men in S-space don’t worry about it, but I don’t care to face the world with a naked scalp. My ideas on the right way for me to look were fixed long before I ever dreamed of S-space. Anyway, I have a lumpy skull that I have no great desire to show off to others.” She patted her dark ringlets. “I much prefer this. The nice thing about it is that it will never go gray.”
“What else does S-space do to people?” asked Sy. More than the rest of them, except possibly for Kallen who had typically not spoken at all, Sy seemed reserved and unwarmed by Olivia Ferranti’s open manner.