What if some explosives were lying around? He looked down over the railing. But why would they have needed explosives while building this structure? Besides, it would be a sin to destroy these years' worth of hard work with an explosion.

  Perhaps the door had a hidden handle he could use to open it. He ran his hands over it, and when he got to the middle, a bell sounded and the door opened inward. Fog immediately poured out. The temperature inside the lock had to have been higher than outside. A promising sign, so he went inside.

  "Welcome back, Adam," announced a female voice.

  "Who are you?"

  "I am Francesca, the control program for Messenger 2."

  The name sounded familiar to him. Hadn't Marchenko once mentioned an old friend by that name? But it didn't matter now. He needed to focus on what was important.

  "Messenger 2... Is that this rocket?"

  "We prefer the term 'interstellar spaceship.' Technically, yes. You're inside the payload space of a rocket."

  "Who built Messenger 2?"

  "You, Eve, and Marchenko built it based on a design that Marchenko made."

  "When was the last time I was inside this rocket?"

  "It's been six thousand, two hundred thirty-seven days since your last visit, Adam."

  "Aren't you surprised that I was gone so long?"

  "I do not possess this ability. I am a simple control program."

  "But you recognized me."

  "That is correct."

  "By my face? My voice?"

  "I recognized you by your body odor."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I recognized you by your body odor."

  "Could you explain this to me?"

  "Of course, Adam. Marchenko was looking for a reliable way to identify you and your sister. Over the course of a lifetime, characteristics such as face shape and voice change. If you were wearing a spacesuit, your fingerprint would be hidden inside the glove, and an iris scan requires light. The chemicals emitted from your body are unique and largely consistent in composition. They emanate into your environment on their own, and I can identify you by just a few molecules."

  "But I'm wearing my spacesuit."

  "Unless the suit you're wearing is brand new, it is highly impregnated with your body odor."

  "Well, you're right. Once you've worn it--"

  "Moreover, your helmet appears to be damaged," the female voice interrupted, "so your body odor is leaking out."

  "Thanks for the explanation, Francesca. The crack in my helmet is the reason I need a temperate area. How can I find such a place?"

  "I would advise you to visit the control room, where you'll find food and personal hygiene facilities."

  "Are you saying I need to take a shower because of my perspiration?"

  "Identification is most efficient when you do not attend to your personal hygiene. But that is not for me to judge."

  "Thanks. How do I reach the control room?"

  "You leave the airlock and follow the corridor that leads straight from there to the interior. When you're at the end, you will reach the central elevator, which can take you to any floor."

  "Wonderful."

  "My pleasure. I wish you a pleasant stay."

  That sounded easier than he'd expected. Adam looked around the airlock. The floor was covered in dust, and condensation was accruing on the ceiling. No wonder, given that nobody had set foot on the ship for 6,237 days. That had to be more than 17 years, yet the control program had not asked about Marchenko or Eve, or even about his long absence. It didn't seem to be very intelligent. But then why hadn't he asked Francesca why he, Marchenko, and Eve hadn't been in the rocket for so long?

  Could he take off his helmet yet? He looked at the display on his wrist. It was still too cold, and the temperature was dropping. When would the inner airlock door open?

  "Francesca?"

  "Yes, Adam?"

  "When does the airlock open?"

  "When you close the outer door."

  He wanted to smack himself on his forehead. Of course. He was in an airlock. When the outer door was open, the inner door had to remain closed. He pushed the door shut. Warm air flowed from the ceiling into the airlock, and moisture condensed immediately. The temperature rose significantly but still didn't reach 250 degrees. It was better not to take the helmet off yet. Who knew how warm it was in the corridors ahead? Then there was a bell sound, as he'd heard before when the airlock had opened from the outside, and the inner door moved a little bit.

  Adam pulled the door open. Three corridors awaited him beyond it. The passageways led to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. The ceilings in the corridors to the left and right hadn't been put into place yet, so there were pipes and cables visible, at least as far as he could see by the available light. Also, the floors on the right-side corridor hadn't been finished. Along the centerline was a narrow footbridge that could be used to balance on while making one's way down the corridor. That side was clearly still under construction. But the passage toward the elevator, illuminated by lights integrated into the ceiling, seemed to be finished.

  At the end of the corridor was a door that looked exactly like the airlock's inner door. There was no control panel. Francesca probably smelled him. The elevator door opened slightly as soon as he approached it, and he pushed it open all the way.

  The cabin was surprisingly large and could surely fit 20 humans or 10 Grosnops, which seemed inefficient, given that Messenger 2 had never had more than three passengers. But perhaps this Marchenko had wanted to use the elevator to transport large cargo. For voyages that lasted years, the storage rooms needed to be huge. They should show it to Gronolf, who could perhaps use some of the contents for the Majestic Draght. That is, if this Marchenko had even had the time to fill the rooms.

  "Francesca, can you hear me?"

  "I can hear you, Adam."

