No Eves were currently in the frame. The only Eves in the Swarm, of course, had been Julia and Aïda. So this was probably what they called sidestory, which was to say, video from the Epic that, while it didn’t capture the words or the deeds of any of the Eves, was still deemed important enough to have been incorporated into the canon and to show up on playlists in locations like this café. Kath Two had a vague sense that she had seen it before, many years ago, perhaps in school. She had lost track of days and time zones, but she was fairly sure that today was Julsday, and so any Epic scenes being broadcast in a place like this were most likely commemorative of something that Eve Julia had said or done. “Happy Eve Day,” she said, as a polite reflex, to the Julian standing next to her.
“Good day to you,” the woman returned, which confirmed that today was in fact Julsday.
Kath Two watched the scene long enough to get the gist of it. She was growingly certain that she remembered these people and their situation. The Seven Fat and Seven Thin was a bolo that had consisted of two heptads. One of them had experienced a breakdown in food production because of a contagious blight that had started in one of its arklets and eventually spread to the other six. The result was seven arklets full of starving people, connected by a long cable to seven arklets in which there was plenty to eat. They had worked out a system of sending spacewalkers up their respective cables to the center point where the two paws were latched together. There, care packages from the Seven Fat would be handed over to spacewalkers from the Seven Thin, who would descend back to the afflicted heptad and distribute the food. But seven arklets could not produce food for fourteen. All went hungry, and people in the Seven Thin began to die. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that this bolo had become separated from the main Swarm.
The particular scene now being broadcast was a video conference between the starvelings of the Seven Thin and the only slightly better-fed occupants of the Seven Fat, made more wrenching by the fact that family members and old friends had found themselves separated by that cable. Kath Two was sure she remembered it now. In a few minutes, they would establish radio contact with the White Arklet and bring Eve Julia into the conversation to ask for her advice. She would make a little speech about what they must do. The story would end with the Seven Thin cutting themselves loose from the bolo. They timed it in such a way that the Seven Fat would be flung back in the direction of the main swarm, ensuring their at least temporary survival, while the Seven Thin went hurtling away in the opposite direction. In effect, the doomed ones used themselves as propellant to save the others. The tale was made more complicated, and more poignant, by other details that Kath Two would be subjected to if she stood here watching it long enough. The Seven Thin heptad was one of the few that contained part of the Human Genetic Archive, and so its sacrifice had been part of the seemingly inexorable series of mishaps that had led to the Council of the Seven Eves and the creation of the new human races. And their decision to sacrifice themselves had not been unanimous; it had been preceded by a mutiny, and hand-to-hand fighting from one arklet to the next as a minority of the starvelings had attempted to save themselves by donning space suits and ascending the cable. The man who had fought his way to the control panel and mashed the button that had severed the bolo was named Julius Mwangi. There was a habitat named after him at thirty-eight degrees, zero minutes east, hovering over his birthplace in Kenya. The “zero minutes” part being significant, since habitats lying on meridians were traditionally named after heroes of the Epic.
All of that came back to Kath Two’s mind during the time it took the café workers to make her coffee. For, since it had become obvious that she was being interrogated, she thought it best to change her order from chocolate to something with a little more caffeine. “This is on me,” she said to the Quarantine agent, since it was traditional to do small favors for strangers on their Eve Day. Had this been Moirsday, someone else might have paid for her coffee.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” the woman said. Which was probably true on a literal level; she could not accept a favor from someone she was interrogating. “But if you would allow me to sit with you. .”
“Of course,” Kath Two said, and waited while the woman’s coffee was made. The screen above the counter had cut to a different part of the Epic, consisting of a conversation that had taken place aboard Endurance shortly before the Final Burn, in which Dinah and Ivy had talked each other into believing that Julia wasn’t as bad as all that. Kath Two had always found it a little cloying. People quoted lines from it all the time. It had served as the basis for political movements and parties that had sought to build stronger alliances between the Julians and other races. As such, its timing was fortuitous. Had Kath Two been of a Julian turn of mind, she’d have wondered whether the whole thing had been staged, the playlist’s timing rigged by someone behind the scenes at Quarantine so that she would see it just before sitting down to coffee with this woman. Because that was how Julians were. It was the choice that Eve Julia had made during the Council of the Seven Eves. Her strain, living in relative isolation in their segment of the ring, had intensified it through the selective breeding process known as Caricaturization. Julians had developed huge eyes, sleek ears, and small mouths as part of that; it was the single easiest way to identify one from across the room.
The woman saluted before sitting down. Julians saluted with their left hands, kept off to the side of the face so that the hand never passed through the eyeline. “Ariane,” she said. A common Julian name, derived from the rockets launched from Kourou, which Eve Julia had defended by nuking the Venezuelans. “Ariane Casablancova.” Meaning that she was the daughter of a woman named Casablanca, after the White House.
Kath Two saluted back. “Kath Amalthova Two.” For Kath Two’s mother had been named after the asteroid that had sheltered Moira and her lab through the Big Ride.
Ariane sat down across from her, huge eyes fixed impassively on Kath Two’s face.
“Look,” Kath Two said, “I’m no good at this. I don’t belong to any kupol and I don’t want to join. Just ask me what is on your mind.”
“Just wondering if you saw anything interesting on the surface.”
“My whole point in going there is to see interesting things. I hardly see anything that is not interesting.”
Ariane just sat expectantly.
“I filed a report,” Kath Two said.
“And discussed its contents with Beled Tomov?”
“Yes.”
“But not with Rhys Alaskov.”
“Rhys was asleep when Beled and I were talking.”
“You slept quite a bit as well,” Ariane remarked. “Ten hours on the flivver.”
“I had been flying a glider all day.”
“With frequent naps.”
“Every time a Moiran sleeps in a little bit,” Kath Two said, “it doesn’t mean that we are going epi. Sometimes we are just tired, is all.”
“Time will tell. Now you are journeying to have a face-to-face conversation with your mentor,” Ariane said. “Or so you think.”