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                        Caveat Sherlock Holmes is in the public domain, as are the works of H.P. Lovecraft and Alexander Dumas. However, freshly-created, original fiction is the copyright of the author. Note that my work adresses adult themes, and is therefore not recommended for YA or children. Copyright All textual material on this website is copyright by Mike Adamson. All artwork with the exception of the book and magazine covers is copyright by Jen Downes. |
Dharma Malinovski was a human being who had never set foot on Earth.
She stood amongst billions whose heritage was of the colonies and rarely gave a thought to the ancestral homeworld of the human species until the duty came for her to undertake a journey. Mid-height and svelte, dressed in the colonial chic of the early AD 2500s, she stood apart from others upon the promenade deck of the liner Wings of Heaven, as the great ship made her approach maneuvers a bare hour out from landfall, and the blue sphere of Earth — so like many other terraformed terrestrial planets — drifted against the stars. Dharma sighed and put a hand flat to the transparent metal, as if unsure, as the end approached, if she wanted to make this connection, close this circle. But she was now eldest matriarch of her clan, closest to the line of descent from Old Earth, and her task was both duty and right. It was a privilege to escort home the mortal remains of her seven-times great-grandmother. Shu-Xia Kittridge was well known as the oldest human being in the colonies. Born on Earth before the end of the 20th century, she had been among the early recipients of rejuvenation biotechnology, survived the 22nd century among the colonists in space as the environment crashed, and had taken part in the great human endeavor that saw Earth the first of all planets to be terraformed. The experiences of reclaiming the homeworld had well served explorers when it was time — as the 23rd century unfolded — to tweak uninhabited worlds among the stars to r eceive the outflow of the human race. Now, one of her descendants was bringing home the Grand Matriarch, who, after six centuries, had simply had enough of life. When I am gone, let me lie in the cool, brown sod of Earth, she had written. Take me back. I have called Utopia home these last two hundred years, but the world of all human birth calls, and I would have this cycle completed. I was born in San Francisco Chinatown and would return to the soil of my origin. Do not grieve, for this is what I want, and I shall lie content. Dharma wiped away a tear and wondered what the future would be like without the old woman whose eternal youth had characterized the centuries of her descendants. She eyed her reflection in the armor-glass, her ageless, timeless face, framed with a straight-cut, tawny shock, overlying the disc of Earth, and saw the glimmer of tears upon her cheeks. The planet shifted against the eternal stars as the liner began a gentle roll, turning to present her engines for the final deceleration burn. The purser's smooth tones came over the general address, advising passengers of their imminent arrival, and with a soft strike of heels on decking, Dharma strode towards a seat, unwilling to give up the vista. Not every day did one reconnect with one's origins. Origins were very much in her thoughts and had been from the moment she knew the old woman had elected to let life's tenuous traces go — to 'step through the veil to the next adventure,' as she put it. Shu-Xia had spoken long with the family — years in fact — ensuring every last member understood and was at ease with her choice before she committed to release life. Then her tiny, ancient body had been placed in a stasis chamber to be returned to Earth without deterioration, in the care of her chosen escort, and Dharma had meditated upon the vastness of space and the strange web of allegiances stretching across both it and time. All down the long, lonely light years from the Near Sky back to Earth, to that cradle of humanity nestled among the worlds of a bustling system, she had pondered life and death and wondered when such an impulse might overtake her. She had so much to do, business to take care of, family to be with, a great many people she loved and a great many joys. She did not want to leave any of them behind, and hoped such a day would be many centuries in the coming, if it came all. The Wings of Heaven landed at San Francisco Spaceport in the late afternoon, settling on vertical thrusters, on the square-kilometer platform that rode great trestles in the bay. The sun was sinking over the wide Pacific, and when debarkation procedures were complete, Dharma stepped out onto the planet-side concourse in the mild air of evening. The city was a billion candy lights: towers rose on the waterfront throughout vast tracts wrested back from the ocean as the planet cooled, and today one might never imagine the catastrophe through which the world had come. Yet the vista of time, in this moment, meant something different to Dharma: a thread of connection that brought her face to face with those she had known only from messages. A dozen members of the family were there to meet her, including a deputation from the Chinatown Committee, the Mayor of San Francisco, journalists, and others. The spaceline provided an android