  "I want to go to the control room."

  "I understand."

  Adam held onto the smooth wall of the cabin with his right hand. Who knew how fast the elevator was?

  Nothing happened. He waited. Still nothing. He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. And back.

  "Francesca, the elevator's not moving."

  "I set the destination for the control room."

  "But it's still not moving."

  "Would you like me to run the diagnostics?"

  "Yes, please."

  "The elevator's motor is not working."

  "Why not?"

  "It is not being supplied with power."

  "Is there a power outage?"

  "The energy level in the reserves is very low. All electrical devices with higher power consumption have therefore been deactivated."

  "But you're still active?"

  "In local mode, my power consumption is very low."

  "What does that mean?"

  "In local mode, I only use the processing capacity in the immediate vicinity. No complex transfers take place."

  "That's why you're so... inefficient."

  He had wanted to say 'stupid,' but he couldn't insult the control program.

  "That is correct."

  "Is it possible to lift the deactivation? Surely there's enough power in the reserves to get me to the control room?"

  "It is possible to lift the deactivation."

  "Then do that."

  "I do not have the authority."

  "I hereby grant you the authority."

  "Such a procedure is only possible from the control room."

  Oh, great. To take the elevator to the control room, he'd have to walk there first.

  "How far is it?"

  "The control room is twenty-two floors above us."

  Twenty-two floors. That was nothing.

  "And in between?"

  "In between are the storage rooms."

  "Can you show me the way?"

  "I can only communicate with you through nodes located on each floor near the elevator. But even for a human, the way up is easy to find. On each floor are two sets of safety stairs that go down and up, respectively. They are located on the inside from the peripheral corridor in an offset configuration so you can move quickly in both directions."

  Had Francesca just tried to insult him?

  "Is your lack of tact also due to local mode?"

  "I do not possess such a feeling. Feelings are unnecessary for my job."

  "Then I must have misunderstood something."

  "That happens to people sometimes."

  "But not control programs?"

  "Never. I only understand correctly or not at all. Misunderstanding is beyond my capabilities. I even suspect that it is beyond the capabilities of any intelligence, but I am unable to verify it at this time."

  "Because of the local mode."

  "Correct, Adam."

  "The peripheral passage is the one leading left and right out from the airlock."

  "Is that a question?"

  "Yeah, what else would it be?"

  "You phrased that question as if it were a statement." Francesca pronounced the word 'question' as if she had a bad taste in her mouth.

  "People do that sometimes."

  "I understand. The answer to your question is a definite 'Yes.' Do you understand the answer?"

  "Listen, Francesca. Could it be that you think people are rather stupid?"

  "They are always working in local mode, which limits their efficiency. I am not certain if that is what you would call 'stupid.'"

  "Thank you."

  "My pleasure."

  ANOTHER 17 FLOORS. The path through the dark corridors dragged on. There was no light on most floors. Sometimes a floor was finished, but other times Adam would find himself having to balance his way down narrow planks in the middle again. He slipped two or three times--not dangerous, just annoying. The subfloor was perhaps 30 centimeters deep. As Francesca had described, the stairs almost merged into one other as they spiraled round and round. If he went too fast, he'd get dizzy.

  Nine more floors to go. The closer he got to the control room, the better outfitted the corridors were. A light even turned on now and then. But he still couldn't move much faster. Should he take a detour to the elevator? Perhaps there was a door to the outside somewhere so he could contact Marchenko. Then he checked the display on his right arm. Just eight percent. He had to hurry to get to the control room.

  Just two more floors, and then he'd be there. He was sweating. By the time he reached the door to the control room, Francesca would have already smelled him coming. The control room door had probably opened up long ago because the body odor he was emitting was intense. This Marchenko had come up with something great. The principle would even work with the Grosnops, for whom neither fingerprints nor an iris scan would be sufficient for identification.

  There it was. The door to the control room was right where the stairs ended. It appeared to be the same as the airlock door. Very efficient.

  Well? He tapped the door, and immediately it opened inward as if it had been waiting for him. He climbed the last step and went in.

  With that, he stepped into his childhood. Down to every last detail, the control room was a recreation of the Messenger's interior, the spaceship that had taken them away from Earth. Maybe this Marchenko had even used the original one for his Messenger 2? He certainly would have been capable of it. Adam couldn't be sure, however, since his memories of that time in his own life were composed of many small snippets that were impossible to piece together. Plus, each Messenger changed over the course of its flight, depending on what its own Adam and Eve needed most at any particular time while they were growing up.

  Nevertheless, Adam was familiar with many details. It was fascinating, as if he were returning to an old home, but he realized that this wasn't his home--this other Marchenko had arranged everything for his children. The fact that he seemed to have made the same decisions as his Marchenko had was also philosophically exciting. They must have been codified in every Marchenko-class AI's personality structure. Then what about freedom of choice?

