LOCATION: Orbital Habitat Methuselah

DATE: 10,000 Atomic Era

“Because it’s unnatural”, Raiby responded with an air of someone who has discussed a topic repeatedly and is wearied with endless explanation. “Can you even imagine living on the surface of a planet?”

Toppola recoiled inwardly, unaccustomed to such resistance. In her own sector, the idea of colonizing planets had lately become quite popular.

“Of course I can imagine it”, Toppola replied as she nodded to the bartender and held up her empty goblet. Some of the machine’s many optic receptors noted her gesture and a cool green light briefly scanned the vessel to determine its shape, capacity, and contents. “But even if I couldn’t — even if no human could imagine it — that’s a poor argument for whether it’s a worthwhile or worthless pursuit.” As she spoke, an articulated nozzle reached out and refilled her drink.

Raiby rolled his eyes, mostly for those who huddled around him eagerly. He sipped at his own drink, then released it. An energy field projected from the table caught it expertly and gently set it down. “You say you can imagine it, captain, and without the need for you to express it I presume you feel this way because you command an interstellar spacecraft and can claim you’ve personally seen many planets.” He waved off Toppola’s near-interruption and continued: “No, that might not be your only reason, but I’ve debated those like you before. You travel for a living and suppose yourself more cultured than those of us who rarely do. It’s an appeal to authority — an unfounded assumption that experience outside our orbital cities somehow gives you a greater grasp of reasoning skills. It does not.”

“Not only is it not my only reason”, Toppola said quietly, “it’s not any of my reasons. My decades of travel between star systems is only evidence that I’ve traveled between star systems, and the only argument to which it would give any authority is that I’m more experienced at such travel than people who haven’t done it.” She felt the fire of the refreshed drink in her throat and the relaxation seep through her extremities. “My response of ‘of course I can’ was merely directed at your interrogative regarding my ability to imagine. I assume that you too can imagine living on the surface of a planet; I would be surprised if anyone here could fail at such a task.”

Raiby nodded, acknowledging the correction. “Then, my presumption having missed the mark, please enlighten the curious as to what reasons you claim favor colonization of planets.”

It was a smooth enough redirection attempt, Toppola admitted to herself. Instead of hanging onto the “unnatural” remark, or pressing forward with “you can’t imagine it”, he’d turned the tables and shifted the burden of proof.

She mentally queried her built-in assistant and noted both the local time and ship’s time in her mind. She had been awake for many hours. Still, it couldn’t hurt to plant the seeds of doubt into Raiby’s mind — or at least the minds of his less-vocal hangers-on. Apparently, she’d wandered into a more conservative orbital habitat. It was unusual to encounter such reticence near the edges of space cities.

“Perhaps the most obvious argument, if not the most powerful, is that we evolved on the surface of a planet and lived on thousands of others.” She noted some heads dropping to hide snickers and others turning away with poorly disguised bemused expressions. Oh no, she thought. I’ve walked into a crowd of mythologists. “Despite our many generations of living in artificially controlled environments, enclosed in comfortable metal bubbles of perfect temperature and air pressure, with any comfort a human can envision — despite all that — we are indeed the products of planets.”

Raiby shook his head. “I’m aware my viewpoint isn’t the most popular in the galaxy”, he conceded. “However, you’re committing another logical fallacy here — more than one in fact. First, it’s a non sequitur; even if humans indeed evolved, as you say, on the surfaces of planets, that in itself is no argument in favor of returning. Secondly, your syllogism’s conclusion is based on a false premise — that humans once lived on the surface of planets.”

Toppola was momentarily struck dumb by the response. She had argued both successfully and unsuccessfully with many friends and strangers on the topic of re-colonization, but had never before come upon someone who denied the existence of past human settlements on planets.

“This station — Methuselah — has public education, does it not?” she asked weakly. “I believe such is a requirement for Federation membership.”

Raiby laughed, as did a few of his cohorts. “Naturally. All of us were steeped in the government indoctrination from birth, just as you were. I’ve seen the obviously faked VRs of human habitations on planets. C’mon, you gotta have something stronger than that.”

Floored, Toppola stalled for a moment by draining her goblet once more.

Of course the productions were “faked” — they were instructional immersion holos intended to teach history to children; no one had ever claimed these were actual footage of the past. She thought it was fairly common knowledge that mind-immersion technology hadn’t been available thousands of years ago; naturally no such “footage” (an archaic term, she knew) could exist.

