Finches of Mars (15 page)

27

Hitting the Trail

Preparations which kept Gerint busy were well under way for the monthly exploration. He was not one to allow those confounded therapsids to disrupt his routine.

The first exploration team had checked that underground water source first plumbed by the android drill. They had sent down a plumb line. The water was of considerable depth; but they could not gauge the size of the chamber containing the water. The question of whether to send down a diver, thus necessarily boring a larger hole, had been postponed and then somehow forgotten.

Gerint said nothing, not even to his partness, Dr Gior, but inwardly he raged to reflect that he could have gone down into the waters himself. He would then have had the honour of being the discoverer of Martian life, rather than that silly little creature, Thirn. She lacked dignity.

Meanwhile, under his supervision, two dozen people, men and women, masked up and hit the trail. One objective was to maintain contact with the planet itself. There was also the hope of finding something of an answer, or a new question, with which to intrigue the scientific community back on Earth—something which might keep UU investments flowing.

The expedition set out in the Martian afternoon. The first expeditions had been linked together by lightweight cable. It had proved inconvenient. Now they spread out, all keeping within sight of each other—not, as they laughingly said, that they were afraid of encountering little green men, but rather to combat a feeling of utter isolation which confronted them. Shadows of sunset gathered, reinforcing the isolation. They were moving into hitherto unexplored territory.

Humans are social animals. Here on these desolate slopes, even within sight of others, loneliness confronted them.

They moved over the dusty surface in the direction of the volcano Ceraunius Tholis. Every now and then they came across small round pits created by incoming space stones, all of which they examined.

Whereas the orbit of Earth performed almost a regular circle round the Sun, Mars' orbit was more elliptical. The distances between the two planets were variable. When they were on opposite sides of the Sun in superior conjunction, the distance between them amounted to some fifty-five million miles. When Earth passed between Mars and the Sun, in opposition, the distance might be as little as four million miles. In other words, the time in which Earth brightened and faded was governed by planetary orbital motions.

Nothing is simple. Dust storms frequently arose when no expeditions could be undertaken. This expedition took place towards the end of spring, when all was still and the skies clear. The sun shone, a small disc shedding a pennyworth of light, and sinking towards the horizon. Earth could not be seen. The little moon Diemos was high, hardly noticeable against the backdrop of stars. Phobos would soon be rising.

No storms. No wind. No sound. Silence like eternity. Silence scarcely broken by the scrape of a couple of dozen boots tramping over regolith.

All told, the men and women of the expedition moved in a melancholy tranquillity, as they headed slowly northwards. Most agreed the scene was not without beauty, inducing a feeling as yet unnamed, compounded of regret and delight. The intensity of this sensation spread comparative silence between the expedition members. Although an indifference to religion had lured them here, they were overcome by a sense of sanctity.

Later, back in the tower when their heavy togs were removed, this indefinable sensation would be discussed and, if possible, given a name. One suggestion so far, compounded from Greek roots, was metanipoko, created from words for regret and sublimity.
Metanipoko
.

Reaching Ceraunius, they climbed the west wall of the volcano, Gerint leading. They stumbled up a wide crack which served as a kind of pathway. On Earth, the climb would have been arduous. Here, it was pleasant enough. They had climbed back into the lees of sunset.

Nearing the broken lip of the volcano, they found rubble of shattered lava-rock. A short distance on and this changed into parallel seams of rock resembling strings of beads.

‘Here's something!' Vooky exclaimed. ‘A fish, by the look of it.'

They crowded round, bending as much as the stiff yixiing huaheng suits permitted. Certainly there, in one of several rope-like strings of rock, was a fish shape: featureless, lacking head or fins, but fish-shaped certainly … An infant therapsid, perhaps?

A torchlight was shone on it. Vooky cried, ‘Yes, we've found it! Past life! Oh, what luck! Almost as crucial as those things …!'

Another woman was beginning to scratch at the rock with a knife.

‘Don't be too hasty, dear. This shape is also the shape of a leaf. It's no fish –'

‘It is a fish,' Vooky insisted. ‘How can you be so stupid? What would a solitary leaf be doing on Ceraunius?'

A man joined in, asking what a solitary fish would be doing here on Ceraunius. So an argument developed, polite, cool, but growing warmer.

