2.
The Emissary devoured the library, reading through the oldest books that had long ago been translated from their original format onto paper, typed out years ago by apprentice monks, with sketchy diagrams drawn in a careful hand. He ordered blue paper and white ink, and began drawing up his plan.
A Dowini engineer, Arianhrod Lucretia Ives, assisted him; she was part of Ambassador Kessel's retinue, and the first person he selected to help. She had her dark hair pulled back in a tail, and wore half-rimmed glasses, as well as a uniform not unlike that of the Ambassador.
They sat in the library one evening, the Emissary carefully measuring out on the grid he had drawn, while the engineer watched.
“An airship, of some sort?” she asked.
The Emissary smiled.
“Not quite,” he replied, “do you know what the 'Comet' that the Founders are supposed to have traveled on was?”
“Well, comets are celestial events, a streak of fire across the sky, generally followed by one several months or years later. Some interpret them as omens, but learned men believe them to be wandering bodies, much like planets, but closer,” she supplied.
“Very good textbook you read,” the Emissary said, “but they didn't travel on a comet, it was a ship, of sorts. A vast cylinder of metal, kilometers long.”
Lucretia scoffed.
“Such a thing couldn't fly, unless it was driven by some engine I don't know of, and most certainly couldn't come to rest on the world.”
The Emissary smiled.
“Correct. It was built in the vacuum of space, and was driven by the same energies that drive the sun. It still orbits the world, inside the orbit of the first moon.”
“The Star of the Founders?” she asked, referring to the celestial body that dictated the time of morning prayer.
“Very good,” he said, “it's furnaces have long since burned out, but it harnesses the sun's light, turning it to energy to be used in the ceremonies of the various countries.”
She looked at him, cocking her head to the side.
“But there are no wires, how can the electricity travel from the star to the world beneath it?”
He looked over at her.
“It's beamed down as microwaves, I believe. As such, the decay of the ceremonial powers of these countries is linked to some problem in the energy generation. It's an old machine, bound to break down at some point. Probably just got knocked off slightly by a meteorite.”
She gestured to the plans.
“Then this is a ship meant to take us to the star and allow us to fix the problem? Could it be used for other journeys? To the moons and the other planets? To the distant stars?”
“You could get to the first moon, and perhaps the second, if you were smart about it. But not further. The planets are so distant...the closest one receives its share of sunlight a full three minutes before you do, and a sunbeam could circle the planet eight times in the span of a second, if so bent. The stars are yet more distant...our people, the human race, come from a dim star in the northern sky.”
He looked at her.
“It takes almost eighteen years for light from there to reach us. The ship the Founders took traveled for almost a thousand, and we don't have the ability to travel that fast.”
She nodded.
“So, we're building a rocket. How many people will it carry?”
“Seven,” he replied, “myself, and two from each power. You will be on it, as well.”
“Me?” she asked, “but I'm not worthy to travel to the star of the founders, wouldn't it be better to take six priests with you?”
He shook his head.
“Sacredness isn't an inherent quality of a place or thing. It is something attributed by people, and I attribute no sacredness to the ship. It is merely a thing, built by human hands for human purposes.”
The Emissary looked over the photographs he had requested, along with the files that he had had made for this very purpose. One of the six spots had been filled by Lucretia. That left one Dowini spot, and two each for the Yodzi and Thuban.
He sorted them into piles based on nationality, and then shuffled each one randomly, to prevent those on the top of the pile from benefiting from boredom, later.
The Library of the Holy City was all but abandoned at this point. All that remained were him and a night-shift librarian, an acolyte whose face still bore pillow creases. Reaching over, he adjusted the level of light; it was more habitual than anything else. He could see like an eagle in daylight, and just as well in the dark, the light filtering through the mathematically-perfect diamond lenses of his eyes.
Looking down at the three piles, he contemplated the situation; three nations, three terraforming apparatuses. They had all misused the machinery that they had been charged with guarding, turning it to their own ends. If it were up to him, he'd punish them for their impudence. After fixing the machinery.