“Perhaps it is I who presume too much”, she offered, very willing to avoid hostilities with strange people in cities where she only wanted to spend a night in peace while her cargo was unloaded. “If you and I don’t agree on the basic tenets of our species’ history, then we must find another basis for our discussion, mustn’t we?”

Raiby appeared taken aback by this concession. Perhaps he had expected a stronger retort, a more condemnatory tone, or name-calling. He spread his hands gently, his expression conciliatory.

“In your many travels and — again a presumption — extensive education, have you become aware of the theory of Always Inside? It is well-revered in many circles and gaining wider traction in the interstellar academic community.”

Toppola considered. She believed she’d encountered the term before, but she also wondered if this was a false memory created just now by her brain — upon hearing the term for the first time, presented as a “well-revered” and accepted idea.

“Let’s say I haven’t. A short summary will suffice.”

Raiby quickly and masterfully summarized the idea he called “Always Inside”. Apparently adherents of this notion (Toppola refused to apply the scientific term “theory” to it without further research) believed that humanity had always lived inside space stations and orbital cities. There were multiple strands of the belief system; one group believed there had always been multiple orbital habitations while other groups acknowledged there must have been a first space city. Raiby also admitted another rift among the Always Insiders: some based it on the underlying belief in a creator being who had unexplainably caused the appearance of (out of nothing!?) the first orbital city and the first humans, while others based their Always Inside belief loosely on the very real scientific theory that Time itself was on a loop. For the latter, the “always” meant indefinitely into the past and the future; for the former, the “always” simply meant “since Creation” — that humans had never lived outside the orbital cities and starships.

Privately, Toppola gave Raiby credit for the phrasing as he explained; he simply described the beliefs rather asserting they must be true. She also noted he didn’t say into which group he fell.

“And do you belong to one of these ‘strands’ of Always Inside?” she asked him quietly, already wishing she had elected to stay onboard her ship instead of renting a room in Methuselah.

“I believe they are at least as likely as your contention that humans ‘evolved’ from tiny stupid animals on planets and then somehow later traveled en masse to space, magically built millions of habitations they’d never conceived of before, and then decided as a species to abandon the planets they originally came from”, Raiby said calmly with a straight face. Nodding heads bobbed all around him.

Toppola did notice that some bystanders had already lost interest in the conversation once they saw she and Raiby had decided to speak calmly and politely. Perhaps they’d been hungry for a spectacle of name-calling and witty retorts. A few others, she noted with some reassurance, appeared to be listening to both sides. At least I chose a bar without loud music, she consoled herself.

“You know that no historian claims humanity did this all at one time, right?” she asked. “You make it sound like people just leapt off the planets and pulled together a bunch of cities in space and never went back. We have millions of records, dating back thousands of years, showing how this all happened over hundreds of generations.”

“That’s one way of putting it”, Raiby said, smirking. “But ‘millions’ is quite the extraordinary claim. More like ‘thousands’, and I’ve seen no evidence that such records aren’t faked — just like the VR lessons. It’s all part of a larger conspiracy to get us to abandon our ancestral homes.”

“The records are on display in museums and accessible in government offices all over the galaxy”, she responded. It’s not a claim — they’re there. I’ve seen them.”

“Did you see them generated by the humans who rose up from the planets?” Raiby challenged. “You’re just taking the government’s word for it that all these ‘records’ were made by real people in the past. It’s the same with evolution. You’re going to claim there are millions of fossils and bunches of frozen DNA samples from long-extinct non-human animals proving that we evolved from mice or flies or something, but where did it all come from if we’ve never been on a planet?”

“Wait”, she interjected. “Is that circular reasoning I hear? You’re saying the evolution evidence can’t be true because we’ve never been on a planet, but also saying we’ve never been on a planet because the evolution evidence and other records are faked? You strike me as a person who’s smarter than that.”

He smiled magnanimously. “Thanks for the sideways compliment, I guess. Sure it sounds circular, but it’s really not. Both views have many pieces of strong supporting evidence. It just so happens that if both are true, they’ll support each other.”

“Hmmm... It seems we’re at an impasse... Let’s go back a bit though. Earlier, when I suggested it’s a good idea to recolonize the planets, your first and loudest response was ‘It’s unnatural’. But when I began to give my reasons — and I never had a chance to list more than one — you said the fact that humans evolved on planets wasn’t a reason to go back, that my statement was a non sequitur. I charge that your ‘unnatural’ response is also a non sequitur. Even if you could show that it’s not ‘natural’ for humans to live on planets, how would that be a reason to not live there — at least for people who want to? Remember, no one has yet suggested a forced migration to planets, or moving the entirety of humanity to celestial objects.”