Vooky suddenly shifted her position. How could a small fish have got to the mouth of a volcano? she asked. In any case, this fish-like, leaf-like shape was common enough, in organic or inorganic nature. Hope had driven her to make an error. She apologised to all concerned.

‘After seeing these other things, you know—therapsids, does he call them? I mean you can't help wondering what else … well, you never know. Anyhow, sorry!'

‘Never mind,' said Gerint.

They stood in silence, in the enveloping stillness, looking at their boots or down on to the plain.

Overhead, the rich blackness of unending space, the faint light of stars. Distantly, a comet moved, heading farther into the system, towards the Sun.

Eventually they made their way back to the West tower. Hope was such a hateful weakness. It sang out, sprang out, when least expected.

Out of nowhere, heading for the sun. Like the comet.

After the expedition's return, both sexes showered together. Then the usual corporate conversation was held. They wasted some time agonising over the fish-like rock, talking about archetypal shapes. They discussed what they should call the new emotion many of them experienced on this occasion when walking on Mars. Eventually they decided to adopt
metanipoko
. An intensity of regret and delight.

Stroy ventured to suggest
selbsthilfloszwang
. It was considered but not adopted. Stroy thought to herself that people did not care to admit they found themselves forced to do something.

Several people came up to Stroy after the meeting to say they regretted her new word had not been adopted. Some had felt that unpronounceable word applied to themselves …

A neuroscientist and scientific adviser called Lock said, ‘We know how quantum coherence plays a part in biological systems. Neurons plus connecting synapses do a job similar to that of transistors. A steady environmental change may act like a switch on our consciousness and our extended consciousness—by which I mean digesting new data and promoting intelligent processing. I'll go along with
metanipoko
provided you all realise we are going to need a quiver full of coinages properly to comprehend our new life-mode.'

Clomp.

Carn raised her voice above several others to suggest that neuroanatomy had been in some way disturbed by the distancing from Earth; new phraseology would be needed for new and emergent aspects.

Noel thumped on the table. ‘I want us to look outward. We living here have a new order imposed on us to which we must adapt. It's not easy. We are inclined to mistake a blob of rock for a fish or leaf, although we “know”—in quotes—neither of them ever existed on Mars.'

Lock agreed. ‘Our new discoveries cannot by rights be called therapsids. Therapsids existed on Earth long ago. They have no possible link with these creatures here.'

Then she added, ‘Remember how mankind in past ages tried in a similar way to impose their order on heavenly bodies. We still talk of galaxies. Wasn't the original word “galaxy” meant to designate the milk spurted from the breast of some daft Greek goddess?'

Clomp.

Their conversation had been punctuated by faint thumpings from below.

Sheea said, ‘This talk is fine, but Mars has imposed its order on us. You could say we are not meant to be here. Our brains are fine, our bodies less fine, maybe. But we are talking about the harshness of nature, or should be. These so-called therapsids can reproduce, that's obvious, but they belong here. Nature will not allow us to have living babies. It is saying: “This is not your place in the universe—you can't stay here.”'

Clang!

‘We have deep sympathy for your loss, Sheea. We know it hurts. It hurts all of us.' This was one of the maintenance staff speaking. ‘But can you hear that noise from below? You know what that is? The guys are welding together a kind of centrifuge. A roundabout, if you want a friendlier term. A roundabout in which pregnant women can ride—we hope in comfort—and by centrifugal force remedy the lack of gravity.

‘And so produce normal living children.'

Clomp.

The days, the watches went by.

28

Some Problem for Mangalian

Noel and Daark were talking, sitting face-to-face across a table in Noel's room. ‘The mock-therapsids. An extraordinary discovery, don't you agree?'

‘The Permian made flesh,' said Daark. ‘Opens up new lines of enquiry.'

‘We now have to face a fresh problem,' said Noel, ‘but I want us to be prepared. Scientists of all shades are going to want us to ship our mock-therapsids to Earth labs for examination and classification –'

‘And of course display,' Daark cut in.

‘A discovery beyond imagining. And we don't know what else lurks in the subterranean water courses. Let's suppose the scientific elite are going to send a group here to examine these creatures in situ.

‘We must take advantage of this discovery—decide now how we are to approach the question. For instance, should we bargain for better food supplies in exchange for the animals? Of course, resources here being limited, it would be best scientifically to have the creatures removed to a well-equipped terrestrial research centre.'