The Holy City, Arcadia, was located on the equator, and by common consensus, was held to be the prime meridian of the planet, beneath the Mountain of the Founders, which was the intersection between the equator and the meridian. On a flat expanse of rock in the first of the seven concentric circles of the mountain, they began to build the rocket that would carry them up to paradise.
Thuban metallurgists worked around the clock, testing and concocting materials for usage in the craft; they eventually settled on an alloy of tungsten, nickel, copper, titanium, iron, and carbon. The Emissary personally tested the alloy, and only through the use of a Higgs Field was he able to effect it, shredding it into a cloud of vapor and dust.
Yodzi engineers constructed an airtight compartment for the crew, complete with scrubbers for the air. Dowini acceleration couches were brought in for the crew, and a special one was constructed for the Emissary's use.
The engines were of great interest to the engineers from the three nations. Though it would reach the stratosphere using a jet of Dowini design, it would then ignite a chemical rocket concocted by the Emissary. They observed a test held on a beach far from the city.
A set of bleachers was constructed, the engineers and the presumptive crew watched with their respective ambassadors, while several monks sat in the front row, and prayed constantly for success and insight.
As the Star of the Founders rose over the horizon, the emissary pressed the switch, and the engine flared to life. It immediately blazed through the spectrum, turning white and straining against its mounting.
The observers gazed through darkened goggles, watching as the Emissary approached and looked into the flame with unshielded eyes. He reached in, his apparently unprotected flesh not even singed by the flare of the engines, and adjusting several components. The blazing trail of the engine narrowed and lengthened.
After a moment, the Emissary turned off the engine, and crossed his arms; they could see one of his hands still held on to a vague reddish glow.
He looked at them, and spoke loudly and clearly:
“Like that, but bigger,” he said.
There were two engineers other than Lucretia, and a military man from each country. Their names didn't reside in his conscious mind, but he set it on a cognitive shelf from which he could easily pick up the information.
The seven of them strapped into the rocket—the six humans in acceleration couches attached around the wall, the transhuman standing in the middle, on the platform designed for him—and started the countdown from thirty seconds.
“Twenty-Nine.”
The Emissary rested his hands in their yokes, and extruded servitors too small for the eye to see.
“Twenty-Eight.”
The nanomachines spread throughout the crew compartment.
“Twenty-Seven.”
They made their way through the hull, sealing gaps behind them, and dripped down into the rocket.
“Twenty-Six.”
He had instructed that extraneous material be included, so his servitors could multiply. It was within tolerances.
“Twenty-Five.”
The servitors began their checks, scanning, and beginning to feed information into his brain.
“Twenty-Four.”
There were no leaks in the fuel tanks.
“Twenty-Three.”
There were no leaks in the hull.
“Twenty-Two.”
Temperatures were within tolerance.
“Twenty-One.”
Pressure was within tolerance.
“Twenty.”
He turned his attention to the other inhabitants of the cabin.
“Nineteen.”
Heart-rates elevated, but healthy.
“Eighteen.”
They were perspiring.
“Seventeen.”
Two of them were holding back large quantities of urine. He was glad that they had designed the suits with that in mine.
“Sixteen.”
No leaks in the cabin.
“Fifteen.”
Atmosphere was thirty percent oxygen. Sixty percent nitrogen. Six percent was Argon, with traces of carbon dioxide, water, and methane.
“Fourteen.”
He began to flush excess servitors onto the ground, spreading them out and ablating the ground beneath them, so they would leave behind a holy symbol.
“Thirteen.”
He connected his brain into the rocket's computer.
“Twelve.”
Priests chanted and spun prayer wheels. Monks raised their rifles and prepared a salute.
“Eleven.”
The engines began to idle, temperature slowly building.
“Ten.”
The children prayed.
“Nine.”
The nuns sang.
“Eight.”
The engineers closed their eyes.
“Seven.”
One of the soldiers began to urinate.
“Six.”
Lucretia began muttering prayers.
“Five.”
The monks began firing. One fifth of them squeezed triggers each second on the second.
“Four.”
Bang.
“Three.”
Bang.
“Two.”
Bang.
“One.”
Bang.
The Emissary smiled.
The engines flared to life, a blinding white flash that scored the ground, and shot them toward the heavens.