escort, a charming charge d'affaires who intercepted questions and shepherded her to a long black limousine laid on by Chinatown itself. Shu-Xia's remains would be delivered by a second vehicle once cleared by the bioscanners of the Customs Service. Luggage was loaded by a robo-porter as Dharma shook hands with one well-wisher after another, a flurry of faces and names, none of which meant anything to her, except for one — the small, demure lady in dark formals, pale-skinned and black-haired, in whose company Dharma found herself in the rearmost seat of the limousine. They made formal greetings as it taxied soundlessly to the departure area, boosted upward on quad fans, and arced out over the dark waters of the bay. Chao-Xing Montrose was a cousin many times removed, a youngster yet to complete her second century, and had been elected by the wider family as personal escort to their dignified visitor. She called her 'Mrs. Malinovski' at all times until Dharma smiled, raised a hand, and asked Chao-Xing to use her first name. "Dharma, please. I kept the surname, but I've not been married in over a hundred years. I married three times in my life, but the threads of family have scattered far and wide. I have great-grandchildren on the outer colonies now." "Mine are all over this system," the woman at her side said softly, spreading fine hands and glancing off at the long arc of the city's frontage as the vehicle sped for home. "Some are on the outer moons; others work with the Venus terraformers." "How's that coming?" "Another five hundred years, they say, but one day it will be another Earth, a paradise of oceans and island continents." She was silent for a moment, then spoke with some difficulty. "Forgive me, but after Grand Matriarch Shu-Xia, you are most senior of all our scattered kin. It is a great honor to be in your presence. We have long wondered how it must be for the parts of the family separated by great distance, should they ever meet once again. It is most important to us that we should bring merit to those of us in the homeworlds, and honor to our family from the stars." Dharma smiled softly and squeezed the younger woman's hand as she fought for words. She had not known what to expect. Her own line of descent had diverged long ago from the manners and values of ancient China, and she was somewhat out of her depth. "Forgive me," she whispered, "but all is strange to one degree or another. I am glad and proud that Chinatown has preserved its ways, but what few genes of China are in me are long submerged. I am a Utopian, a Colonial, culturally, socially. So, I place myself in your hands and hope I will not disappoint my most respected kin and our honored ancestors." The words felt strange to Dharma, yet the deeper thrill in her bones was to realize that she was using Shu-Xia's patterns of speech when formal moments arose. The Grand Matriarch had used them as a way of bridging time, of bringing the old world back into being. She had spoken of the Forbidden City as if it were built yesterday, had extolled the glories of great Chang'An in unparalleled Tang times, and younger generations wondered if she had known them in person — until they realized that, ancient as she was, her centuries were still but a fraction of that gulf of time. Now the tradition had fallen to Dharma, who neither looked nor sounded Chinese, to perpetuate her heritage. She found the task somewhat daunting, though with the promise of a great and personal reward. The car settled out of the evening sky toward the golden illumination of the upper floors of one of the modern towers. It made landfall on a pad framed by coiling dragon statues and fountains that played through colored lights. The party disembarked to make its way through circular portals of rosewood into a reception hall of silk screens and tended shrubberies. Dharma drew a deep breath as she glanced back at the night sky and the handful of stars visible through the light pollution. For a moment, she felt very distant indeed from home though in another sense she had arrived for the first time. As the banquet came to its end, a house seneschal whispered to Master Liu. He drew his seniormost people together to escort Dharma to another room on this floor of the tower, which the family controlled in entirety. Here, the lady of the colonies found Shu-Xia's stasis casket, delivered quietly and now lying in state upon a dais draped in red velvet, surrounded by a riot of flowers, candles and incense. The hall was decorated in classical style, and great Chinese symbols looked down upon the honored dead. Each conveyed deep shades of meaning — the preserved ways of ancient thought. Among flowers on a Buddhist altar, a hologram of Shu-Xia smiled upon the legion of her family, while the casket's upper part had hinged wide to reveal the perfectly preserved body. It seemed Shu-Xia merely reposed in the sleep of a beautiful young woman. Four immaculately-suited young men took up the position of an honor guard, facing outward at each corner of the dais. First the Grand Patriarch, then Dharma, and each member of the party in turn, bowed to the hologram and then to the casket, lit fresh incense, and repeated ancient words. Chao-Xing quietly pressed a slip of plastic into Dharma's hand, an English-character transliteration of the words. Dharma knew her pronunciation was