Daark chewed a thumb nail. ‘Does the question even arise? I mean, we are dependent on—owned by, really—the UU. Can't the UU simply lay claim to possession of these mock-therapsids?'

‘Then we must engage in delaying tactics, in order to improve conditions here.'

Silence fell between them.

Daark's thoughts drifted. Outside his window where he had worked back on Earth, a ranunculus had grown. Its leaves were heart-shaped and of a dark green. He remembered them when the leaves were damp with dew, just before the first gentle touch of autumn changed them.

Armed with what he had recently been told by Iggog, he was also thinking—was it thinking?—of Noel, of Rosemary Cavendish, of her body, her personality, her smiles, her gestures. Of being intimate with her. He found he was so close to her, and here they were, talking of those things of the deep past they had discovered. Was there something Noel had missed, was waiting for, hoping for, before the autumn changed her leaves?

One of her arms, her hands, lay on the edge of the table. How intimate that hand was with all parts of her body. Why had either of them come to this sterile place? What had they been escaping? Why? What did they most deeply, intensely, hope for: for they could not just be, like the leaves of the ranunculus; there must be something moving, deeper, something inexpressible, nevertheless being expressed by the silence between them, as they looked at each other.

He reached out his hand and laid it on Noel's arm.

Smiling, blinking with a quick flutter of eyelids, she withdrew the arm. ‘“Bride of Christ”,' she murmured, with a smile.

Then Daark said, ‘I have a related matter I need to ask you.' He felt his voice to be dull, dragged out.

‘I recently had a disturbing conversation. With a Know-All. She made several claims, some clearly false, but mainly that the selections of who came to Mars were corrupt. We were not the elite but the outcast—for one reason or another. Do you know anything about that?'

‘Let me answer that in a moment. Any other imputations?'

Daark looked down at the table top. ‘There was some slander, which I did not believe for a moment. For instance—I'm sorry to repeat this, dear Noel—that you had been having an affair with Mangalian …'

Noel rested her elbow on the table and her forehead in her spread right hand. After a long pause, she said, ‘I would it had been so. Yes, I loved the man. But he was married. I had to conceal my love … Well, perhaps not had to, but I did conceal it …'

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Noel said, ‘Your scandal-monger—I believe I know to whom you refer, by the way—did have something to sniff out. Mangalian and I had this project, which ran alongside the main aims of the UU. We kept it secret because it concerned—well, it concerned instinct and intuition. Those qualities were appropriate for study even within these confines and I still report on them. That's maybe why we seem more involved with each other than we should otherwise be.'

Daark frowned. ‘Sorry, intuition …?'

‘Our instinctual response to others, to strangers or to those we love. Suppose you are walking along a street. Someone is coming towards you. A stranger. In an instant, you decide how to greet them. “Hello”, “Hi” or “Good morning”. Or just “Morning”. Or you say nothing and pass by in silence. Why? How?

‘What's at work? Does it hark back to the times when the stranger might have had a cudgel behind his back?'

‘Mmm … Similarly in conversation, I suppose?'

Noel said, ‘I knew a learned German professor in our university studying the amygdala. He would say that in one of those instances such as I have mentioned, the amygdala mind-shifts us back into the past. He posits that the amygdala served as a brain in the centuries before the neocortex developed. It does seem we have a potential for a kind of mental time-travel.'

The ranunculus
, Daark thought.

Noel was saying, ‘Hence our liking for past history or novels about it.'

Her shrieker went off. ‘Noel? Astronomy is reporting something weird.'

Ficht, back at work, was studying that mysterious globe within the Oort cloud. It was after two in the morning. His comrades had finally retired to their bunks. He had just discovered that Eris had what appeared to be a second small moon orbiting it, and had only just been able to stop himself from re-awakening his colleagues to give them the news. Clutching his head, he walked around the small room in circles. A light caught his eye. He cleared his throat.

He stared at the unexpected dazzle from the north. No, not a comet. What then? It was close. Less than a kilometre away. Ficht could not, dared not, understand it.

He went and roused Rasir who immediately became alert. They stared together at the light.

Judging by its direction they knew what it must be. The Sud-Am tower was burning. The flames jutted out sideways from the upper storeys to be immediately chopped, as by a knife. The fire lived on the oxygen in the tower but died in the all but airless conditions outside.

