Sometimes, she reflected, old tech worked best. Electronic fasteners were stronger and easier to maintain—unless the power went out. There was something, she knew, so basic and primitive and human and functional about a rope. She smiled to herself. In lieu of vines, mechanical clamps and carbon fiber and metal chains would have to do.
The tires and tracks of giant earth-moving and stone-grinding vehicles loomed above the two figures as they made their way down one row of machinery before turning to walk back along another. As chief of terraforming, Daniels knew the name, purpose, and cost of every piece of equipment. She could zero in on their respective operations manuals without having to sort through the ship’s computer or, if necessary, go right to a specific component or control in any of the equipment cabins. Her excellent memory was one of the reasons she had been chosen for her current position. She was also very much aware of her limitations.
We’re all just backups to computers, anyway, she told herself.
It could have been done remotely, she knew, checking to ensure that each piece of machinery remained fixed in place. But it wouldn’t have provided the same personal satisfaction. And as she knew as well as Walter did, that having something to do physically as well as mentally kept her from thinking about…
“It wasn’t even my idea,” she told the synthetic as he effortlessly kept pace with her. “At first I thought it was silly. A waste of time we probably wouldn’t even have, since as crew we’d first have to help the colonists get settled in. But Jacob had this dream of building us a cabin on a new world. One just like those built by the old pioneers on parts of Earth. Only with modern climate control and appliances and other contemporary conveniences.
“Log cabins were found on every continent with trees, he’d tell me. One of mankind’s first structures not made of stone or earth, and according to the pictures he showed me they look pretty much the same no matter which culture built them. A real part of human history.” Bending, she double-checked a wheel clamp the size of a small vehicle. It helped to hold in place a giant, bladed excavator. Still locked down tight.
“So that’s what he wanted to do,” she continued. “Both for his own enjoyment and as kind of an homage to early ‘colonists.’ A cabin next to a lake. Real romantic. It didn’t even matter to him if the lake was natural or artificial, but there’s a huge one in the zone chosen for initial terraforming on Origae-6.” Walking around the front of the excavator, she checked the clamp enfolding the lower portion of the massive front wheel on the opposite side. “Secure.”
“Secure,” Walter confirmed, performing his own quick check. They moved on to the next massive vehicle in line. “I do not entirely understand. We are carrying ample prefabricated housing for the crew, as well as for the colonists. There are plans for future modifications and additional, more permanent structures, as well as the means to erect them once suitable raw materials are found.” He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Yet Jacob wanted to build a log cabin?”
“Yes,” she answered. “A real cabin, made of real wood. Constructed entirely according to historical precedents. So in ship’s stores, along with all the prefab materials you just mentioned, in our private container there’s all these saws and axes, and metal nails.”
Walter turned thoughtful. “Metal ‘nails.’ Truly a historical reference. What if there are no trees, as we know them, on Origae-6?”
She let out a single, small chuckle. “Jacob said he’d use a plastic pre-former to make them and then have them sprayed and textured to look like the real thing. I always assumed he knew what he was doing and how to go about it. Me, I don’t have the slightest idea how to build a log cabin.”
She paused, her voice trailing away. Looking up from the pipe extruder he was inspecting, Walter turned his light on her. Saw the sadness creep into her eyes as she let her gaze rove over the enormous, silent equipment that would be used to build the colony. With a slight wave of her hand she encompassed the extruder and the rest of the machinery that was locked down in front of them.
“All of this, the best gear Earth can provide, to help us make our new life. For the rest of the crew, it makes sense. And of course for the colonists. But for myself, now I find myself wondering—why bother?”
“You have no choice.”
Frowning, she looked over at him. “You mean because I signed a contract to take part and contribute, as a member of the crew?”
“No. Because you promised to build a cabin on a lake.”
She felt a sudden tightness in her throat. “That was Jacob’s promise. Jacob promised to build the cabin.”
Walter peered back at her, his expression open, his tone compassionate. “All crew were assigned to the Covenant in pairs. All human crew.” He corrected himself without the slightest hint of resentment. “The ship’s crew functions in pairs. As teams. If one half of the team becomes unable to carry out their duties, then the other…”
“Is obligated to take over and handle those duties in addition to their own,” she finished for him. “I’m not sure building a cabin by a lake on Origae-6 qualifies, but I appreciate the sentiment. Who knows? Maybe when we get there and I have a chance to breathe unrecycled air again and eat something besides rehydrated food, I’ll take the time to educate myself in the art of cabin building. Maybe—just maybe—I’ll do it.”
“You will do it.”
Reaching over, she patted him on the arm. It felt exactly like real flesh, as it was intended to feel. “You’re a good friend, Walter. And if you tell me that’s ‘part of your programming,’ I’m going to slap you.”
It was a testament to the skill with which that programming had been devised that he did not say anything else.
There was no one on the bridge except Mother, and she wasn’t visible. Mother was the bridge. On the Covenant she was everywhere and nowhere, immaterial yet always available to carry out a command or answer a query.
The questions that were dogging Oram as he wandered onto the instrument-filled room could not be answered by the ship’s computer. If asked, she would of course try to answer. Sometimes he was tempted to voice his concerns just to see what kind of replies might be electronically forthcoming. He never did. First, because they might make sense, and second, because they might contradict his own.
The lightweight blanket wrapped around his shoulders was as unnecessary on the bridge as it was in his cabin. Though the temperature and humidity in individual cabins was widely adjustable, most of the crew were content with whatever Mother deemed appropriate for their particular ages, physiologies, and predesignated personal preferences. Sleeping on a starship was a private matter—one of the few—and Mother rarely interrupted with suggestions.
A blanket, or for that matter bed linens of any kind, were an extravagance, but they were a small one, and had been deemed important for the crew’s psychological health. So if someone slept better under sheets, or a comforter, or a blanket, or a faux wool sheepskin, if it was determined that this would enhance efficiency and preserve sanity, the company was willing to provide it.
His old-fashioned print Bible was tucked under one arm, as much a comfort as Mother’s capable presence. In his other hand, metal worry beads click-clicked rhythmically against one another. He could have requested medication to sate his anxiety. He much preferred the worry beads. Unlike drugs, they were familiar and non-invasive. An argument might have been made as to whether or not they were equally habit-forming.