little short of barbarous, though her hosts courteously overlooked it. They filed back to the arched entryway, and Chao-Xing whispered, "She will lie in state three days, and every member of the family who shares her blood will pay their respects. They are coming from as far away as Titan, all who may manage the journey. We have calculated that Shu-Xia has over two thousand living relatives here and among the colonies. In the old days, it would have been many more." Dharma smiled. "With extended life, we naturally reproduce at far wider intervals than we did when human beings were bound by the narrow channel of mortality. Even so, six centuries is a long time." The fatigue of the day weighed on Dharma, and she begged leave to retire. They had installed her in a sumptuous guest room overlooking the glittering panorama of the city. Her luggage was already unpacked by a service drone. She gratefully shed her formalwear and enjoyed a cool shower among green-veined marble and ferns. But when she had wrapped on a robe of red silk and sat to brush out her hair, she found her tiredness had fled. Her mind raced, which made her heart race also, and instead, she left her quarters and padded along a hall to a small lounge overlooking the cityscape. There, she found a decanter, poured brandy, and eased onto a couch. She tucked her legs under, stared off across the vista, and let her mind ramble as it would. Her thoughts were a mishmash, but home — her home, the city of Orionsville, on Utopia — came through so strongly. Cities were much of a sameness, and to say she was now in New San Francisco on land reclaimed from the onslaught of climate change actually meant little to her. Utopia had been mildly terraformed after the first landing in 2269, with the declaration of the colony seventeen years later. The robots and vast industrial machines had carved exotic cities from the planetary wilds as the atmosphere was adjusted, the biosphere seeded — each in balance with the other, with strict population parameters. Earth, Utopia — superficially, where was the difference? But this was where it all began: every human dream, hope and aspiration; every ambition, joy and triumph; every word of language; every spiritual concept; the foundations of all art, science, philosophy and discourse. Here. This blue bubble against the immensity of space... Lost in her thoughts, Dharma did not hear Chao-Xing approach on the soft carpet, and she looked up to find the younger woman framed against the dim nightlights in the hall. Her hair was loose, a black cascade, and she wore a simple robe. "Trouble sleeping?" she asked softly. "Many say their cycles take a while to adjust. Or...is it something more?" For a moment, Dharma resented the intrusion, then gestured to the couch at her side. "It's so much more." Chao-Xing settled by her and folded her hands. "Please tell me, if you wish." A long pause, a sip of spirit, and Dharma sighed. Then, haltingly, she tried to find her meaning. "Utopia is 16 light years from Earth. Not very far these days. Still this side of the line where the Middle Stars begin. Most colonies of the last hundred and fifty years have been farther out, ever farther. Terrestrial planets are fairly common, but those needing only minor adjustment to become new Earths remain rare. Ericson's World, Susa, Oceania." She sighed. "Coming here is no different to stepping off a ship on any cookie-cutter colony world — with one salient difference. With the exception of needing to be reorganized after the post-industrial global crisis, this planet, alone in all the universe, is natural. Not designed. We evolved to breathe this air — the planet came first." She shrugged. "I'm not sure if I'm making sense." "This is your first visit to Earth, yes?" Dharma nodded, finishing her brandy. "Then, I think you are feeling homesick." The beautiful Chinese face formed a smile, sweet and wise. "Yes, you are far from the world of your own birth, and though Earth and Utopia are like mirrors for one another, they are different. Everyone knows of the deep schism between Earth and its daughters, the deep shame that came upon us over the war the colonies endured." She shrugged, the ghost of a motion of her shoulders. "But people remain people, and building bridges is as simple as wanting to." She offered a hand, and Dharma took it unselfconsciously. "The Middle Stars are far away, but you can see them from here if you know where to look." She paused. "Would you like to?" At her guest's eager nod, Chao-Xing rose. "Please come with me." The sleek blue aircar knifed through the Pacific dark, and Dharma had eyes only for the stars over the canopy arch. She sat by Chao-Xing; they had changed into casuals and signed out the car from the family airpark, where the private vehicles of tower residents were garaged, up near the summit. Chao-Xing logged a course with San Francisco Domestic Air Traffic Control, headed westward into the great dark of the ocean, and climbed smartly. The lake of city glare, glimmering off the sea, faded astern; then, thirty kilometers out, Chao-Xing brought them smoothly about toward the southeast, parallel to California's long coastline. At 8000 meters, she sent the throttle forward to the stop. The car pinned them to their seats with acceleration before it planed off just under the speed of sound, and Chao-Xing tapped her