“We won’t.”

Freya said, “Ship, did you communicate with the other ship’s AI?”

“Yes. Constant exchange of all data.”

“But neither of you saw its end coming.”

“There were no signs.”

“I find it hard to believe that if it was a human act, whoever did it didn’t do things in advance that would suggest there was going to be a problem.”

“We found that very few human actions are predictable in advance. There are too many variables.”

“But to do something like that?”

“If indeed someone did it intentionally. This is the likeliest explanation, but the event remains obscure, and there is no evidence left to examine, except the other ship’s transmissions. However, recall that every human lives under pressure. Every human feels various kinds of stress. Then things happen.”

Badim looked at Freya for a while as she considered this, then went over and gave her a hug.

The reconciliation conference began on the morning of 170.211. All the locks between the biomes were opened, also the spine tunnels, and all the spokes and struts.

In the days preceding, like-minded groups had gathered to discuss the situation and lay out the choices available to them now. Despite all that, the first hours of the general meeting were tense and fraught. The ship’s interventions at the moment of crisis, and its continuing activity in the process now being undertaken, were widely questioned. Various proposals for disabling the ship’s ability to run the ship were frequently put forth. Inevitably, these proposals too were controversial. We could have suggested that if we were not running the ship, no one would be, but decided not to speak to these issues at this time. Because people believe what they want to.

After this meeting came to an indecisive end, we did speak up to remind people that violence was both illegal and dangerous, conveying this message only by print on screens. We also printed requests that the protocols for conflict resolution defined in the 68 agreements be strictly adhered to. In effect, the meetings that had produced the Year 68 protocols, which had themselves been a reconciliation process after a period of civil strife, were to be used as the model for what they were doing now. When carving an ax handle, the model is always close at hand (Chinese proverb).

The next gathering of representatives, in Athens’s Government House, began tensely, as was now normal. A great deal of anger distorted people’s faces and words, and no one made attempts to pretend otherwise. Sangey stared boldly at the people his group had kidnapped just two weeks before; Speller, Heloise, and Song sat next to each other, and spoke among themselves, pointedly not looking across the long oval table to the people on the other side.

When everyone was seated, Aram stood up. “We are the victims of your kidnapping,” he said to Sangey. “It was an assault on democracy and civilization in this ship, a hostage-taking, a crime. You should be in jail. That’s the backdrop for our meeting here now. No good reason to pretend otherwise. But we on our side of the dispute want to move on without further bloodshed.”

“There are more of us than there are of you,” Sangey pointed out with a frown. “We may have made some mistakes caused by our fear for the community. But we were trying to defend the safety of the majority. You who want to return to Earth are in the minority—and wrong. Deeply wrong. But you were going to impose that move on us, and leave us in an untenable situation. So now we’re ready to talk. But don’t preach to us. We may find we have to resist again, to defend our lives.”

“You started the violence!” Aram said. “And now you threaten more violence. We who want to go back were never going to throw you overboard and leave, so your actions were completely unjustified. They were criminal actions, and people died because of them. That’s on your hands, and any smug talk of the majority is just excuse-making. It didn’t have to happen the way it did. But it happened, and now we have to make some kind of accommodation, or else we’ll end up fighting again. So, we’re willing to do that. A plan can be made that gives everyone a chance to do what they want. But we’re not going to stop saying what happened last week. When there is a truth and reconciliation conference like this, the truth is essential. You chose violence and people got killed. We choose peace now, and we are leaving you to your own devices. The people who choose to stay with you after what you have done are making an obviously dangerous choice, but it’s their choice to make.”

Sangey waved a hand, as if to wave aside all Aram’s statements.

“What plan?” Speller asked. “What do you mean?”

Badim described the strategy of following a dual course, with those who wanted to stay on Iris supported until they were self-sufficient there, while at the same time a part of the starship was to be refueled for a return to the solar system, leaving Ring A behind in orbit around Iris to serve as orbital support for those on the surface. Resource feedstocks would be gathered, and printers manufactured, until both sides were ready to pursue their own projects. Individuals could then decide which course to choose.

Aram added, “You are only a majority by grouping your different goals tactically. In fact you’re papering things over, because there’s a big difference between staying here in the Tau Ceti system and moving on.”

“Let us deal with that,” Speller suggested. “That’s not your problem.” He did not look at Sangey or Heloise.

Aram said, “As long as you leave us alone. And the ship.”

We interjected: “Ship will ensure integrity of ship.”

This caused Sangey and Speller to frown, but they said nothing.

We then reminded everyone, by way of print messages, of the Year 68 protocols for conflict resolution, which had the status of binding law. We promised to enforce the law, provided a proposed schedule for future meetings, and suggested that all biomes meet in town meetings to discuss the new plan, thus maximizing transparency and civility, and hopefully minimizing illegal behaviors and bad feelings.

We called this first representative meeting to a close when the humans began to repeat themselves.

On 170.217, the first of the postconflict town meetings began.

Town meetings were held in every biome, then the general assembly met again, in Athens. Of the 1,895 inhabitants of the ship, 1,548 attended. Children were kept with their parents, or in school groups. The youngest person there was eight months old, the oldest, eighty-eight.

They looked around at each other. There were none of the festive markers of New Year’s Day, or Fassnacht, or Midsummer’s Day, or Midwinter’s Day. It was as if they did not recognize each other anymore.

The vote had been taken that morning. Everyone twelve years old and older had voted, with twenty-four exceptions due to illness, including dementia. Now the results were announced, by the leader of the twenty-four biome representatives in the executive council, Ellen from the Prairie, in effect the ship’s president.

She said, “One thousand and four want to stay and establish a colony on Iris. Seven hundred and forty-nine want to refuel the ship and head back to Earth.”

They stared around at each other in silence. The biome representatives, gathered on the platform, stood there also. Not one of them represented constituencies that had all voted for one position, nor even voted for a preference by much of a margin. They all knew that; everyone aboard knew it.