Grail - By Elizabeth Bear Page 0,8

that vegetation?”

While suffering the throes of memory, Benedick indulged himself in a more pleasant one: a brief interlude in a mad dash through the bowels of the world that he and Chelsea had undertaken, where they had met a colony of sapient, carnivorous orchids and been introduced to an archive of films from Earth, including footage of the homeworld’s mighty oceans. He imagined that Chelsea, too, was recollecting those images. The surface-level pictures had revealed oceans tinted glass green by algae and azure by reflection from the deep skies above. These oceans appeared similar, allowing for some astronomical units of difference in perspective.

But the landmasses of Earth as seen from space had been different. They’d been greener, and browner, with great swathes of tan and umber through the haze of atmosphere.

“Analysis of the reflection spectrum indicates it’s photo-synthetic,” Caitlin said. “So yes, it’s plants. Purple and black plants. Very efficient sunlight collectors. Grail’s sky is probably blue, based on atmospheric haze, ocean color, and still more spectrographic analysis. From here, the air looks breathable, though it’s an extremely rich mix by our standards. Benedick, you were about to …?”

Benedick beckoned, zooming the globe in until a blurry bit of detail on the smaller of two southeastern continents became visible. A circle, perfect as a water splash, reflecting the blue skies above.

Jsutien said, “Impact crater.”

“Fresh. Less than a hundred and fifty years old. Lingering traces of radiation.”

“Damn,” said Jsutien. “Guess they really blew the dismount.”

3

divergent evolution

No, ’tis the gradual furnace of the world,

In whose hot air our spirits are upcurl’d

Until they crumble, or else grow like steel—

Which kills in us the bloom, the youth, the spring—

Which leaves the fierce necessity to feel,

But takes away the power

—MATTHEW ARNOLD, “Tristram and Iseult”

Danilaw pulled his work coat off the hook on the inside of his office door when they walked past. As he and Captain Amanda stepped into the conference room—and Karen paused to wait outside—he shrugged into it, head bent. He could feel the frown on his face and wanted to hide it from Captain Amanda and his cabinet members until he had it under control. It was a frown of unease, not displeasure—but a responsible leader understood that those around him reacted to his moods and to those unconsciously perceived cues that told one to walk softly because the silverback was angry. A frown would upset them, and he needed his team focused on the problem—not on appeasing, avoiding, or supporting him, as their various natures might demand.

Captain Amanda latched the door quietly, letting everybody know that this was serious business. The City Council did not usually meet behind closed doors. The conference room was pleasant, airy, conducive to work without ostentation or extravagance, though it, too, had a couple of lake-view blisters—also empty of any dodecapodal observers.

The central table was the one element likely to impress, but that was due to it being a state-of-the-art piece of technology rather than to any calculated effect. A thick memory crystal embedded with data arrays, a solid-state quantum teleconferencing system, holographic displays, recorders, and other useful and interesting devices, it had the appearance of a palm-thick, armspan-wide slab of pale violet glass threaded with circuits and guide panels. The array rested atop four graceful C-shaped ceramalloy legs, like something that trembled on compressed springs. But it was solid as rock—and heavy as one, too, as Danilaw clearly remembered from the work party he’d hosted to move the damned thing in here. Even blunting the gravity hadn’t made that project easy.

The secondary task of carrying in the chairs had been handled by Danilaw’s sister’s kids, since it had been his day to watch them. Good life experience, and a few community service credits toward their citizenship, combined with a family outing. Sometimes, laziness was the next best thing to genius.

Two Administrators waited behind the table. The citizen on the right was Jesse Corelio, with his nut-brown hair and pale olive complexion—a tidy medium-sized young citizen serving his first stint as a Councilor. He wasn’t using a chair. He perched, legs drawn up, in an observation blister. A mathematician and farmer, he’d passed the suitability tests with flying colors, and so far Danilaw had enjoyed working with him, but the relationship hadn’t been tested yet.

On the left was Gain Kangjeon, whose hair was as black and straight as Amanda’s, though her skin was paler and her eyes creased at the corners by epicanthic folds. She was bigger than Jesse, broad-shouldered and broad-hipped. Danilaw, in particular, liked