The Sirens of Space (23 page)

“
Did you bring your family scrapbook,
Miss Yang?” the president smiled.

“
You said to bring the whole
file.”

“
So I did.”

Sarkisian walked slowly past the window,
then resumed his seat behind the desk.

“
Last year’s trip to Mountain Villa
was a logistical disaster,” Suzie began. “You told Records to keep
every brochure and paper scrap that we could piece together, so
that things would go more smoothly next time.”

Sarkisian looked inside the briefcase. It
was the most disjointed collection of tourist memorabilia he had
ever seen.

“
Unfortunately,” Suzie smiled wanly,
“Records never did get around to organizing what they’d collected.
The result is.... ”

“
I see the result,” the president
chuckled. “I guess we can forget about learning from past
experience.”

“
As for the itinerary,” Suzie
continued, “the only definite commitment we have is the rally for
Senator Hanlon. Everything else is flexible. The Villa Theatre even
said they’d hold a box open at the opera for your entire stay, so
you can have your choice of performances.

“
But the big problem will be—
”

“
Sunday night’s speech at the Lake
Armstrong press banquet,” Sarkisian finished. “I know, everyone
expects a major address on some topic or other. And it seems that
no matter what I say, they’re always disappointed. The simple truth
is that with the peace talks and Senate both about to recess,
there’s very little to say. Why can’t these people accept the fact
that they can’t orchestrate history to fit a timetable? Besides,
I’ve said about all I care to say on almost any topic you care to
mention.”

“
The Tories will complain if you don’t
say something.”

“
The Tories will complain if I
do
say something, Miss Yang. The
Tories are always complaining,” Sarkisian snapped. He was sorry
almost at once, and quickly apologized. There was no reason to vent
his frustrations on everyone who worked for him; besides, Mikoyan
already had that job.

“
That’s all right, Mr. President,”
Suzie said. “We’re all feeling the pressure these days.”

“
And I want you to write the speech
yourself, Miss Yang,” the president smiled. “The rest of the staff
hardly matches your grace of expression. I’ll leave the topic to
you.”

“
Is there anything I should know, Mr.
President? The rumor mill is rife with speculation. A cabinet
shuffle, perhaps? If there’s anything you want me to avoid....
”

“
No,” the president said distantly.
“There are a few projects in the works but it’s best you know
nothing about them. Military security and all, you
understand.”

Yang nodded, though CosGuard maneuvers were
fairly routine, and the next scheduled exercise was a month or two
away. It seemed odd that the president would worry about something
like that, but she let it pass.

“
Write something about the recess in
the peace talks, I guess. How reconvening on an alien world is a
great advance, how lucky we are to be alive at a time when Man is
finally reaching across the heavens to clasp an alien hand in
friendship, that sort of thing.”

“
You should write your own speeches
more often, Mr. President. You have quite an ear for
rhetoric.”

The president chuckled amiably. “Part of the
job, Miss Yang. Ah, here comes our tea.”

* * *

“As you were, men.
You
fellows need anything?”

“
No, Skipper. Nothing here we can’t
handle. We’ve been over the relay switches once already. We’re
double-checking, that’s all. These ancillary guns can be
tricky.”

“
You are— ”

“
Patterson, sir. Crewman Technician
Patterson. And that’s Bartee, and Baughman, and
Ramirez.”

“
You know, you’ll get better readings
from your circuitry block if you staunch the input valves on either
side—like this—then ease the inserts into place so that they brush
against the back of the galvometer...like...there.
See?”

“
Thanks, Skipper. Academy teach you
tricks like that?”

“
Hardly. It was a grizzled old yeoman,
too impatient to stand by while some tyro blueshirt fumbled around,
eating into everyone’s down time. Got my head chewed off that time,
but I never forgot the technique.”

“
How’s the rest of the ship coming
along?”

“
Coming slow, but coming. Never a dull
moment, you know. Carry on, gentlemen—and keep up the good
work.”

“
Aye aye, Skipper.”

“
Wait. He’s out of range
now.”

“
I hear he’s really reaming the
blueshirts. They’re sweating twice the bullets we are. And are even
pulling triple shifts.”

“
Hey, enough of that. We’ve got work
to do.”

“
Oh, come on, Paddy.”

“
You heard the Skipper, back to work.
And with a will, this time. We’re already behind schedule, and
we’ll never get things trim by New Year if we don’t pull our
weight.”

“
Oh, all right.”

“
Yeah, look who’s bucking for
yeoman.”

“
With a will, gentlemen, or you’ll
have a real greenshirt on your butt before you know it.”

* * *

The portraits
and
wall-hangings were stored in packing crates for the trip home. For
diplomats and aides alike, the Terran wasteland was one lodging
none were sad to leave. In friendlier surroundings, empty walls
were symbols of passing; on this strange world, emptiness fitted
the planet nicely. But the
glashenzhi
blossoms growing in a pot near the
door gave the room a lilting fragrance, awakening the mood of
renewal and warmth, and the promise that their long trip would
bring them back to less rigorous surroundings. They were finally
departing from the cold wasteland that the Terrans called
Sh’tar
, and they were leaving with
hope. The talks would resume soon on the Crutchtan planet
Gr’Shuna
, the capital of the Shunite
Region. And the Terran ambassador had promised to bring a response
to their newest proposal for a two-generation moratorium on
settlements.

