Starborne

After a very long while the year-captain says, “You and me and Marcus. Or I

“Man, man, I don’t give a bloody damn who is captain! What I care about is the landing party! You and me, old brother, the way it was on Io, on Callisto, on Titan — !”

“Yes. You and me. And Marcus or I

“Stop playing idiotic games with me. Of course I do!”

“Then find me a new year-captain,” the year-captain says.

At Lofoten I was taught how to put all vestiges of ego aside and live as a purely unattached entity, undistracted by irrelevant yearnings and schemes. And thereby to be a more perfect being, who will be more nearly likely to attain the dissolution of self that is the highest goal of the disciplined mind.

I absorbed the teachings fully, yes, I did, I did. Even though the nagging feeling remained in me that by trying to make myself perfectly unattached I was in fact acting out the ultimate in self-aggrandizement, because I was setting out to try to turn myself into a god, and what is that if not self-aggrandizement? I remember how my Preceptor smiled as I told him all that. Obviously he had been down the same path himself. It was, he said, the paradox of striving toward unstrivingness, a circular trap, and there was no way out of it except right through the middle of it. Scheme as hard as you can to free yourself of the need for scheming. Drive yourself ever onward toward liberation from the slavery of goals. Exert merciless self-discipline in the pursuit of freedom from compulsive achievement.

Well, so be it, I told myself. You are an imperfect being seeking to follow a course of perfection, and it’s altogether likely that you’ll hit a few problems along that way. I did my best, given the inherent limitations of the material I was required to work with, and by and large I think that the Lofoten experience got me closer to whatever it is that I’m searching for than anything I had previously done. But look at me now! Oh, just look! Where is all my nonattachment? Where is my freedom from fruitless and distracting striving?

I want to be part of the team that lands on Planet A.

I want it desperately. Desperately.

I feel excitement gathering in me night and day as we get closer to that place. I feel it in my fingertips, in my throat, in my chest, in my balls. A new world! The new world, for all we know! If it is to be the place where we build our settlement, then the first ones of us who set foot on it will become figures of myth in mille

Which means I must find someone to replace me as captain. But who? Who? No one is stepping forward. No one seems even remotely interested. They are quite content to let me remain in the job. Like sheep, all of them, and none wants to be shepherd in my place. I should have thought of all this when I first let myself in for this year-captain business. Perhaps I did; perhaps I thought that it would be just another valuable spiritual discipline for me, to take on the responsibility of ru

Noelle reports that the transmission difficulties she has been experiencing in recent weeks have seemingly cleared up during the course of our move to this sector of space. Perhaps her “sunspot” theory really was correct, and some wholly local force was filling her mind with static back there. We’ll see. It’s a positive development, anyway, and those are always welcome. She still seems very tense and strange, though. Sits there in the lounge half the day and half the night, playing Go as though playing Go is the most important thing in the universe, taking on all corners and beating them with the greatest of ease. What a mystery that woman is! In this ship of strange creatures she is surely the strangest by some distance.

Unless Paco has botched his calculations, we are just a few days away now from the vicinity of Planet A. Given the uncertainties of my own situation, I find myself half hoping that the place will be so obviously unsuitable for colonization that we won’t even want to take an exploratory look at it. But that’s contemptible idiocy. Ten to one we’ll be sending a team down to prowl around. Huw, certainly. And I

What I need to do now is call everyone together and hold an election. And get this thing settled before I lose whatever respect for myself I may happen to have.

The Articles of the Voyage specify that a simple majority is sufficient to elect,” the year-captain says. “In the event of there being more than two candidates, a simple plurality will be sufficient, providing it represents more than thirty-three percent of the total population of the ship. I call now for nominations.”

As is the case when all fifty of them are assembled in general meeting, they are gathered in the great central corridor of the top deck, fa

No one says anything.

Chang and Roy, Noelle and Elizabeth, Paco, Hesper, Marcus, Bruce. Jean-Claude. Edmund. Althea. Leila. Imogen. Charles. The year-captain looks here, he looks there. Expressionless faces look back at him.

“The post of year-captain becomes vacant in five days,” the year-captain says, though that fact hardly comes as news to them. “I call for nominations to the post of year-captain.”

An ocean of uneasy faces. Frowns, sidewise glances. Silence. Silence.

Paco says, finally, “I nominate Leon.”

“Declined,” says Leon, almost before Paco has finished speaking the words that place his name in nomination. “I can’t be ship’s doctor and year-captain as well.”

“Why is that?” the year-captain asks. “Holding the one responsibility doesn’t preclude holding the other.”

“Well,” Leon says, glowering, “in my mind it does. I don’t want the job. Declined.”

“Very well. Do I hear another nomination?”

His eyes begin roving again. I

Someone. Anyone.

Elizabeth says out of another long stark silence, “I nominate you to succeed yourself.”

The year-captain closes his eyes just for a moment. “I don’t choose to retain the office,” he says quietly.