and clockwork were tucked away neatly behind clearstone panels.
Marzio followed his children, gesturing to Tamara to accompany him. Aside from the wheat fields this workshop had the largest floor in the Peerless —and spread out along its arc a dozen teams of instrument builders were assembling similar beacons. Groups of workers stopped to cheer as the trolley passed, celebrating their common cause.
Marzio said, “Don’t be too dismayed if something goes wrong. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to vary the design if we have to.”
“Unlike the Gnat .”
“Oh, the Gnat will be fine,” he promised her. “It’ll be carrying its own repair crew. The hardest thing to build is a machine that needs to function perfectly without any supervision—without the chance to make a single adjustment once it’s out of your hands.”
They reached the ramp leading down into the airlock. As Viviana and Viviano donned helmets and cooling bags, Tamara hung back, not wanting to interfere with their preparations. She was just a spectator here; the launch could go ahead with or without her.
Viviana raised the airlock door, standing aside to keep it open as her co wheeled the beacon into the chamber. Then she joined him inside, and the spring-loaded door slammed shut. Tamara watched them through the window as they worked the pumps.
“What could still go wrong?” she asked Marzio. “You’ve fixed the nozzle; the rest is just clockwork.”
“Clockwork in the void,” Marzio replied. “You might think it would simplify a machine’s behavior when there’s no air or gravity to contend with—but there’s still heat, there’s still friction, there’s still grit that can hang around to jam moving parts. Odd things can happen to surfaces that turn them unexpectedly sticky, or opaque. In fact a friend of mine has grown very excited over the way mirrorstone tarnishes in the absence of air.”
Tamara had heard about Carla’s discovery, but she didn’t think other physicists were taking it too seriously. “Some people can find patterns in anything,” she replied.
Viviana and Viviano were through the airlock now. Tamara walked down to the rack of cooling bags and selected one for herself. In her rear gaze she saw that Marzio hadn’t followed her.
“You’re not coming out to watch?”
“I’m an old man,” he said. “It makes me queasy.”
“To see the stars below you?”
“No, being in a cooling bag.”
“Oh.” Tamara found the fabric against her skin a bit irritating, but other than that the devices didn’t bother her. She climbed into the one she’d chosen, redistributed some flesh from her shoulders to her chest to accommodate its shape, then asked Marzio to check the fit before she attached the cylinder of air that would carry her body heat off into the void.
Once she was through the airlock, standing at the top of the exterior ramp, she pulled a safety harness from a slot beside her, checked that it was tied securely to the guide rail that ran along the side of the ramp, then stepped into the harness and cinched it tight.
Marzio’s children were further down the ramp, their harnesses tied to opposite rails so they wouldn’t get tangled in each other’s ropes. They had already cranked back the spring-loaded launch plate, and as they slid the beacon off its trolley and moved it into place the scraping sound came faintly through Tamara’s feet, almost overwhelmed by the reassuring susurration of air leaking from her cooling bag. When they’d finished she raised a hand in greeting, and they returned the gesture. The springs would help the beacon clear the ramp safely, but most of its velocity would come from the rotation of the Peerless . In less than a year it would be three gross separations away—by then, Tamara hoped, just one point in a huge, sparse grid of identical devices drifting out across the void, all flashing in a miserly but predictable fashion. Anyone could orient themselves by the stars,
Marzio followed his children, gesturing to Tamara to accompany him. Aside from the wheat fields this workshop had the largest floor in the Peerless —and spread out along its arc a dozen teams of instrument builders were assembling similar beacons. Groups of workers stopped to cheer as the trolley passed, celebrating their common cause.
Marzio said, “Don’t be too dismayed if something goes wrong. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to vary the design if we have to.”
“Unlike the Gnat .”
“Oh, the Gnat will be fine,” he promised her. “It’ll be carrying its own repair crew. The hardest thing to build is a machine that needs to function perfectly without any supervision—without the chance to make a single adjustment once it’s out of your hands.”
They reached the ramp leading down into the airlock. As Viviana and Viviano donned helmets and cooling bags, Tamara hung back, not wanting to interfere with their preparations. She was just a spectator here; the launch could go ahead with or without her.
Viviana raised the airlock door, standing aside to keep it open as her co wheeled the beacon into the chamber. Then she joined him inside, and the spring-loaded door slammed shut. Tamara watched them through the window as they worked the pumps.
“What could still go wrong?” she asked Marzio. “You’ve fixed the nozzle; the rest is just clockwork.”
“Clockwork in the void,” Marzio replied. “You might think it would simplify a machine’s behavior when there’s no air or gravity to contend with—but there’s still heat, there’s still friction, there’s still grit that can hang around to jam moving parts. Odd things can happen to surfaces that turn them unexpectedly sticky, or opaque. In fact a friend of mine has grown very excited over the way mirrorstone tarnishes in the absence of air.”
Tamara had heard about Carla’s discovery, but she didn’t think other physicists were taking it too seriously. “Some people can find patterns in anything,” she replied.
Viviana and Viviano were through the airlock now. Tamara walked down to the rack of cooling bags and selected one for herself. In her rear gaze she saw that Marzio hadn’t followed her.
“You’re not coming out to watch?”
“I’m an old man,” he said. “It makes me queasy.”
“To see the stars below you?”
“No, being in a cooling bag.”
“Oh.” Tamara found the fabric against her skin a bit irritating, but other than that the devices didn’t bother her. She climbed into the one she’d chosen, redistributed some flesh from her shoulders to her chest to accommodate its shape, then asked Marzio to check the fit before she attached the cylinder of air that would carry her body heat off into the void.
Once she was through the airlock, standing at the top of the exterior ramp, she pulled a safety harness from a slot beside her, checked that it was tied securely to the guide rail that ran along the side of the ramp, then stepped into the harness and cinched it tight.
Marzio’s children were further down the ramp, their harnesses tied to opposite rails so they wouldn’t get tangled in each other’s ropes. They had already cranked back the spring-loaded launch plate, and as they slid the beacon off its trolley and moved it into place the scraping sound came faintly through Tamara’s feet, almost overwhelmed by the reassuring susurration of air leaking from her cooling bag. When they’d finished she raised a hand in greeting, and they returned the gesture. The springs would help the beacon clear the ramp safely, but most of its velocity would come from the rotation of the Peerless . In less than a year it would be three gross separations away—by then, Tamara hoped, just one point in a huge, sparse grid of identical devices drifting out across the void, all flashing in a miserly but predictable fashion. Anyone could orient themselves by the stars,
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