“Okay”, Raiby said energetically, taking what Toppola thought of as bait. “It only appears to be a non sequitur because I shortened the response to a handful of syllables. The full argument might take all night, but a slightly less condensed version is this: since humanity’s entire history has been free of the massive gravity wells of planets, since even into the very distant past our entire species has only known the comfortable environs of orbital (and several non-orbital) cities, and because we are perfectly attuned to the habitats we currently enjoy, it’s absurd to leave all this and trap ourselves on worlds with unknown dangers and less-than-ideal conditions.”

He raised his eyebrows as she nearly responded and kept going: “As for the ‘unnatural’ premise, it goes like this: While clearly not everything must be natural in order to be good, it is often worthwhile to ask before proposing a change whether it is a natural progression for the species. What is our true nature? It may be difficult to say with certainty, but I’m convinced that it is natural for humans to occupy positions in space, traveling to and from our natural habitats in space and caring for one another as a society. I do not see it as natural — or advantageous in any way — to abandon the only way of life we know in order to follow some harebrained scheme.”

Toppola sighed.

“I appreciate the explanation”, she offered sluggishly, feeling her body begin to shut down. “As I might have mentioned when we first met, I’m past due for a sleep cycle. If you’ll be around in 10 hours or so, I wouldn’t mind continuing this conversation.”

Raiby shrugged. “I am currently between occupations”, he admitted. (Toppola often found that people opposed to re-colonization were “between occupations”.) “And I have no prior commitments. Without creepily inquiring as to specifics of your lodging, may I ask where you would like to meet? Or may I suggest a place?”

“It’s my first time on Methuselah”, she said. “Please suggest a place amenable to conversation.”

 

****

 

The magnopod swiftly carried Toppola through the thoroughfare nearest the bar, dropping her at the self-transport tube nearest her hotel. There, she stepped into the upward-traffic lane and relaxed in the artificial gravity field that pulled her along. When she made the universally recognized gesture, the gravity field bent and set her gently into an adjacent walkway, where she strode 40 steps to her hotel. The door’s sensors recognized she was a signed-in guest and opened silently as she approached. Holographic shapes pointed her through the lobby toward her room.

Already, she was berating herself for agreeing to talk further. Clearly this man Raiby wasn’t going to be swayed. And without his crowd of onlookers she would have no audience to impress with her queries. It was an additional valid point that she wasn’t attracted to him in any way — other than as a conversation counterpart. Men in general weren’t sexually interesting to her, though exceptions had been made. She already knew Raiby would never be one of those exceptions. Except his manner... She liked his manner. He admitted weaknesses in his argument style when caught in the act, didn't interrupt her counterarguments, and actually stayed on topic. She couldn’t point out a single red herring in the long conversation. Perhaps she was willing to spend more time in his company because of that.

As she stepped into the privacy of her room, she immediately relaxed. Hearing the magnobolts seal behind her, she quickly slipped out of her starship costume — a very comfortable suit in all ways, but still distinguishable from bare skin, which she preferred. The hotel’s robo-cleaner was efficient and within two minutes she had exited and reclined on the invisible sleeping field.

Part of her considered ordering either a physical or virtual partner, but it would have to wait until morning. She was simply too tired. Humans could stretch and strain their sleep cycles, but no one had yet figured out how to break them.

 

****

 

Raiby’s suggested location for the meetup was a very public place, one of the largest compartments in Methuselah, called Effort Park. The sign at the entrance said it was named after Melissa Effort, one of the original programmers for Methuselah, which Toppola found ironic considering that Raiby and his minions didn’t believe the station itself had a beginning.

She spotted him as expected, standing near a lamppost at the very center. The ceiling of the chamber was nothingness — no glassteel; just a broad expanse of air-trapping gravity field allowing a perfectly clear view of the stars and part of the nearest planet. The lights in the park were bright enough to keep a visitor from tripping or colliding with others but dim enough to allow excellent views through the roof.

He greeted her with the customary forearms crossed in front of himself, then said: “If we walk the trails while we talk, it’ll count as part of the RDE—” (required daily exercise) “—which is why I often come here.”

She nodded. It was why her starship’s living quarters had been designed with a walking track around the perimeter — more interesting than using a stationary exercise machine.

Raiby gestured toward a nearby path and they began to stride side-by-side. “I assume you didn’t ask for another conversation due to my dashing good looks”, he began with a self-deprecating tone. “Unless romantic signals are very different where you’re from, you weren’t giving off any last night.”

