Chapter 31:
Dreaming in Color

Sal traveled back and forth between Mars and Legacy constantly during the construction of the second factory, and by the time the new complex finally sparked to life, she’d completely moved aboard Legacy. With every trip, she brought more tools, scraps and pieces of junk, until her workshop on the great alien vessel was a perfect recreation of the one she abandoned on the Arcadian Plain. The furniture, lighting and even gravity were all the same. She even rigged up a device to imitate the sound of small stones hitting the colony shielding; the noise had irritated her to tears on Mars, but much to her surprise, its absence bothered her even more.

The difference was that with a single thought, her new workshop’s walls could turn clear as glass, revealing the bustling factory beyond. It was hers now, and was churning out equipment at a startling rate. It had become her pride and joy.

The factory certainly wasn’t the only source of activity on Legacy. The rest of it was in a constant state of change as the ship and its crew adapted to one another. Legacy grew terminals that mimicked human computers, which went a long way toward improving communications with her new inhabitants. The terminals weren’t perfect, and the ship’s grasp of language especially could be puzzling, but they were a start.

Engineering posed its own challenges. The original Eireki occupants had been in continual psychic contact with one another, which made their thoughts more orderly and fine tuned. They weren’t just people; they were something more, capable of doing complex mathematics and spatial transformations in their collective consciousness. To run the factory, they simply dreamed up new devices to the last exacting detail and the machinery turned the dreams into reality.

Sal was supposedly “more like the Eireki” than the others—whatever that meant—but she just didn’t have the mental brawn necessary to drive construction that way. On a few occasions, the machines managed to produce small baubles she pictured in her mind’s eye, but she was scribbling on the wall with crayons when they needed the Sistine Chapel.

This left her in a lurch. The factory could dissect and reproduce her machined parts, but couldn’t fabricate things like microchips. It could produce a variety of standard Eireki components, but most of it left Sal utterly baffled. She needed to integrate the two somehow, but it just wasn’t coming to her.

She briefly considered volunteering for a freaky brain interface like Donovan’s, but she couldn’t stomach the idea, and it would only go part of the way to solving her problems anyway. While it would aid in back-and-forth communication, it wouldn’t make her any smarter. She was plenty sharp with numbers, but was no Eireki savant.

What she needed was a way to plug her workstation into the ship. She’d been using modeling and simulation software for years, and considered the machine her better half, but trying to get it and Legacy to talk was impossible.

At first glance, the problem was similar to designing the MASPEC’s interface, but her work there relied on decades of other people’s research into biofeedback and human nerve conductivity. The building blocks had all been known quantities; she simply stacked them correctly, with a smidgen of elbow grease and patchwork. Her current problem was a mirror image. She was trying to reverse engineer an alien nervous system, and build a translation layer on top of it. The task was miles outside of her expertise.

She had to find some way to bridge the gap between her digital tech and whatever the heck Legacy used, or construction would be permanently stuck in a rut.

Sal toyed around with a computer aided design program on her workstation. A three dimensional model hovered and spun around in an endless sea of grey. She wasn’t working on anything in particular. It was just something to keep her hands busy while her brain assaulted the interface problem.

Then she heard the whoosh of the transit tube, followed by a pair of boots clacking on the floor. She found the prospect of company dreadful, and didn’t bother to look up. Hopefully, whoever it was would take a hint.

The person stopped behind her chair. “That design looks interesting. Let me guess… A planetary probe?” It was Marcus Donovan.

“Close. I’ve been thinking about the people on Earth. They have no idea we’re out here. They don’t know help is on its way, and I thought maybe we could give them a little hope.”

“You’re planning some kind of two way communication, I presume?”

“Depends on if I can figure out Legacy’s comm technology or not. If not, then we can at least send a message in a bottle. Pack in some orbital photos and a note letting them know we’re building a fleet.”

“Maps are good, but leave it at that. I don’t want the enemy to know we’re out here until it’s too late. Until we’re knocking at their door. Your plan is clever, though.”

“Thanks and all,” she said. “But I’m not clever enough to communicate the design to the factory. It’s nothing but wasted pixels.”

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Donovan said. He had that seductive tone in his voice again, like the devil about to offer a deal. “Rao and I discovered something we think might help.”

Discovered something? Sal doubted anything less than a hidden network port would be of much use. She turned and looked at Donovan with skepticism in her eyes. “Well, whaddya got?”

“That’d be telling. Just go to the transit tube, and you’ll see.”

