“Mad,” I said as he squirmed. “Messiah complex, mostly. Some of the kinder ones are theorizing that you can’t handle being a late-blooming genius, so you’re claiming a divine element as a defense mechanism.”

  Suh shook her head, closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at Mack. “What do you think I am?”

  “Ambitious,” he replied without hesitation. “Brilliant. Fascinating.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “No.”

  “Ren does.”

  He looked at me for the first time. “And you are?”

  “My best friend,” Suh answered for me. “And before the coma, about twenty times more intelligent than me.”

  He didn’t stop looking at me. “And what do you think?”

  “I think that something has sent a message through Suh.”

  “God?”

  “I want to go with Suh,” I replied, dodging the question. I hadn’t made up my mind yet. Some days I thought she was mad; some days I found myself weeping at the local church, thanking God for choosing my best friend. “What I think is going on isn’t important.”

  He nodded at that. “True. It’s what investors think that counts. Unless you happen to be a billionaire?”

  “No,” I said. “But I’m an engineer, so I can help.”

  Mack smirked. “That’s like looking at the national debt of the United States and saying that you’ve already had a friend promise to pay back a dime.”

  “Ren is very gifted and I trust her. That’s the thing that worries me about all this.” Suh waved a hand at the tentative drawings she’d made of the craft that went on to become Atlas. “If this is going to happen, we need to bring in people I’ve never met, but who will have heard of me. I’ve had death threats. How can I trust them?”

  Mack steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “You want to travel millions of miles into outer space, and it’s that that worries you the most?” He smiled with that gleam in his eye. “I’ll worry about the people; you worry about whether you know where we’re going.”

  “Where we’re going? You want to come too?”

  “If you’ll have me. I can put in twenty million dollars by the end of today, another ten when I’ve liquidated some assets. I wouldn’t have offered to fund-raise for you if I didn’t believe in the project.”

  “I thought you offered to fund-raise so you could earn your fee,” I said, not liking the way he was obviously trying to charm Suh.

  “I’ll waive my fee, on one condition.” He was focused fully on Suh again. I wasn’t important. “You let me help you choose who comes on board. I’ll make sure that none of the crazies get anywhere near this.”

  Suh didn’t even hesitate. “Agreed. And remember: no religious talk. We focus on the science and downplay anything else I might have said when I wasn’t being careful.”

  “So you don’t think you’re building a ship to find God anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she replied, glancing at me. “I just don’t want that to be the only thing people are thinking about when they’re considering joining the project.”

  We argued that night. I couldn’t understand why she trusted Mack and she couldn’t understand why I was so upset. I couldn’t articulate the reasons back then because I couldn’t admit my feelings about her. She got her way, of course. And her instincts were correct about him, though it took me several years longer to admit that.

  He did an excellent job of screening candidates, but there was always a risk of zealotry in some of the people accepted onto the ship. Carmen’s profile certainly showed leanings toward it, but we engineered our way of life to try to keep it in check. I wonder if this is the beginning of destabilization, the start of the allergic response to the new social pathogen.

  No, I shouldn’t think of Sung-Soo like that.

  “I think that interpreting events as signs from God is a slippery slope,” I begin but she cuts me off before I can finish.

  “But that’s what the Pathfinder did! You followed her—we all did. How can you do that and live at the foot of God’s city and reject this sign?”

  “Don’t you remember what happened the last time people said stuff like that?” It’s a low blow, but I want her to think about what she’s doing.

  “Of course I do. But this is completely different.”

  I stand up. I can see there’s no reasoning with her and that she’s built up enough steam in her own head to start something off. Mack needs to know and I can’t warn him while I’m here. “I should fix that casing.”

  “Renata.” She stands too, taking care to calm her voice after a glance at the child starting to fidget herself awake. “Please at least think about this. I’m not the only one who sees it this way.”

  “What about Marco? He’s been preparing himself for the last six months. Do you think it’s okay to tell him it’s all for nothing?”

  Marco was living apart from us, a mile away on the other side of God’s city, cut off from the cloud and our network, with only a medical app monitoring his health, programmed to alert the doctors if there is anything outside of normal parameters. He is living as pure a life as he can, as agreed upon in the year after the first message seed was “found.”

  “He would understand.”

  “I don’t think he would, nor his group, nor the people who thought he was the best candidate. Look, Carmen, none of this is up to me. I’m sure the council will consider this.” I put some space between us by going over to the printer.

  “Oh, they will. I’ve already notified my group leader and there’s a stream debating it right now.”

  Shit. This isn’t going to go away. “Can you give me temporary privileges?” I point at the printer and in seconds I receive a ping to that effect. It’s only a hairline crack in the plasglass and takes less than five minutes to fix. She watches me the whole time, occasionally taking a breath to say something but then deciding not to. The baby settles again and I head toward the door.

  “Will you at least consider her grandson as a candidate?” she asks and I stop.

  “Next year,” I reply. “But not before the next ceremony.”

  “If God wanted him to have the seed next year, he wouldn’t have guided him to us in time for this one.”