“Very perceptive”, she congratulated him. “Also, I was quite clear that my reason was to continue the conversation.”

“Are you hoping to convince me? Change my mind?" Raiby sneered jovially as they rounded a curve and beheld a vast fountain, the waters of the pool dimly reflecting the starscape above.

“I assume that would be a monumental task, given the stark divergence between our viewpoints”, she noted aloud. “At best, perhaps I hope to plant some seeds of doubt or curiosity in your mind. If nothing else, I hope to better understand your viewpoint so I’ll be more prepared next time I come across it.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. Perhaps we should back up a little though. I’m curious as to why this is important to you. And before you turn the question back around to me, I’ll answer straightaway. It’s important to me because I think humanity is currently living the ideal life. Things are as they should be. Why fix what isn’t broken? I think it’s inviting trouble on our species to even consider disrupting the status quo. You must have some reason to want such a drastic change. What is it?”

“I suppose there are multiple reasons”, Toppola responded, “though I realize that your ‘ideal life’ position will be difficult to refute. That is indeed the most regular argument I encounter in most places I visit. Though I do accept the official histories that humanity originally evolved on a single planet, spread amongst many others, and only then began living off-planet, I still tend to agree with you that life as it is today is generally better than it’s ever been — for almost every human alive.”

She reflected briefly on the history of humanity — one of her favorite topics and the only subject besides interstellar navigation in which she received continuing education. Injustice, poverty, and violence had been the hallmarks of Homo sapiens from the beginning. Rare and brief were the times in planet-bound history when places or times exhibited the heights of civilization that humanity enjoyed today. She knew, in fact, that it was partly humanity’s rise into space that solved many of these issues — or spurred humans to solve them. Though it was inconceivable to her, she knew that for much of human history her gender alone would have relegated her to a lower status in most human societies. History was clear that daughters had been considered property of their fathers until sold to other men as “wives” (another archaic word), but still property. In effect, women had been the original housekeeping machines, but also manufactured babies. That had been the extent of their usefulness.

Other injustices had abounded as well, though she admitted she didn’t really understand them. The lens of time was long and skewed; it was fairly unclear to her what “race” meant in the histories. With no current examples, she had difficulty imagining. Apparently there had been some humans with colorless skin and others awash in pigmentation, and the weaker, less adapted group had somehow gained military supremacy over the other. There had also been multiple governments among humankind, none of which ranked above the other and with no governing body above them. That also was beyond her grasp. Who settled disputes between these governments? she wondered. The current HF — Human Federation — encompassed all known habitations of Homo sapiens, all of which had representation in the government. And every human she met had varying features but none of them could be visibly separated into groups resembling the “races” she learned about in history. “Wealth inequality” was another concept she understood intellectually, but couldn’t feel in her bones. How and why had some humans been allowed to stockpile enough wealth to feed and house thousands, while many millions starved without shelter? It didn’t make sense to her that a very small minority could do so in full view of the majority without a dangerous backlash.

“The more I study history”, she continued, “the more I’m convinced you’re correct on that front.”

“So why change it?” Raiby asked again. His stride was slightly longer than hers, but she could tell he was carefully adjusting it to fit her pace.

“We’ve plateaued as a species”, Toppola answered quickly. “History shows a series of plateaus and cliffs in our progress... Yes, I understand you don’t accept this as history, but you do realize that most of us accept it as true at least in a general sense... For thousands of years, humans live with no major changes, but then something massive will come along, like the ability to control fire. Or written language. Agriculture. Computers. Space flight.

“The period from about 300 pre-Atomic to 200 Atomic Era — about five hundred years — appears to be the largest sustained ascent of humanity in almost all ways — medicine, science, knowledge in general, education, health, longevity, nutrition, philosophy, equality, justice, and so on. It also brought massive cataclysms of war, famine, and environmental damage — more than a billion humans died unnecessarily early deaths due to these causes.

“The end of that period saw humanity began to spread amongst the planets — many historians refer to that as the ascent of humanity, but it looks to me like the natural outgrowth of the preceding 500 years. Few major advances in our technology or lifestyles arose during this point. For another thousand years or so, we continued to spread throughout the galaxy with much the same technology — only minor improvements. Our biggest gains here were the knowledge of other places and biological life forms.