Sal considered not going to spite Donovan and his stage magician theatrics, but if he had an answer, she needed to see it. “Fine,” she said, “lead the way.”

“Ladies first,” he said.

She smiled despite herself. Chivalry was a dying art form, especially on Mars.

She stood and walked to the landing pad. The artificial gravity lifted her into the air sucked her into the tube. She couldn’t escape the feeling Legacy’s transit was a bit like being flushed down an impossibly large toilet, and she didn’t know if that was hilarious or terrifying. Probably a little bit of both.

The tubes passed by in a blur, and then she was lowered down inside a large, dome-shaped white room. There were evenly spaced concentric rings in the floor, each of them a channel full of what appeared to be water, but faintly glowing a rich sea-blue.

Donovan arrived a second later, and strode out across the floor. He beckoned Sal on with a curled finger. “We’ve been trying to figure out the purpose of this room since we arrived. As usual, everyone had a theory, but most resembled Professor Caldwell’s, who was absolutely sure it was some kind of temple. He was really keyed into the perfect circles, and the possibility of a pseudo-Pythagorean geometry cult, or some-such.”

“Doesn’t seem like a bad theory.”

“No, not bad. Except that it was completely wrong.” Donovan waved his hand and the lights dimmed. The man really had a thing for stage theatrics. “Of course, that’s just the way Caldwell is. All symbolism and nothing practical. If he dug up an ancient wrench, he’d spin a theory about it being an abstract lunar sculpture used by moon worshiping priests to summon the seasons.”

“So why’d you bring him along?”

Donovan had a sheepish smile. “Because I’m the kind to dig up a lunar sculpture and assume it’s a wrench.”

“Sensible decision. Alright then, Mr. Smarty Pants, what is this place then?”

“Simple. It’s a projection room.”

There was a slight disturbance in the gravity, a tiny readjustment. Then the fluid in the channels began to rise into the air in streams that dissipated to a thin vapor a half-meter later. “The fluid is doped with micro-organisms that fluoresce when excited.”

Stars and nebulae appeared all around, swirling in the humid air. Donovan floated up from the floor and swam through his new galaxy, and as he pointed to the different stars, each burned more brightly. “Even better, it’s fully interactive.” With those words, a literal handful of stars swarmed above his open palm and circled like fireflies.

“Whoa,” was all she said.

“Precisely what I said when I first saw it. Give it a try.”

Sal closed her eyes and tried to summon absolutely anything to mind, but drew a blank. This new development was just too startling, the possibilities too open. Her heart was racing. Finally, something simple came to her and she imagined it as clearly as she could.

When she opened her eyes, Donovan’s stars were gone, replaced by a reasonable imitation of the table in her workshop. The shape was a little wonky, but it was there.

“Hmmmm,” Donovan said. “I expected a little more on your first try. How about your message in a bottle?”

He pushed the holographic table out of the way and it splashed out of existence like waves breaking over rocks. Then he began sketching out her device in the air. As his fingers moved, a glimmering light trailed them and the object quickly took shape.

“Whoa,” she said again.

“Yeah, I said that too.”

“That’s all wrong,” she said after a moment, and floated up into the air. When she reached Donovan, she instinctively started pushing and pulling at the image, and it reacted like clay. Her hands raced around, adding flanges and control surfaces, and soon it closely resembled the model on her computer screen back in the lab.

“So, you see how this might be useful.”

“I’m beginning to.”

“There’s more,” he said. He was deep in thought for a second, and then a perfect replica of one of the tugs appeared in the middle of the room. The small utility ship began to disassemble itself, piece by piece. When the drive section came off, it swelled to several times its original size, became partially transparent, and the major components each turned different colors. “Legacy’s been analyzing her own technology to figure out how it works, and she remembers more from her past everyday. In here, she can show you what she’s learned.”

Sal didn’t waste any time. She flew a couple meters away into still empty air, and started sculpting something in light. She wasn’t sure what it was just yet, but she continued to play with the object until it took shape.

“A car?” Donovan asked.

“I guess,” she said, and added a set of wheels. “Just messing around. Getting a feel for this.”

Donovan had an extremely goofy grin on his face. “And the engineer becomes a painter again. Should I bring your equipment?”

“Not necessary. I’ll get it myself in a bit.”

“As you wish,” he said, and he headed for the transit tube. “If you need anything, just call.”

“I will,” Sal said, but she wouldn’t. She was already on her second object, pulling its edges around like salt-water taffy. For the first time in months, she was having fun. It was effortless and addictive. So much that she wouldn’t leave the room at all for more than a day.