It was a secretly warm world.
Cherry-hot iron lay at its center, blanketed in a roiling ocean of magma. Only its skin was cold, young rock covered with water ice and a thin nitrogen snow, the face deceptively simple, glowing white and pink beneath the bottomless sky.
The lecturer, an adult male fouchian, described their target world as being formed four billion years ago, presumably in one of the local solar systems. It spent a chaotic youth dancing with its more massive neighbors, orbits shifting every few centuries, a final near-collision flinging it out into the cometary cloud. Perhaps a similar near-collision had thrown this cluster of stars out of the Milky Way. Who knew? Either way, the world today was tracing a slow elliptical orbit around a cool M-class sun, its summers barely warmer than its fifty thousand year winters, the original ocean of water frozen beneath a thin atmosphere of noble gases and molecular hydrogen.
Dramatic images floated above the fouchian, fresh from the Web's telescopes. He pointed out volcanoes and mountain ranges and the conspicuous absence of impact craters. Even so far from any sun, heat persisted. Tectonics and the table-smooth plains of ice were evidence of recent liquid water, which meant the possibility of simple life. And with that pronouncement, the fouchian looked out at his audience, reminding them that not every training mission had hopes of finding life. Other, less gifted teams were being sent to survey nearby comets and little plutos, the poor souls. Attempting a human smile, the fouchian laid its nose tendrils against its muzzle, then parted its thin lips, exposing incisors whiter than any ice. "Thank Artisan Ejy for this honor," he told them, his voice box pronouncing words with an eerie hyperclarity. "He specifically chose each of you, just as he selected my Nest-brother and myself to serve as his chief officers. And who are we to doubt an Artisan's judgment?"
Two dozen humans sat together in an open-air amphitheater. It was night in the human habitat, cloudless and warm, and lovely. Curious people stood at the gates, straining for a glimpse. Beyond the stage was a broad calm cove, playful dolphins stitching their way through the water, trading insults as they hunted the living sea.
"A mission at last," Lilké muttered. "We've got something to do!"
Sarrie smiled and nodded, unsure when she had ever felt so happy.
Wearing his human body; Ejy stood on one side of the stage, accompanied by the second fouchian. Sarrie wanted to dance around like a little girl, but how would that look? Instead she punched commands into her monitor, asking for permission to view the files on this wondrous new world.
A young man was sitting in front of Lilké. Without warning, he stood, giving the fouchian a quarter-bow even as he said, "I have to disagree. There's a lot of liquid water today. More than you've predicted, I think."
He was a sharp-featured, sharp-tongued fellow named Navren. A genius with physical sciences, Sarrie recalled. He understood the periodic table better than did the elements themselves, it was said, and he never, ever let an opinion go unspoken.
"Your estimated heat flows are too small," he informed the fouchian. "And I see a deep ocean beneath the ice plains. Plenty of vents, and heat energy, and particularly here. This basin on the southern hemisphere is our best bet."
The fouchian's tendrils flexed and became a bright pink. A sure sign of anger, Sarrie knew. Yet the artificial voice remained crisp and worthy. "We know the world's age and mass, and Ejy himself made these estimates, all based on long experience--"
"A volcanic pulse," Navren interrupted. "But more likely, residual heat after a major impact." He launched into a thorough analysis, intuition sprinkled over a technical mastery that astonished Sarrie. If it was an impact, she learned, then it was recent--in the last million years--and it had happened where the ice was smoother than a newborn's cheek.
When the impromptu lecture ended, a cold silence held sway.
Every team member should be grateful for expert advice. Yet only Ejy seemed genuinely pleased. His old-human face smiled and smiled, even as his first officer remarked, "No one can make such a quick analysis. I think our distinguished colleague accessed these files before you gave him permission, Artisan Ejy."
It was a serious breach of the rules, if true. Knowledge, in all its glorious colors, belonged to their masters.
But Ejy chose to ignore any offense. "The boy is eager. I see no crime." Black eyes glanced at both fouchian officers. "This is a training mission, children. A simple world is being given to us to share, and let's not forget our purpose. Our unity. Please."
Navren grinned openly, winking at the two young women behind him.
Again, Ejy said, "Children."
He meant humans and he meant fouchians, and Sarrie didn't need to be a Voice to understand the intent of that one potent word.
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