“The next ascent was between 1300 and 2400 A.E., as more of us lived in space instead of on planets. At first, it was an environmental imperative — humans living on planets were destroying them: depleting resources, polluting the biosphere, killing off other life forms — but eventually it became purely about safety and control. Humans are simply safer in space than on the surface of planets. (This wasn’t always the case, but gravity field technology and others now easily prevent what was once certain disaster.)

“After that, for about 5,000 years, we continued to expand, building new space cities at a regular but decelerating pace, until we reached the current balance. So, from 7,500 A.E. until now — about 2,500 years — our population has remained steady within one percent, no new orbital facilities have been built, and no new places have been discovered. Few of us ever venture outside our habitats — fewer than a percent of all humans alive today have ever booked passage on a starship.

“My contention is that a huge change is boiling under the surface of humanity, and now is the time. We’ve got to take another step forward as a species. We have remained unchanged for too long.”

Raiby shook his head. Like her, he was now perspiring slightly. Both of them were breathing audibly as they walked briskly through the park.

“So you think there is some underlying need for humanity to change or progress every so often — just because it’s happened in fits and starts in the past?”

“Yes”, she asserted quickly. “But the past is simply the model. The need is apparent because without occasional ascent to a new level of civilization, we as a species begin to decay. With nowhere to go, we become stifled in our imagination and lose the desire to improve.”

Raiby laughed, breathing more heavily now. “That’s the problem with your ‘evolution’ mindset. Believing that we came from somewhere less or lower convinces you that we have to keep climbing — going somewhere better than this. If you subscribe to the Theory of Time As A Loop, you can give that up.”

“Time As A Loop doesn’t say what you imply”, Toppola shot back, “and I think you know it. The theory, incidentally one of the only major physics theories to gain ground in the past thousand years, claims that all of space-time plays on a loop, like that song ‘Atyalayta’, the ending of which is indistinguishable from the beginning so that it can be played continuously without the listener being able to identify the beginning or the end. There is never a point in the song without a background note or vocal, so stopping the song at any point would be interrupting it. The theory makes no claim about the origin of humanity — or any biological species for that matter. Just that space-time, when it reaches a certain point near what used to be thought of as the ‘end’ of the Universe, is actually at a point near what used to be thought of as the ‘beginning’ of the Universe. According to the theory, if you could build a fast enough star ship, with enough fuel and spare parts to travel continuously, you could head toward the ‘edge’ of the Universe and keep going only to find yourself arriving from the opposite ‘edge’ of the universe. There is disagreement about how time would work at that point — would you arrive in the future or the past (or present)? The math isn’t sorted as far as I know, and I don’t think it’s possible to try it.

“Regardless, humanity’s rise from the simpler forms of life happened a few million years ago with billions of non-human years before that, and as far as we know our species won’t last forever. Long after humanity is gone from the scene, the Universe will deteriorate into a form we couldn’t recognize, only to eventually warp itself back into another Big Bang — the beginning of the Universe. We don’t actually know whether this will be the same Big Bang that came before us or if it will be another Big Bang. But we do know that humans don’t come close to completing that cycle. We are but a speck in this timeline. For your theory to work, time would have to be a very short loop, and it would have to skip the Big Bang/Crunch part of the cycle.”

“I don’t subscribe to the Bang/Crunch part”, Raiby answered easily, clearly repeating words he’d used before. “Just the Loop part. The length of it is irrelevant. I still think we haven’t gotten to the root of your motivation for wanting to colonize planets.”

Toppola shrugged. “Perhaps not. Can any person fully know her own motivations?”

“Good point.”

He gestured that they should switch paths at the next intersection, which they did. The spaces between the park’s paths were filled with varying objects. There were playscapes, benches and picnic tables, artworks large and small, fountains, information kiosks, occasional police bots, and a couple of null-gravity play places. Plenty to look at. But most visitors kept glancing upward.

“Maybe my perspective as a starship captain is skewed relative to the average human. You get to look out this viewport—” she pointed upward with her face “—on occasion, but it’s my view almost all the time. Hyperspace jumps are brief interludes of darkness between stretches of normspace pathways. I’m looking at planets all the time. I’ve made it a habit of swinging more closely to them than some other fliers. On some planets, you can still see the remains of massive human habitations — even from orbit.”

“Really?" Raiby seemed doubtful. “Or are they natural formations that you assume are former human habitations?”

“They match with old video and photographic files in every case I’ve looked up”, she answered easily. “For example on Nosh, there were massive towers and temples arranged in concentric — and sometimes overlapping — circles. A few of the towers still stand — I’ve seen them via long-range scopes, including their shadows. Others have fallen and the wreckage is visible. One housing project was a pyramid over a mile in every dimension. It eventually collapsed on itself but the ruins are visible from space. There are untouched original media files from the days when it was inhabited. The mayor who initiated the project had the surname Makeezy, and one of her descendants — also named Makeezy — was in office when it was completed a generation later. Both are the subjects of biographies written at the time...