  He had no time for philosophy now. Adam made sure the room was warm enough. Then he ripped the helmet off his head and finally breathed fresh air again.

  HE'D SQUEEZED TOO HARD. A blob of the paste oozed out of the tube and dripped onto the lower part of his suit. It hissed and then solidified into a transparent mass a few seconds later. Adam put the helmet on his lap and turned it upside down, then carefully traced the inner surface of the crack with his index finger. He took the tube and spread some of the glue over the crack.

  The resulting line was a few millimeters wide and would now be in his sights forever. Fortunately, it appeared to be virtually transparent. He put the helmet back on. When he focused on an object in the distance, he didn't notice the repaired crack. Only when he held something directly in front of the helmet did he perceive a distortion of reality where the narrow stripe was located.

  But that was only half the job. He took his helmet off again to take care of the outside. He squeezed the last drops out of the tube and spread the sealant. It took a little longer to dry. He wondered if this was because the outside of the helmet had a different coating. Again, he tested the result. His view on reality now had a tiny crease at nose level, but he didn't think it would bother him.

  Good. Shouldn't there be nano-fabricators on board the ship, too? They'd lost most of their nanos on Single Sun, but perhaps there would be some supplies left here. The fabricators would be able to fix his helmet better than he could. But only Marchenko could program them to issue commands, and Marchenko was waiting outside. Adam needed to let him in.

  "Francesca?"

  "I hear you, Adam."

  "Could you take me to the nearest exterior airlock?"

  "No."

  "Aren't there any?"

  "Yes, but I can't take you there. You'll have to walk there by yourself. I'm only active at the local nodes."

  "Can you describe the way?"

  "Yes."

  He smacked his knee. This control program was going to drive him to despair. "Would you describe the way, please?"

  "Certainly, Adam. First you leave the control room. Six floors above us, just below the top of the Messenger 2, there's an airlock that leads outside."

  "How does it work?"

  "Just like the one you used to enter the ship."

  "So I shouldn't take a shower beforehand."

  "That is not a decisive factor. Your spacesuit is contaminated by your fumes."

  Fumes. It sounded as if the few scent molecules were poisonous gas.

  "Thank you. I'll be on my way now and just get it over with."

  Six floors. That was going to work up some more sweat. He was already looking forward to a shower. Perhaps Marchenko could prepare something delicious for him from the supplies on board. Hopefully there were some.

  FOR SOME STUPID REASON, that whole time, Adam had been looking forward to a spectacular view from the top of Messenger 2. But beyond the outer airlock door there was, of course, only blackness. He hooked the safety line and stepped onto the small, semi-circular platform. It wasn't even possible to tell that he was at high altitude, so at least he didn't get dizzy.

  The helmet's light stabbed into the darkness of the night, but it didn't get far. Was it clouds or fog? The air was as thick as in a laundry room, and it was freezing cold. Wisps of the stuff blew in his direction, as if they were reaching out for him, and he swiped back at them. When his hands moved through the fog, there was no change, as if he were a ghost.

  It was a world where humans were out of place. But still Marchenko, Eve, and Adam had settled here. Where were they? The control room looked pretty tidy. There weren't dirty dishes or unwashed socks lying around as there had been in the control room of their own Messenger spaceship. The last two crosses he'd seen in the cemetery below hadn't shown a year of death, so maybe Adam and Eve were still wandering around somewhere.

  But not in this huge spaceship, as the stupid control program had confirmed. Adam shined his light again into the icy atmosphere. A gust of wind grabbed him, and he clung to the safety line. A large droplet splattered on his shoulder and immediately evaporated again.

  He turned on the radio. "Adam to Marchenko," he said.

  "Ah, finally," Marchenko replied.

  There he was! Well, at least that was some good news.

  "Happy to talk to you, too," Adam said. "Where are you?"

  "At the base of the rocket. Did you fix your helmet and find an entrance I can use?"

  "The helmet is sealed again, yes. Unfortunately, the entrance is just below the top of Messenger 2."

  "Messenger 2?"

  "That's what they named the ship."

  "How do you know? Did you speak with them? Are they in there?"

  "No, there's no sign of them here. A control program opened the door for me. It's not very intelligent and calls itself Francesca."

  "Francesca?"

  "Yeah, why? Somebody you know has that name, right?"

  "Yes. How does its voice sound?"

  "Pleasant. Rather low, I'd say it's an alto, and it rolls the r's like a Spanish woman."

  "An Italian woman. That's Francesca. Marchenko must have created the voice from our memories."

  "You were close to Francesca?"

  "Very close."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. The real Francesca must have died many years ago. So I would have lost her by now, anyway, and I would have had to watch her die. It's good that I'm so far away."

  Marchenko didn't sound as detached as he was pretending, and Adam didn't want to rub salt into his wounds.

  "Will you come up to where I am?" he asked.

  "I'd like to, but I can't right now."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The outer wall is too smooth. I've already tried. I can't hold on, despite the lower gravity."

 

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