com pickup to report to ATC that they were on their way to destination. She smiled at Dharma, her features lit in the multicolored glimmer of the instruments and their graphical displays. "We'll be there in forty-two minutes." Dharma held her silence, simply delighting in the freedom of motion as she watched the California coastline roll by to their port side — the great lakes of light that were the townships of this 26th century coast — and as Los Angeles's ocean of glitter began to dominate the arc of horizon off their port bow, Chao-Xing corrected course to port as they came abreast the rocks of Point Conception. Now she gave away some speed as they overflew the Santa Barbara Channel, and soon Dharma knew they were headed for Santa Catalina Island. They came down out of the night just short of 1am. The car deployed gear and settled vertically onto a landing area beside a family chalet in the forest of the central hills, to one side of Mt. Orizaba. The chalet's lights were on, and a service robot waited at the head of a walkway from the house. Chao-Xing sent up the canopies, and sweet ocean air greeted them. At once, Dharma felt the difference — the cool of the sea, a freshness to the wind. She looked up at the blazing ocean night sky, nodded almost imperceptibly, and followed Chao-Xing, knowing now what her new friend's gift would be. From the spacious lounge, they took curving stairs to a second floor, then up again, and entered a rooftop observatory. The systems were already online, warmed by the house AI, and Chao-Xing settled into a seat beneath the compact telescope that jutted against night's blue-black vault. A patter of keys, and images shifted on a display screen. The instrument tracked with a whir of servos and switched through magnification ranges. With fine adjustments, a brilliant yellow-white star centered on the screen. "That's it," Chao-Xing said simply. "Your home star. Utopia lies 161 million kilometers below and to the right, too dim to see. About eighty solar diameters from the corona." More keys pattered, and the image shifted right slightly, zoomed out. A rolling line of enhancement scrolled down through a box at lower right, in which a tiny speck appeared. "Utopia." Dharma was transfixed, staring at the screen with a surge of emotion. She breathed shakily. "When the light we are seeing left that star, Shu-Xia was alive and well and had not come to her choice to pass onward. How strange that those very photons should now reach my eyes." The younger woman slid out of the seat and gestured, and Dharma took the operator's position. She adjusted the display and set her eyes to the viewing hood, seeing the naturally amplified starlight. "Just a spark in the darkness," she murmured. "Would you believe that out there we are all taught which stars shelter colonies and which is Sol, but we tend to forget that last one. The constellations are different; we see new patterns, though composed of the same suns. We have constellations with names from the antiquity and legends of all the peoples who settled our planets, and some colonies are close enough to each other to share the same constellations, with only minor differences. A few are in common with Earth's, more or less." After a while, she rose, went out through nearby glass doors to a viewing balcony, and sank onto a couch. She looked up at the night sky and stretched out a hand toward Utopia. Chao-Xing joined her, and they were silent for a long moment. When Dharma spoke, she wiped away a tear and took control of herself with the skill of so many decades. "Well, home is not so distant if I can see it from here, and that makes the universe seem that bit smaller." She knew that even after centuries of faster-than-light exploration, humanity had not seen even a hundredth of a percent of the galaxy, and in that sense, the stellar neighborhood was not really a very large place. And that helped somehow. She pillowed her head with her hands and enjoyed the view, looking up into the sky but with the sense of looking down, ever down into a bottomless universe into which she might fall at any instant. And in that moment, she glimpsed an amazing possibility. Perhaps this was what Shu-Xia had felt. The compulsion to finally take that leap — of faith — beyond the known into the unknown — exploration in its truest, purest sense. To fall headlong into that infinitude; to touch the stars and dance with the streams of light, the tides of gravity; to have and hold the space from which all came. They were silent for a long while, and at last Dharma gestured loosely at the luminous Milky Way, snaking across the heavens. "You should come back with me, Chao-Xing. Meet your kin far away, and bring them stories of Earth. Be closer neighbors. Let's not allow a mere handful of light years to make strangers of us." She saw her friend smile, and they lay back on the couches to revel in the incredible sky. The robo-valet brought them rugs and hot drinks, and they stayed long under the turning river of stars until sleep claimed them. Dharma closed her eyes, at last at peace, having made the acquaintance of the first among all human abodes. And, in so doing, she felt a missing piece of her soul fall into place with the gentleness of a snowflake. © Mike Adamson 2023 Return to Tales of the Middle Stars |
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