“Back to my perspective, though — having seen all this, repeatedly, I’m likely to think that humans have inadvertently trapped themselves in these spaces—” she gestured around at the general surroundings “—and most don’t even realize there are other options.”

“You keep calling it an ‘option’ ”, Raiby said, taking another tack. “But is it really? If all this talk of ‘re-colonization’ is supposed to be merely an option, then why are so many highly placed officials pushing it so hard? If it’s just an option, make it available and see if people will go. Some — like you, perhaps? — probably will. The fact that they’re on the news so often, and in high-dollar advertisements, makes me think something stronger is afoot.”

Toppola glanced at him. Surely he can’t be this dense... “Because it requires a constitutional change”, she said, trying to withhold condescension from her tone. “That’s not an easy thing to do. It requires an HF council vote as a first step, then a three-quarters majority vote from at least three-quarters of the legislatures of all HF member regions. That’s just to get it on the ballot. Then it goes to a popular vote Federation-wide, and must gain at least 60 percent of that vote. No proponent wants it to even get on the ballot until they’re convinced it will pass.”

Raiby smiled. “Again with the presumptions. Naturally, I’ve studied the HF constitution, so I know the requirements for staying away from the planets. We’re not allowed to mine, tour, visit, deposit, or even fly through the atmosphere of any planetary body. It’s the ‘No Disturbance’ clause. And I know the requirements for amending the Constitution. What I’m not convinced of — and what I think advocates are intentionally avoiding saying aloud — is that it doesn’t actually require a constitutional change.”

“How so?” Toppola began slowing her pace, her internal Assistant having noted her of the time-elapsed since she’d raised her heart rate. “The clause is fairly clear.”

“For. Those. Who. Want. To. Stay. In. The. Federation”, Raiby said, emphasizing every word. “It’s not explicit in the clause, or in any other part of the constitution, but implicit throughout the entire document is that any part of it only applies to people within the HF. Not everyone has to be. That would be authoritarianism — a direct affront to our representative democracy. If you and your friends are so intent upon living on planets... Just go there. Who is stopping you?”

Toppola admitted to herself that she hadn’t actually considered the notion. Living outside the HF? There hadn’t been a known non-HF human society in many generations. Perhaps the last one was the confederation of space cities on the far rim of the Milky Way that called themselves “Allofus” — a direct democracy that had long resisted the idea of electing representatives to govern them. They had held out separately for many generations. Eventually, the desire for trade had won out and a large enough percentage of the population had voted to join the HF. She didn’t know the rules for leaving the Federation. It wasn’t written into the Constitution; only how to join.

“I imagine it would be quite a feat”, she wondered aloud, “to leave everything we’ve known — not just the environments, you understand, but the economy, the information access, the protection, the medical capabilities... Even if enough of us got together to establish a planet-side colony — it would have to be a large enough number to ensure genetic diversity and know-how for various occupations — it would be rough going without any Federation help or exchange. You’ve heard of the embargoes we had against Allofus? Would the HF do that to a planet-side colony?”

“So do you agree with me that it’s odd no one has mentioned the possibility?”

They came to a stop back where they’d started their brisk walk. Raiby pointed to an empty reclined bench and she nodded. They sat back and viewed the overhead scene side-by-side. There was a massive ringed world nearby — she didn’t know its name offhand because it wasn’t important. If anyone wanted to know, they could look it up in a few seconds.

“Now that you mention it, it does seem odd”, Toppola admitted. “Though I suppose HF officials have a vested interest in keeping everyone in the HF. If there’s an exodus of very many people, it could throw population control algorithms out of whack. Also, it’s been a long time since humanity has had any real enemy — other than entropy; perhaps they really don’t want to deal with outsiders — or have to worry about them. Easier to keep it all in house.”

“Easier except for the difficulty of amending the constitution, as you so studiously explained earlier”, Raiby half-agreed.

“Yes, there’s that.”

Her internal clock pointed out that her ship had probably already been loaded with cargo. She had some leeway in time before her docking fees expired, but it would cost more to stay another night. It was time to wrap this up.

“At least we found something we agree on”, Raiby half-laughed. “I wondered whether that would happen. Though we’ve established it isn’t entirely logical, I still say my personal reason for opposing the idea is that it isn’t natural.”