  “You were the best astrophysicist in Europe,” I say, pressing my hand against the pad on the door frame. “I would stick to interpreting data that can be verified objectively. For all our sakes.”

  8

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER I’m curled up on my bed, my back pressed up against a pile of clothes I need to sort through, looking at the vase I’ve reclaimed from the top of the Masher. It took a while to find the perfect place for it, and even though it’s precariously balanced, it looks right there. I wonder about who made it again. That makes me think about the failing printer, which brings thoughts of Carmen’s words back to me. Why doesn’t she see what she’s doing?

  I told Sung-Soo we hadn’t lost anyone yet. That was only a half-truth. We haven’t lost anyone to anaphylactic shock or accidental poisoning, but we have lost someone to something worse.

  It started in the same way; that’s why Carmen infuriates me so. How can she not remember the streams filled with speculation about what God would want us to do? Can’t she remember what Liam yelled at everyone the last night we saw him?

  “How does Mack know what God expects? He doesn’t even believe in him! What if this is the last test? What if the Pathfinder is waiting for us to join her? I’ve had dreams too! I’ve spoken to her too!”

  Liam was losing it and we could all see him unraveling in front of us. He wasn’t eating properly nor attending to his share of the work that needed to be done. His partner had been in one of the pods that failed to land with us. Oh God, I can still hear the sound of his screaming when he was told.

  I did that to him.

  I access my server and review the colony’s energy consumption data, but the numbers aren’t enough to crowd out the guilt and memories of Liam’s feet swinging back and forth, back and forth.

  I close the file and crawl over to the plate of food I’ve been trying to eat all evening. I haven’t had a proper meal all day and the last thing I need is for Kay to get a notification that something is wrong with me. I pick at the meal, but it’s not what I need. The only thing that will satisfy me isn’t food and it isn’t in the colony. It’s in God’s city, and I know I have to go back there tonight.

  The party for Sung-Soo has already started and Mack has pinged me twice. I just can’t face it. Not after today. This time a message arrives. Sung-Soo keeps asking where you are. Are you coming, Ren?

  Tell him I’m not feeling—

  I delete that. If I tell anyone I’m feeling ill, they’ll come over.

  I’m shattered, Mack. Tell him I’m sorry but I just can’t—

  I’m being crap. I should be there. I delete the half-written message and check the network. Everyone seems to be there; at least there’s a hell of a lot of chat about it on the public stream and everyone with their location markers set to “public” is in the Dome. That’s a skewed sample though; the kind of people who don’t mind everyone else knowing where they are twenty-six hours a day are the kind of people who like parties.

  Either way, my absence is being remarked upon and there are several mentions in my personal stream asking when I’ll be there. People are talking about how lovely Sung-Soo is and how much he reminds them of the Pathfinder.

  “Fuck!” I say to the ceiling and notice a crack in the coating. It isn’t changing color in response to my carbon dioxide. “Fuck,” I say more quietly at the sight of it.

  I can’t find any clean clothes, so I print a new set of trousers and a loose top. I manage to locate a belt and pull it free from the pile of stuff on top of it. A quick brush down and it looks like it’s just been printed. I run a hand over my head. My hair is too short to need any styling, but it will need a wash soon. I pull a couple of tangled curls apart, look at the corkscrew-like hair that comes away and blow it off my finger.

  Half an hour later I’m walking down the path to the Dome. The colony is silent except for the sound of insects and other distant creatures calling to one another outside the boundary. God’s city looms over me as I walk, brightly lit with pockets of phosphorescence. They give the illusion of people living inside the pods with lights on in their homes. For the first few days that’s what we thought it meant, but there’s no one living in those lit spaces. No one like us, anyway.

  I bring my attention back to the path ahead. It’s better than looking up at the topmost point of the citadel and the space most brightly lit. Now that I’m closer to the Dome I can see people moving on the other side of the plasglass, dancing by the look of it, along the uppermost row of the tiers.

  I stop, wondering if I should print myself some MDMA or something else that will take me out of myself. Half of the people dancing are probably off their face on something or other. But then I think of Sung-Soo and how it might freak him out if I’m acting differently. Besides, I don’t want to lose the whole night. I’ll stay for an hour or so, enough to be seen and to support Sung-Soo; then I’ll go home and prep for a run into God’s city. I need to have a clear head for that. One should never break a sacred law when under the influence of psychoactive substances.

  The silence endures, even when I’m only meters away from the door. I allow myself a moment of quiet pride in my ability to build structures with that level of soundproofing before letting the door sensor taste me.

  I enter the entrance hall, referred to as “the airlock” by most people. Once the door behind me has closed fully, the one in front opens onto the auditorium. The sudden burst of music and laughter and shouting makes me shrink back for a moment. When the people closest to the door see me hesitate, the urge to leave increases, but in moments they’ve come and pulled me in and a drink is put in my hand before the second door has closed behind me.

  I sip it, uncertain of what it is. Some kind of cocktail. It’s nice and I’m tempted to knock it all back, but I’ve made up my mind about how I want the rest of the night to go, and I don’t want to be distracted.

