The fifth lander made it most of the way down before succumbing to a damaged heat shield segment, and it sent back infrared and microwave soundings of an ocean (an ocean!), whose scatterometry produced a marine wind field map that Banerjee’s chief oceanographer pronounced promisingly reminiscent of Earth’s southern oscillation.
The sixth lander reached the surface and sent back a wealth of intriguing and frustratingly inconclusive readings before it drove over a cliff, to the spluttering humiliation of its design team, and shattered its solar collector.
The seventh lander caught an ant.
An ant whose DNA, when crushed and sequenced and crosschecked and cataloged, proved her to be the many thousandth great-granddaughter of a cloned ponerine queen boosted into space in 2031 on one of the European Space Authority’s venerable Arianerockets and still covered by a perpetual, though obviously unenforceable, patent originally held by a Delaware corporation with the unlikely name of Monsanto.
With the discovery of one humble ant, all hell broke loose in the skies over Gilead. Scientific teams zipped back and forth from Syndicate to Syndicate. Aziz and Banerjee planners hammered out launch windows and crew and cargo manifests. The infamous “annoyance questionnaires” began to circulate among potential payload and mission specialists, a sure sign that not only was a long-range mission being planned, but that it would be a sprint mission: a desperate direct throw of the bare minimum of personnel and equipment needed to stake a claim to the target planet. Good luck, happy sailing…and we’ll deliver logistical support if you survive long enough to need it.
A third unmanned probe was dispatched, this one sleek, heavy, expensive, and freighted with a weight of scientific equipment worth the gross annual product of some of the smaller Syndicates. Two years behind the third probe—these things take time, after all—RostovSyndicate launched the ship whose arboretum they had just flown through at a speed that precisely measured the technical advances in interstellar propulsion made in the six years that separated the two ships’ launch dates.
And now, in a matter of days, the survey team would swing into orbit around Novalis…and begin the real work for which each of them had been training ever since they’d opted for the sciences track at sixteen and tested into geophysics, genetics, engineering, astrophysics, oceanography, zoology, genetics, molecular biology complex systems study, chaotic systems control, and all the other manifold specializations that the science-cum-art of terraforming demanded.
Arkady was at once awed and inspired by the sheer weight of history that lay behind each step of a preterraforming survey. Every reading, every sounding, every measurement they would use to establish the baseline condition of Novalis’s biosphere represented the life’s work of generations of engineers and scientists before them. Even so simple a task as taking the temperature of the ocean’s surface from orbit embodied a trajectory of technological evolution that began with the first primitive infrared sounding devices NASA engineers invented back in the twentieth century to explain the subtle color shifts that entranced the first astronauts to see Earth’s oceans from space.
Each member of the survey team—Arkady with his ants, Aurelia with her exacting measurements of the planet’s geophysical processes, Arkasha with his DNA samples—was part of an endless cycle of trial and error and recalibration that spanned two sentient species, several dozen planets, and a millennium of scientific investigation. And at the end of all their work lay the same thing their forebears had faced, a term coined by the first geophysicists on Earth but still a fertile part of the terraformer’s working vocabulary all these centuries later:
Ground truth.
Ground truth was the final judge from whose verdict there was no appeal. Ground truth was what you found when you finished your measurements and plans and preparations and took your heart in your hands and landed on your target planet. Ground truth was what you found when you sampled the soil, when you physically dropped a sounder into the ocean, when you walked through the forest or grassland or tundra you had surveyed from orbit and dissected and sequenced the specimens you collected there.
And this was the second source of Arkady’s endless fascination with his chosen field. In a very real sense every expedition to a new planet retraveled in miniature the long evolution of the discipline that humans called terraforming and Syndicate scientists called ecophysics. Syndicate survey teams might be armed with technical and theoretical tools that would have appeared near-magical to pre-Evacuation humans; but each new planet, even if every living thing on it was earthly in origin, presented an entirely new set of experimental parameters. Those parameters inevitably produced results that confirmed prior theory…and results that pointed out the limitations of trying to generalize about the largest complex nonlinear dynamic system anyone had yet encountered based on a sample size of one. Every unsurveyed planet was, quite literally, a new world. And nothing in all the wide universe said that the next planet wouldn’t blow the lid off every prior theory.
Which was exactly—though it was hard for Arkady to bring himself to believe such a thing could be happening—what Bella’s DVI numbers would do.
If they were real.
“You want her to learn on the job?” Aurelia was asking incredulously when Arkady walked into the hastily called formal consult over what the Ahmeds were calling the DVI situation. “She was supposed to know her job before we launched. People who can’t do a simple job right belong on a euth ward, not on a deep-space survey mission!”
“I diddo the job right the first time!” Bossy Bella protested. Bella had been assigned, after much covert maneuvering and insistence that she was too busy (she wasn’t, and wouldn’t be until it was time to establish the food cycle systems in the dirtside habitat module), to help Aurelia with data collection for the all-important DVI. The two of them had already developed a cordial dislike for each other…and when something went wrong, the inevitable happened.
“So now you know my job better than I do?” Aurelia asked coldly.
“My numbers are right,” Bella insisted.
Her sib stirred beside her. “Perhaps…”
“Perhaps nothing! If you’d been helping me instead of wasting time staring into space, we wouldn’t bein this mess!”
Shy Bella bowed her head submissively, but judging from the dark shadows under her eyes Arkady seriously doubted she’d been slacking. In fact, she’d lost several kilos since they came out of cryo, and she and her sib were now worrisomely easy to tell apart even before they opened their pretty mouths.
Someone jogged his elbow: the other Aurelia. She was worried about her sib, and her usually confident face showed it. “What does Arkasha think about the numbers?” she asked Arkady in a nervous whisper.
He cast a furtive glance at Arkasha, who was sitting at the other end of the consult table, his shoulders turned away just enough to isolate himself from the rest of the group, flicking through a sheaf of densely inked printouts.
“How should I know?” he said bitterly. “I haven’t exchanged twenty words with him since we woke up. I couldn’t have seen less of him if he’d been ducking out of airlocks to avoid me.”
“I’ve been around a while,” Bossy Bella was saying when Arkady turned back to the general conversation. She’d been detanked two years before her pairmate and three years before the Ahmeds, Arkadys, and Aurelias. In her place, Arkady would have been embarrassed about being dropped behind his age group, but Bella predictably treated the age difference as a reason to pull rank on the rest of the crew. “I was on the Kuretz-12 survey while you all were still waiting for your year nineteen cull. And no one has ever found any problems with the work Ido—”
“I, I, I, I, I!” Aurelia burst out, exasperated. “If you thought a little less about your precious self and a little more about ourjob out here—”