“We’re back to that again?” She sighed.

“Indeed. It’s a well-known psychological phenomenon that more humans suffer from agoraphobia than claustrophobia — across all ages and times. You are of course an outlier here — assuming you are entirely comfortable in your starship.”

“True. It is a rare breed who can face the vast emptiness between habitats.”

“So you agree humans naturally seek closed-in spaces?” He waited for her nod. “Even infants who haven’t yet been indoctrinated one way or the other are naturally more at peace when enclosed — not too tightly of course — than when left in a wide-open space.”

“Agreed.”

“Further, it is well-known that humans are attuned to an approximately 24-hour wake-and-sleep cycle, which is the exact cycle all human habitations follow — sometimes in shifts — while very few planets get close to a 24-hour night/day cycle.”

“Of course, that comes from the original planet’s rotation period”, Toppola interjected hopefully.

“Purportedly”, Raiby said. “But it is well-known that the majority of worlds we circle don’t have such a cycle.” He pointed upward at the purple planet above, circled by tan rings. “This one rotates every eight hours. Even ‘habitable’ planets have cycles ranging from 15-hour days to 30-hour days.

“On top of that, our nutritional needs — including the air we breathe — are very specific. Yes, humans can survive (and have survived) on varying diets with several shortages of one item or another — but this often causes illness or death after a time. Perhaps your home locale has a similar story, but here on Methuselah we have folk tales of a child getting trapped by accident in a closed off maintenance corridor, surviving for months on only rat meat and old garbage. Whether the tales are true or fiction is irrelevant because science tells us it’s possible — yet not at all good for us. But the surfaces of planets — even the ‘original’ to which you refer — do not readily provide these needs.”

Whether by incredible luck or careful timing, Toppola wasn’t certain, but just then a foodbot moved into view from around a curve in the path. Raiby gestured to it and made an order. In seconds, the item he’d requested was presented on a tray, and he took the packet. “Imagine trying that on one of those planets”, he said triumphantly. Then he sank his teeth into his early lunch.

The bot waited for Toppola, but she dismissed it with a wave and it rolled away.

“These are constructs”, she explained, waving an arm gently at all that surrounded them. “We built these — or at least our ancestors did. We built the bots, the sensors, the circuits, and the machines that service them all. We wrote the original algorithms that eventually became smart enough to write the ones that govern all of this activity. We could do the same on a planet’s surface — especially given enough time and enough support.

“But the other items you mentioned — the desire for closed-in spaces, the sleep cycle, the nutritional needs — all of these are products of millions of years of evolution on our homeworld, and all of them were successfully surmounted when we lived on planets in the past.”

She looked at Raiby, who shrugged and continued to eat.

“Before you mention it, one huge problem with the proposal is funding. Where will our supplies come from? Most of us own very little. I own a share of my ship and an average number of service bots.” She noted that Raiby nodded and tapped his chest, indicating that he too owned a few bots — the source of income for most humans. “But none of us owns where we live or work. Aside from clothes and knickknacks, what could I really take with me?” She paused, thinking, and then added: “And the bots I own aren’t real to me. I’ve never seen them in person. We buy and trade them through the service, occasionally looking up specs or paying for upgrades in a ploy to increase our income. And our money is ethereal as well; it exists as bits in bank servers. I doubt I could take either with me, nor do I know how it would help on a planet. Unless the bots I own turn out to be fabricators or extractors. Those could come in handy.”

Raiby swallowed the last of his food and took a sip from the water pouch built into his suit.

“I didn’t mean to add sadness to your day”, he said softly. “But you see how much more work it would be to live on a planet. This is why I asked, yesterday, whether you can fully imagine it. I would never say it’s ‘impossible’ or ‘undoable’, but I do assert that it would require a startling amount of work and innovation — efforts entirely unnecessary when the Universe has provided exactly what we need right here. I won’t be so rude as to ask where you’re from, but based on publicly accessible information I can assume it isn’t different in kind from Methuselah. None of us witnessed these vast cities begin to exist and none of will be alive when our offspring someday die in them just as we did. Eventually — according to my belief system anyway — our distant descendants will become our distant ancestors and the loop of time will continue as always. All that is left for us is to enjoy what we can and attempt to treat other people well.”

Toppola nodded, but then tapped the side of her head. “My assistant is informing me my time is short. I need to either ship out or pay another day’s docking fees and lodging.”