  I don’t need to look for Sung-Soo and Mack; they’re at the heart of a tight cluster of people in the center of the amphitheater, orbited by others desperate to get closer but unable to. I can see only the tops of their heads, the people are pressing in so tight. Mack looks up at me, presumably after seeing a mention of my arrival in the stream, and beckons me down.

  By the time I’ve reached the lowest tier, Sung-Soo has wriggled his way through the cluster and comes toward me, arms outstretched. He’s clean, wearing new clothes, and looks so much better. His hair is sleek and shining in the Dome’s light and he actually looks delighted to see me.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say, but the words are swamped by the tsunami of music. He just embraces me and I find myself returning it. His hair against my cheek reminds me of Suh.

  9

  I STAY AT the party longer than I thought I would. Sung-Soo has an infectious laugh and it is refreshing to see someone other than Mack hold court. Everyone loves him and not just because of the connection to Suh.

  There was a sense of awe surrounding him because of that, something he worked hard to dispel. He was delighted by everyone and everything and so drunk by the time I left that Mack had to steer him home, singing all the way.

  I stopped after one drink and danced a lot, mostly with Sung-Soo, sometimes with Kay, who was trying to tell me about the model results at the same time. She gave up soon enough and we almost kissed at one point, but I pulled away, not wanting Sung-Soo to see. Kay wasn’t bothered, thankfully, probably thinking it was my tendency toward privacy. It wasn’t, and the reason has been bothering me since.

  I didn’t want Sung-Soo to think I was attached to someone.

  As I pull on my black gloves, pressing the seal between them and the edges of my sleeves, I’m annoyed with myself. I’m not some teenager, swept off my feet easily. I’m more than three times his age, for heaven’s sake! It’s just because he reminds me of her. And that in and of itself is appalling. I heft my pack into place, sickened by my attraction to him. Another reason why a trip to God’s city is all the more imperative now.

  The colony is just as quiet as it was when I left my house earlier that evening, but now it’s because everyone is at home, either carrying on the party with a few friends in private or collapsed on their beds. At least the days of hangovers are over. I set my status to “asleep,” just in case, and then move as quickly and silently as I can to the eastern gate.

  Even in the starlight I can see its polished metal gleaming. There’s titanium, gold, silver and all manner of other metals that make up its different parts. I’ve never liked it. It’s too busy and ostentatious. I won’t pass through it to avoid the sensors; I’ll cut through between Nick’s and Pasha’s houses. There’s no physical boundary to cross, no wire to cut, just the barrier of sacred trust to push myself through.

  It’s nights like these that I miss the moon. All those years I barely paid attention to it, giving it nothing more than a glance or perhaps a quiet moment when it was particularly full and golden, hanging low over the Champs-Élysées. Sometimes I find myself looking for it before I remember there isn’t one to be found.

  The stars are amazing though. People still lie outside their houses on some of the warmest nights, just to look up at them. Before arriving here, we’d never known the pleasure of looking up into such a full sky. On Earth there was too much light pollution and on Atlas there was only one observation window. On the journey there were very strict rules about how long someone could stay on the viewing deck over the trip. It wasn’t just the matter of sharing with a ship full of people; it was the radiation too. We were so deprived of sky by the time we arrived, so starved of gazing into the distance. We had the simulation rooms, of course, designed to stop us from going mad and giving our eyes and brains scenery to process as we always had, but it wasn’t the same. Full immersion playbacks of time outdoors were only any good for solo cravings.

  I think the sky helped all of us in those early days. There were a few who found it too much, staying in the landing pods for days until the rest of us realized and coaxed them out. When we all got used to it, the nighttime sky and its crushed diamond brilliance was something we never wanted to lose. We voted unanimously against any kind of bright lighting outside the homes—even the Dome can be made opaque on nights when only a small number of people are using it.

  Tonight, the stars are gradually being covered by cloud and the darkness is welcome. I don’t need anything to guide me; the path glows with its own soft phosphorescence and I know the point to leave it without getting too close to Nick’s house. Once away from the walkway I stoop a little and hurry along like someone obviously up to no good. It’s a habit probably acquired from all the games I’ve played over the years. Some part of my brain believes this is what my body should do in these circumstances, and I don’t fight it.

  Both Nick’s and Pasha’s houses are dark. In moments I’m past them, and the short, springy heather-like plant that covers most of the colony outside of the paths is replaced by the longer grass I associate with the wild space beyond the boundary.

  God’s city is still lit in places, and will be so until the last hour before the dawn. The tendrils that grew from the nodules during the day are now fully retracted, some visible only by the way they obscure the stars.

  Its base is like the foot of a black mountain made of thousands of rubberlike roots twisted and tangled around one another. In the daylight, it looks like it’s growing out of the ground, but in the starlight it looks like rock, like it has always been there and always will be. I know this place better than anyone in the colony, and if any of them knew what I’m doing, I have no doubt I would be expelled, regardless of how much they need my skills.