CHAPTER 24
The forward Can was starting to resemble an enormous spider’s web. Mattoso shuddered as she recalled the childish fright she felt when, exploring a little used storage alcove in Ceres City, she stumbled into a nest of cobwebs. Spiders were one of the few Earth creatures that had, somehow, found themselves a niche in the tunnels of Ceres.
She yawned — she had been awake for a while, just completing verification of the rig at the Beach. Slow as hell, but at least it was boring… she thought, recalling the draining of the Beach’s artificial lake. And stinky, too… She grimaced at the memory of the smell at the bottom of the lake, mildew and scum and miscellaneous organic residue.
“All clear,” shouted a crewman, and a dull thudding “pop” sounded. Enormous reels of cables and webbing had been unrolled and were being propelled across the Can’s empty diameter, crisscrossed and enmeshed such that, even should one find themselves floating in that empty space in the center of the can, there would always be a cable or webbing nearby to haul oneself back to the surface.
She idly scanned the news and discussion forums as she walked. Don’t believe it! was the title of one thread, in which anonymous users argued about the truthfulness of the latest news regarding the faked signals. One poster believed the latest reports, but claimed that the signals were just a ruse by SNH operatives to manipulate Aoteans. Other threads contained polar opposite opinions, with posters demanding that such theorizing was contrary to the principles of the SNH, and that the conspiracists were continuing the pattern of strife and chaos from Earth.
Even though the vast majority of the forum discussions were still courteous and agreeable, she had the feeling something was changing. It used to be a challenge to find an argument onboard, even in the relative anonymity of the network discussions. Now they were getting the most attention, even if much of that attention were exhortations for calm.
She’d never had any doubt that her decision to join the crew of Aotea was the right one. Her parents had been inconsolable when she first informed them, more than a decade before. All her childhood they had told her she would stay on Ceres and work in the family restaurant; two of her brothers, more than a decade older, had become Ceres City cops, and her other brother Paolo was a bit slow, leaving Mattoso as the presumed heir to the family business. But once they learned of her plans, they walked back all their expectations, begging that she find another career on Ceres if she wished, or even (to Mattoso’s amazement) go elsewhere in the solar system, where at least they might see her occasionally. But to leave for Samwise might as well have been a death sentence — albeit one with occasional, multi-year-delayed message vids.
She had been shocked at first. Her parents were die-hard believers in Paola Rahmon, even if they were never formally members of the SNH. Mattoso had thought they’d be ecstatic once they realized her plans. But her family’s vids had become less and less frequent over the last year, except for Paolo, who recorded a short message every week for her, whether or not she responded. Thoughts of his bouncing leap for an embrace every time she visited made her tear up, and she tried to bring her mind back to the present.
Mattoso looked on as, hand in hand, a line of children made its way aft between structures and riggers. Furry, simian MOMbots gently herded the children, distracting the most confused and bewildered among them with juggling tricks as they walked. When she first arrived onboard from Ceres, she found the MOMbots on Aotea awkward and even disturbing. With their multiple-jointed limbs, they moved far more like animals than robots, though not like any animal she had ever seen in the Earth documentary vids. But the years onboard, along with the gushing reports of her fellow Aoteans on the unending tolerance, affection, and playfulness of the robots, had softened her opinion. The orderliness of the relocation of the children, along with the dutiful, step-by-step compartment zero-gravity rig, contrasted sharply with the bickering and divisions on the net.
She looked again at the checklist projected into the air — Mattoso had been assigned to verify that a section of machinery spaces had been properly rigged for zero gravity. As she made her way down an access hatch she noticed more DustBots, TrashBots, and their ilk, than usual — the Can-wide rig demanded, temporarily, that every cleaning robot focus on uncontained liquids and small debris. One of the bug-like little machines was filling its expandable bladder with what looked like spilled coffee on the deck. Another swept trash and debris into little piles for some larger Bot to collect later.
The checklist guided her through the passageways and compartments, verifying that every hatch large enough for a guycable was rigged open, every tool was secured, every surface had handholds attached, and every large space was crisscrossed with webbing. Even the Bots rigged themselves from some silent electronic command — it was startling to see how many additional limbs the TrashBots, TaskBots, RoverBots, and others seemed to conjure up from their innards to crawl and climb along in freefall.
She passed by a pair of crewmembers arguing about the latest developments — one insisted that the upcoming Spindown was somehow related to the murders and the faked ‘alien’ signals. She couldn’t help but doubletake. Confusion and doubt can lead to strife, she recalled from the teachings of the SNH. It’s just temporary, she decided. We’ll be back to normal soon.
She cringed as she found a discrepancy against the checklist — a damage control toolkit inside a machinery space wasn’t properly secured to the bulkhead. Her orders had insisted that the Spindown was needed as soon as possible to minimize any damage to the rotation gears. But she recalled the oath she took upon earning the ‘star canoe’ emblem — the award all crewmembers received upon achieving full ship’s qualification — an Aotean’s first duty is to the truth. She sighed and marked the discrepancy on the checklist, knowing that another crewmember would have to repeat the entire rig in this section, along with another officer’s second-check. Better the ire of GravTran than a broken skull from a floating toolkit.
The vibe in the forward Can was much closer to celebration than to concern. The zero-gravity rig was finally complete, and hundreds of Aoteans had gathered to experience the Spindown and freefall — the first since launch. Hanging and climbing on the cables and webbing, Mattoso thought she spied some of the same children, still chaperoned by MOMbots, that she had seen marching aft earlier.
“Thirty seconds to Spindown in the forward can,” announced an automated voice.
Pat handed her a small tablet, and she asked what it was.
“Ginger, for nausea.”
Someone started a countdown.
“Is this really appropriate?” Pat whispered, clutching tightly to Mattoso’s hand.
“The Officer of the Deck checked,” she answered. “There’s no regulation against civilian bystanders for a Spindown.”
“…twenty-two, twenty-one…”
“Seems weird,” said Pat. “This isn’t supposed to be fun…”
Mattoso smiled at a pair of children swinging jointly around a stiff cable. “Maybe not, but they’re having fun.”
“… sixteen, fifteen…”
“Maybe we should too.” The Operations Lieutenant grabbed her lover’s hand and raced to the nearest unoccupied webbing base.
“… twelve, eleven…”
Laughing, they raced up the webbing, joining in the countdown as they ascended. Mattoso realized she had never been this high up inside Aotea — indeed, she had never been this high above any surface at all. The colony ship’s ‘buildings’ stood no more than a few stories at most. There wasn’t a single chamber in Ceres as large as one of Aotea’s cans. She had a momentary feeling of disorientation as she surveyed the interior cylinder of the colony ship — she realized that, as she climbed, the sense of “gravity” from the can’s rotation lessened.
“Don’t jump until the Spindown is complete!” someone shouted. “The countdown is just for the beginning!”
A MOMbot swung adroitly up a cable to gingerly return one of its charges to the surface.
“…three, two, one!”
“Spindown commencing.” There was a new noise. The dull hum that faded into the background, ever since the Can was first spun-up so many years ago, changed in tone, lowering and growing less regular.
Mattoso’s insides shifted, and she almost lost her grip of the webbing as her feet pressed down less and less in their footholds. She felt nervous. Maybe this was a big mistake… It was too late to climb back down. She smiled and hugged Pat with one free arm, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The hum lessened to a repetitive thump, slower and slower. And it stopped.
The pause was interminable. “Spindown complete.”
Mattoso’s worry melted away as children shrieked, bounding straight up from the surface, their laughter musical. She kissed Pat’s cheek, and let go of the webbing. “Come fly with me,” she bubbled, shooting off into the air.