Analog Science Fiction and Fact - June 2013

ANALOG
circles, the axis of the entire orbit slowly revolves
around the sun. In the case of Earth,
that last cycle takes more than a hundred millennia.
All three processes affect what sunlight
strikes the planet, where, and at what angle.
All three affect seasons and . . . climate.”
As she had more or less remembered. “And
those processes are independent, correct?
Every so often, they peak together.”
“Cycles peaking together have been implicated
in triggering ice ages.”
“And extrapolating to Dark? What does our
long-range forecast look like?”
He studied his feet. “I don’t know.”
“What would it take to find out?”
“A lot of observing time. And modeling
time, too.” He gestured at the image on the
big display. “Earth doesn’t have a big neighbor
planet like that to tug at it. Or three moons.
The cyclic variations here are apt to be more
complex.”
Farming and childrearing didn’t leave much
time for, well, anything else. Maybe those
were the only tasks she was good for.
Something she knew about the history of
science had to be useful. Didn’t it?
Maybe this was it.
From the deep shadow alongside the
reroofed phosphate storehouse, Carlos
watched Rikki. Out in the middle of the night,
slinking home from Endeavour. Having a bit
of after-hours fun, are we?
But kudos for Antonio! Carlos would not
have guessed the odd little guy had it in him.
Or, more precisely, that he got it into Rikki.
After she slipped past, Carlos continued to
his workshop. His extracurricular activities
also demanded discretion.
Yawning, exhausted after a full day’s work,
he nonetheless toiled in high spirits. For
months he had put his free nights into making
things for Li. If what she wanted wasn’t candy
and flowers, nonetheless each new batch of
the gadgets made her very appreciative.
He could appreciate that.
Discovery set down on a broad plain, between
soaring rock canyon walls.
“Touchdown,” Blake announced. “The
crowd goes wild.”
They had landed on a pebbly shore along
the Spencer River. A very damp shore, to
judge by the steam that billowed around
them, blocking Rikki’s view from the cockpit.
That fog would dissipate into the dry air long
before the ground cooled enough for them to
climb down.
“You do realize,” she said, “that I’ve never
seen a football game.” Or cared to. Martians
didn’t do football: the playing field would
have had to be ridiculously big.
“I know many things.” He popped his helmet,
unbuckled his safety harness, and twisted
around to see her behind his headrest.
“Such as that you’ve never asked to accompany
me on a routine checkout flight. Not once.
Today you announced you were coming and
proposed a destination. What gives?”
“Nothing.” Almost nothing, anyway: the
vague memory of terrain glimpsed from a fastmoving
shuttle, when the two of them had
first over-flown this region.
“Here in the canyon, we’re out of radio contact.
If you have secrets, this is the place to
spill them.”
His unhappy expression added, “Unless
you’re keeping secrets from me.”
“No secrets,” she dissembled. “I wanted to
see these rock faces up close.”
“Be that way.” He turned forward.
“Really, that’s why I came.” And if she saw
what she expected to see, she would explain.
She just didn’t want to look stupid.
The awkward, silent wait till he popped the
canopy release seemed interminable.
Rikki hung a ladder over the cockpit’s side,
swung herself up and over, and clambered
down the rungs. “I remember when doing
that was hard.”
“We’re getting used to the place. Home
sweet home.”
Home, sweet or otherwise. That was why
she had to get her head wrapped around the
climate here. “I’m going to stroll along the river
for a ways. Join me?”
“Sure.”
The river’s flow here was slow and placid.
When she walked up to the shore and dipped
in a fingertip, the water was icy. “No skinnydipping,”
she told him preemptively.
“So what is this about?”
Slowly, she pivoted, taking in the panoramic
view. “Isn’t this enough?”
The flat plain stretched for at least a hundred
meters behind them before rising to
78 EDWARD M. LERNER