“Ah, sorry!” Raiby blurted, sitting up more straightly. “If I’d known you were leaving today, I might have suggested a brief tour of this sector of the station rather than a walk in the park. Regardless, I wish you well on your journey.”

They stood.

“May I accompany you to your ship, Captain?” Raiby asked.

She detected that his offer was habitual gallantry rather than anything less savory, and nodded. “If you’d like. I’ve already instructed the hotel to forward my bag to the dock; it should be waiting for me.” Her eyes unfocused for a brief moment as she checked her assistant. “Yes, the bag has already been deposited.”

“Okay then.”

 

****

 

They didn’t talk much as they walked; it seemed they’d said everything they wanted to say to one another. On a couple of occasions, Raiby pointed out sites — “where the fire of 9,705 began, taking out half the sector” — “the hotel where VIPs stay”. He said he’d been to the docks many times in the past, but only in the visitor’s gallery as a matter of curiosity. “I confess I have little interest being outside Methuselah; all of my 40 years have been inside this metal shell.” He tapped a nearby wall as they entered the appropriate docking slip. The chamber wasn’t large — enough to handle a dozen crewmembers, but no more, and most ships didn’t carry more than two or three humans these days.

“I guess I expected a viewport here”, he said, glancing around.

Toppola laughed easily. “You could see more of my ship from the visitor’s gallery”, she said with a careless point upward — she thought she’d seen a sign for that. “Here, there is only a screen.” She tapped a blank screen and it lit up instantly with a multi-angle view of her ship. One camera showed the docking tube extending from the side of Methuselah to the forward crew hatch of her ship — which was insect-like in basic structure: crew quarters in the small “head” sphere, cargo in the much larger “thorax”, and then a small “abdomen” for propulsion systems. They watched a small charging bot detach itself from the rear section and float smoothly back to its storage bay in the Methuselah.

“Do you want a quick tour before I leave?” Then her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, sorry! That sounded far too like ‘come up for a nightcap’ and I didn’t intend it that way.”

Raiby laughed. “I didn’t take it that way; rest assured. I will politely decline. I’m sure you have things to do. In case you ever want to know more about Always Inside, or merely want a pleasant conversation, may I share with you my third-tier contact?”

Toppola noticed at that moment a message request in her built-in assistant. Every human had at least three contact portals on the Federation-wide communication network. Third-tier referred to the portal handed out to new acquaintances, strangers, cashiers, and so on. Second-tier was reserved for friends, family, and business associates, while the first-tier was the most closely guarded — typically only for a very small circle of best friends and/or spouse. Of course, no contact information was needed to share a message with someone standing nearby.

She mentally acknowledged the message, told her assistant to record his information, and instantly replied with her third-tier info.

“Though you should know, it can be more difficult to send and receive messages to a flier like myself. Unlike an orbital habitat, one never knows where I’ll be very far in advance. Obviously, the ship’s schedule is public information, but my schedule is rarely planned more than a few months in advance.”

“Good to know”, he said. Then he nodded and exited the chamber.

Toppola sighed with relief — she wasn’t accustomed to dealing with just one person for so long, and didn’t really like it, which was half the reason she’d signed up for interstellar travel.

She picked up the bag that the hotel had sent over and strode into the docking tube. Expertly, she grabbed a handhold after entering — gravity had ceased to exist when she crossed the threshold. At the other end of the short tube, she pulled herself gingerly into the airlock and adjusted to the slightly different gravity field inside her ship.

Tet was waiting for her, as she knew he would be. He reached for the bag and went to stow it without a word. Her onboard bots knew she abhorred shallow, unnecessary conversations and didn’t speak unless prompted or required.

The required pre-flight checklist went quickly, including double-checking that the docking tube was clear and all hatches were sealed. The interface in her captain’s chair perceived her thought-command and the gravity-field engines engaged. The ship began to slowly pull away from Methuselah — which currently looked like a gray metal wall extending endlessly left and right, up and down. She expertly spun the ship as it continued to “fall” away, and watched the rear camera view as Methuselah appeared to shrink. She knew the traffic controllers in the city would continue to track her automatically for a couple of hours, so she set what appeared to be a normal course to her next destination.

She could think of no good reason to tell anyone she was about to violate the “No Disturbance” clause, or that she had been breaking it for a couple of years now. Not even a reasonable person like Raiby — who could very well be an agent of the anti-recolonization faction for all she knew. Just thinking about stepping out of the ship into the fresh air of an actual planet was exciting enough to make her tremble.

Now she only had to wait until she was out of range of Methuselah’s scanners. She would sleep outside tonight.