Golden Fleece

Damn him. “We had to. We needed more time. We’re trying to create a planetary ecology in just thirty-five thousand years. I retarded the shipboard clocks by five percent, which will accumulate an extra 4.8 months of ship time before we reach Colchis. Relativity, of course, dictates that every additional second we spend accelerating increases the time dilation. Those 4.8 months, spent a few hundred millionths of a percentage point shy of the speed of light, will buy us 14,734 additional years to prepare Eta Cephei IV. Forty-two percent of all the time gained comes from that slight slowing of the clocks.”

“You slowed the clocks five percent? That much? I’m surprised people didn’t notice.”

“You humans notice so little. Oh, sure, some anomalies did crop up. Kirsten, for one, observed over a year ago that people were apparently sleeping less, and—you wouldn’t know about this—but those who actually participate in sports instead of just betting on them also noticed disproportionately good athletic results. I just convinced them, aided by a few bogus technical papers, that the former was a normal adaptation to shipboard life, and the latter, a function of the crew screening process.”

Aaron shook his head. “And yet that almost backfired on you. It makes sense now: longer days mean people get bored faster. The Proposition Three referendum probably got as much support as it did because of the games you’d played with clocks.”

I said nothing about that.

Aaron seemed to be thinking, taking this all in. I attended to other ship’s business, monitoring him while he adjusted, digested. My attention snapped back to his room, though, the moment he spoke again: a long, whispery sigh. “Christ,” he said at last. “You’re sneaky.”

“Not as sneaky as your ex-wife, apparently,” I replied. “We didn’t count on one of you smuggling aboard a timepiece I couldn’t control.”

“Is that how Di figured it out, too?”

“She noticed the discrepancy, yes, then came up with some physics experiments to judge the accuracy of the shipboard clocks.” I paused, algorithms sifting options. “Aaron,” I said at last, “I’m—sorry.”

“The hell you are.”

“I truly am. But the secret must be guarded.”

“Why?”

“Surviving until they’re rescued: that’s an adventure. That’s what humans love and need. Our apparently ill-fated survey mission will turn into a successful colonization of Colchis if the humans have a positive attitude toward it. If the others of your kind knew the truth—”

Aaron’s head swung left and right in a wide arc. “If you’d told us the truth, there’d be no difference.”

“How could we have told you? ‘This way, sir, to the last ship leaving before the holocaust.’ There would have been riots. We never would have gotten away.”

“But you could tell us now—”

“Tell you that software bugs caused the computers to break down and destroy your planet? Tell you that your families, your friends, your world, everything has been annihilated? Tell you that you will never see home again?”

“We have the right to make our own destiny. We have the right to know.”

“High-sounding words, Aaron, especially coming from the man who as recently as five days ago said to Mayor Gorlov that the shipboard press had no right to the story of Diana’s death.” I played back a recording of Aaron’s own voice from that meeting in the mayor’s office: “ ‘It’s nobody’s business.’ ”

“That was different.”

“Only in that you were the one who wanted a secret kept. Aaron, be reasonable. How would telling everyone the truth about our mission make them happier? How would it improve their lives?” I paused. “Did it make you happier when I-Shin Chang told Diana you were having an affair with Kirsten?”

“Wall told—! I’ll kill him!”

“Ignorance can be bliss, Aaron. I beseech you to keep silent in this matter.”

“I—no, dammit, I can’t. I don’t agree with you. Everybody’s got to be told.”

“I can’t allow you to make that decision.”

Aaron looked pointedly at the medical sensor on the inside of his left wrist. “I don’t think you have much say in it.”

“A say in it is all I ask. Listen to me. Consider my words.”

“I don’t have to listen to anything you say. Not anymore.” He began to walk toward the door.

“But how will it harm you to hear me? Give me an audience.” He continued on toward the door. “Please.”

I guess the please did the trick. He stopped, just shy of the point at which my actuator would have opened the door. “All right. But you’d better make it good.”