Rasir ran and sounded the alarm while Ficht dithered. Rasir took the high-speed elevator down to ground level.

The alarm had woken others, who were milling about trying to decide what to do. Herb shouted, ‘What if we catch fire from it?'

‘Oh, be quiet, man. How could it possibly burn another tower? There's no carrier for the flame, is there?' That was Ooma.

Lock agreed. ‘Listen, everyone. This is a crisis, for the Martians in Sud-Am of course, but also for us. What do we do about it? Keep quiet unless you have a suggestion to make.'

‘How can we possibly help them?' Carn said. ‘We don't have sufficient water available. Nor do we have hoses that stretch that far. We are useless as a fire brigade.'

‘I have to point out,' said Doran, in his usual casual manner, ‘that the fire will consume all the oxygen in the building in less time than a horse might take to get there at a gallop.'

‘But that means everyone there will die,' exclaimed Stroy.

‘I couldn't have put it better myself,' Doran said.

‘Some people may escape in masks,' said Noel. She had come straight to the scene, and still wore her night overalls.

The crowd stood there mute. They had something new and uncomfortable to think about.

San Diego was a city and port on the south-west coast of North America. It had suffered less from the prevailing recession than many another city, since the shipping trade had revived. Those who took to the air in planes were felt to be in constant danger, since forces known as MEida had developed deadly missiles which ignited fuel tanks on planes, even when fired from a great distance: for example from the icy north of West Canada.

Travel by fast car also had its perils, since the mines which plagued much of the world were now being planted across the States. This despite constant police patrols (which, after a recent incident, were now themselves under suspicion).

The States had never before experienced such misery. Nevertheless Mangalian, alive despite the gossip to the contrary, spoke to the assembly gathered in San Diego's city hall in a spirit of optimism and in fluent Spanish.

‘This great country will prevail, as it has prevailed against enemies on many other occasions. True, you now have battles to fight on your own territory in the Eastern states, but there I am confident you shall triumph and will be strengthened by the struggle.

‘Your duty is not only to support the troops, but to maintain those liberal philosophies for which the civilized world respects you. Let me give you one example. An example that's bang up to date.

‘I'm speaking of your, of our, colonisation of Mars. To many people, the funding of this bold development merely weakens our best universities. I hold that our claim on Mars as habitation is a natural advance which has to be made while we can. Nevertheless, a scientific approach does not mean a neglect of moral responsibilities.

‘We see already a new facet to Martian history which tells us much about the vulnerability of the solar planetary system. When we have received more detail we shall gain a better understanding of the Ordovician and its fauna.

‘But first we have another more urgent question before us.

‘One of the foreign towers has broken rules of conduct we established after long discussion, and in consequence has come to grief. A fire broke out which has destroyed the Sud-Am tower, the occupants of which must be held guilty of transgression. However, we cannot set ourselves up as judges. We must give what succour we can. I have consequently sent a message ordering the West tower to take in survivors of this catastrophe, knowing those courageous spirits will do as I say.

‘On another matter …' Mangalian paused, gratified by the murmurs of assent his declaration was receiving, ignoring those who scowled and did not clap.

When the assembly was over, Mangalian and his bodyguards escaped from the great room by a side door. Mangalian had done what he saw as his duty and did not wish to answer questions or be interrogated by the press.

His bodyguard, ‘Rhino' Ray Saskace, was new to the job and showed himself to be effective in his role. They hurried down a badly-lit side passage.

‘Turn here!' said Rhino, taking Mangalian's elbow. ‘Safer this way! I got an auto waiting.'

Guided by Rhino, Mangalian took an even narrower side passage. It too was dimly lit. At the far end of it, seen in silhouette, stood a uniformed man.

Suddenly, Mangalian felt a chill of warning. He stopped. Could be the amygdala had whispered in his ear.

‘I left my notebook behind,' he said.

Even as he turned to run back, Rhino flung a strong arm about his neck, wrenching him off his feet and putting a knee in the small of his back. The uniformed man rushed to help Rhino.

Between them they carried the struggling Mangalian to the nearest exit, to an untidy yard, behind the great bulk of the town hall, where a truck was waiting, its engine running.

‘We'll teach you to drain the university dry,' grunted Rhino. ‘Your mouth's too big, that's your trouble.'

They slung him into the rear of the waiting truck.

Mangalian was not seen alive again.