3.
The dark gray rocket rode upward on the column of fire, the roar of the engines audible for miles and miles.
The first section dropped off, giving one last burst after it had angled away. The launch vehicle plummeted down, tumbling end-over-end until it dropped into the ocean.
The second stage ignited, the slightly weaker engine propelling the small capsule faster and faster and faster, now that the weight of the larger engine was gone. When the atmosphere petered out, it, too, fell away.
The capsule's own engines ignited for their first burn, as the thrusters pitched and yawed, angling ahead of the target, the Star of the Founders.
The Emissary stood in the center of the capsule, on the small platform that he'd installed after the rocket had been completed. Precise twitches of his muscles kept him completely still when they entered microgravity. The passengers marveled at the loss of weight, and one of the representatives from Thubal made use of a bag provided to hold vomit.
“You all knew that gravity was a product of planets, right?” the Emissary asked.
“We knew the world was round,” Lucretia said, “we knew we were drawn to its center, but we didn't know how it would reduce like this.”
The Emissary grinned.
“I forgot you might not have known about that,” he said.
“Is the Star of the Founders going to be like this, too?” a Yodzi engineer asked.
“No. It makes use of Centrifugal force to hold things down.”
“Can we do that?” The engineer asked.
“Short answer, no. Too small.”
The Thuban moaned, and filled the cabin with the smell of bile.
“Make sure you seal that up when you finish, or we'll be breathing your vomit.”
The unfortunate representative groaned, and his companion made a disgusted sound in his throat.
“How long will it take to reach the Star of the Founders?” Lucretia asked.
“A day or so; I don't anticipate the repairs being that difficult. I could easily handle them on my own, but it will make things easier if you lot learn to do them yourself.”
“You mean you won't help us if this happens again?” the Yodzi engineer asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“It would be better if you don't need the Founder's help,” the Emissary said.
“That's dangerously close to heresy.”
The Emissary glared at the engineer, and she shrank back.
“And we're not planetside, anymore. I burnt out the observing demon behind my eyes, and won't be punished for saying the right thing. You need to learn to fix this problem on your own, and to not use the terraforming systems as weapons. It's that simple.”
There was silence.
Later, the Emissary pulled each from their seats, and gave them a brief tutorial on how to move without gravity. Then, he brought them all to one of the larger portholes that he'd built into the capsule.
The planet unfurled beneath them, the sun obscured by the edge of the planet.
“It's huge,” Lucretia commented.
“It would have to be, wouldn't it?” the Yodzi engineer said, “after all, three billion people live down there.”
“Correction,” the Emissary said.
The six looked at him, arching eyebrows, tilting heads, furrowing brows, expressing confusion.
“It's very, very small,” he said.
“What? Look at it!” the less vertiginous Thuban said, “Everything is down there. All of our race, the Founders, everything!”
The Emissary smiled thinly.
“Yes, but go far enough, and the world becomes a pale blue dot. Go further, and it vanishes, the meager light it and the moons reflect is absorbed by the star's corona, and eventually, even the star becomes a pale yellow spot in the night sky. Nothing special, really.”
“But this is where life is,” the Thuban protested.
“Humans didn't come into being on that planet. You all were put there. That's what those machines are for—making it possible for you lot to live down there. It's nothing but a simulation, an imitation of Earth.”
“Earth? What's Earth?” Lucretia asked.
“A lump of perfectly good dirt, honestly. Don't see why this was necessary.”
The others strapped themselves into their seats, and the Emissary guided the ship, adjusting its heading with short bursts from the thrusters, aiming at the orbiting ship.
Then, he stood, waiting, meditating, thinking. After a time, the others awoke, and he began a long burn with the engines, pushing them closer and closer to the orbiting ship.
“Almost there,” the Emissary said, as he guided the capsule toward the fore end of the massive, rotating cylinder. He remembered how it had looked, almost a millennium ago—the ice that had covered the shield in front to absorb the impacts was still there, pitted and scarred—and was able to guide the capsule toward the immobile docking ring at the head of the ship.
He hoped that the salvaged airlock would still work. It had been built to last, resisting corrosion and stress, but a thousand years was a long time.
“Put on your helmets,” he ordered.
The others did so, as they docked.
Next to the airlock were the words “UNSS STAR OF HOPE.”
As the magnetic clamps locked into place, he pushed himself aft, and worked the crank which had once been a manual release. There was a clank, a hiss, a pop.
Then nothing.
The seal held.
“Beauteous,” The Emissary breathed, as the internal airlock cycled open.
Knocking on the wall, he signaled to the others to follow him in.