Starfall

Starfall minus 49 years

Between Sol and Alpha Centauri

Minya and Huul stood together on the comet's observation deck, in freefall, gently embraced by smart webbing. Beneath their feet lay the bulk of the comet nucleus, a fifty-kilometres-deep frozen ocean of dirty water ice. Above their heads was the fine carapace of the observation blister, and above that nothing but stars, a field of jewels.

Huul drank in the view, for he knew he had only moments left to enjoy it. Already the bots were working at the fringe of the window, coating it over with an authentic-looking layer of comet frost. When the blister was covered altogether it would be dismantled, this outer level of decking collapsed, and the human crew confined to a huddle of chilly chambers deep in the comet's heart

And Huul's son, yet unborn, would never see the stars at all—not until he was older than Huul was now. Huul, with a spasm of regret, put his hand on his wife's belly, trying to feel the warmth of the baby within.

Minya knew what he was thinking. She was tougher than he was, but more empathetic too. "I know," she said. "We are sacrificing a great deal—and we are imposing that sacrifice on our son. But his son will thank us."

Huul grunted. "Perhaps. But he might be the one doing the fighting, by the time we get to Sol."

"I know, I know. Let's just enjoy the view, while it lasts."

He gazed out at the stars. "Isn't it strange to think that whether you live in Alpha system or Sol system, the stars you see are much the same? We have that much in common at least."

"True. With a couple of exceptions." And she pointed back the way they had come, back to Alpha Centauri, which even from this immense distance showed as a clear double sun.

And when Huul looked the other way he saw a compact constellation. From Earth it was a W shape, known as Cassiopeia, one of the most easily recognisable of the star figures—but from Alpha, and from here, there was an extra star to the left of the pattern, turning the constellation into a crude scribble. That star was Sol, bright but not exceptionally so, the first star of mankind.

"It doesn't look much, does it?" Minya murmured. "Just a lantern in the sky. But that is the seat of the Shiras, the source of all our trouble."

"And that," said Huul with mordant humour, "is where you and I will die."

"You mustn't talk like that," Minya snapped. "The Starfall project is already magnificent, Huul. Magnificent!"

She was right, Huul knew. The starborn's rebellion against Earth had already been decades in the planning. The supplying of this comet-ship by lightsail out of Alpha, about as covert an operation as could be mounted on such a scale, had alone taken decades. And now the comet had been nudged onto a path that would take it sailing into Sol system in less than five decades, a trajectory intended to make it appear that this was just another long-period comet making an entirely natural visit to its parent star. But a crew of saboteurs would be huddled in its icy heart, locked into a tightly closed miniature ecology, not allowing as much as a stray erg of heat to leak to space to betray their presence.

Minya said, "The earthworms won't know we're among them until we're bright in the skies of Earth. And then we'll see what's what. Remember, Huul. We will be the Second Wave of the Starfall assault, second only to the smart plague. When we have helped cut away the tyranny of the Shiras at the root, to us will accrue much glory—and to our descendants for all time, as far as mankind journeys in time and space."

But the labouring bots were almost done in frosting over the observation dome. And, Huul thought, I may die without ever seeing another star.

Minya tugged at his hand. "Come on. We've work to do."