Zatar sat alone in the small, windowless
room that had served as the central meeting place for the
delegation of the Grand Alliance. The floor was hard—Terran floors
were not made for sitting—and most of the cushions were already
packed for the trip. From the start, misgivings had haunted his
thoughts, misgivings about the length of the trip and the harsh
alien climate, but mostly about the Terrans themselves. When he
arrived they had seemed so brusque and aggressive, like buduri
guarding their harems. Even after the Veshnans arrived to take
charge of the talks, Terran and Crutchtan negotiators could barely
keep from shouting across the table. It had taken all of Zatar’s
skill as a diplomat to enforce minimal standards of civility at
their early sessions, as the participants insisted on acting like
uncivilized children. For the longest time, they seemed destined to
measure their progress by eons. Zatar had even begun to entertain
thoughts that the radical anthrobiologists might be right after
all, and that the mutual aversion felt by Terran and Crutchtan
alike might stem from passions deeper than simple rivalry.
Scientific ridicule had long since buried the notion that organic
chemistry had anything to do with racial antipathy, but there was
something sinister in the visceral hatreds that he saw rising
around him, something ancient and unsettling.

The wind gusted noisily outside and
Zatar could feel the barrenness around him. Despite their mistrust,
he thought with satisfaction, both sides had made substantial
progress. The Crutchtans no longer insisted on foreclosing contact
between the races, now and forever; the Terrans seemed willing to
limit and delay their eastward expansion for the sake of peace. It
confirmed what Zatar had long believed, that the essence of
humanity was the capacity to transcend animal passions and soar to
heaven on the wings of dreams. And with the arrival of
Gr’Raun-te
, the latest Terran
ambassador, they had started viewing one another as they should
have from the start—not as monsters, but as different species of
human being. They still had far to go to achieve a real peace, but
the first tentative steps had been taken. They now discussed their
differences, rather than talking across their fears.

“
Zatar?”

Zatar turned to see his favorite translator
walking slowly toward him through the emptiness of the deserted
room.

“
Yes, Munshi. What is it?”

“
Our belongings are packed and ready
to take to the transfer point. Do you require anything
else?”

Zatar smiled. “No, you and the others may
leave when you like. I will follow shortly.”

“
You will actually miss this place,
won’t you?”

Zatar stood to look out the thin window. The
narrow slit showed little of the outside, but he could see dust
whipping through the air, like a pelting rainstorm on the warm
worlds of home. Desolation was everywhere, even in the city. The
Terran delegates themselves were often heard to grumble about
holding such important talks on such a world, and Zatar could not
imagine a less hospitable planet to host emissaries from other
civilizations. At the same time, he had grown used to the heavy
clothing the planet forced upon its inhabitants. There was a rough
elegance to the landscape, like the pictures of the lifeless moons
and asteroids he had first seen as a child. He had always found it
difficult to imagine a place without rain or soft grass, in which
sun and cold beat the senses with equal ferocity. Most of all, his
soul burned with a hunger he had never known—for a place where men
were looked upon as equals to be respected, not as distractions to
be indulged, and where there was no need to prove that success was
not a fluke, but was earned by the sweat of a back or the power of
a brain. It amused and saddened him to know that among the Terrans,
his status—the lone male in a house of Veshnan women—was the object
of envy.

He turned to Munshi and smiled; she
was so pretty, and her mouth danced playfully, a teasing promise of
pleasures lurking just out of reach. On the Terran starbase, before
the final leg of their journey to
Sh’tar
, she went into heat quite unexpectedly,
causing a week-long delay in the talks before her cycle ran its
course; even then, he wasn’t the same for another week. Munshi was
different from the rest; hers was the pleasure of soft summer
nights, shared with a favored companion. Now, his nose told him
that she was starting again; it would be a pleasant trip
home.

“
I miss people, not places,” he said
at last, quoting the old proverb. His smile was the tranquility of
one at peace with his soul. “We’ve been here long enough. I’m ready
to go home.”

She eased close beside him and purred like a
breeze. “The others have gone ahead. I told them we’d join them
after checking our house one last time.”

Gently as sleep, he stroked her face; she
took his hand and led him up the stairs.

* * *

“Fire!”

“
Guns are still recharging, Mr.
Ashton.”

“
Crap! Helm, hard about.”

“
Guns amain, sir.”

“
Crap!”

“
Jeremy— ”

“
As you were, Mister. And put the damn
plot on the screen. No, belay that, Mr. Dexter. Put a new
simulation on the board, instead. Let’s start over
again.”

“
Do you want to know our sc—
”

“
No, Dexter— just put a new simulation
on the fricking board!”

“
We actually got an eighty-four that
time, sir. Can you believe it? And that was despite— ”

“
Ensign—put a new simulation on the
board!”

“
Aye aye, sir— (
gee whiz, that’s no reason to
—)”

“
Ensign Dexter, did you say something
you would care to repeat so that we all may hear it?”

“
No sir .”

“
Then put a new— ”

“—
a new simulation on the board. Yes,
sir.”

* * *

Silence filled
Andersen’s
cabin, and Chief Connors found it a welcome relief. For as long as
he could remember, he’d been chasing about the ship like a madman,
trying to pull the pieces together, and it was proving too much for
him. His feet ached. His eyes hurt. Every muscle in his body hurt,
and his brain cried for sleep. Slightly dizzy from the beer they’d
swiped from the galley, Connors sprawled on the couch staring at
the ceiling, his boots on the floor and his feet propped on an
armrest. Smiling like a cheshire cat, Andersen sat on the side
chair, his own feet on the lounge table.

“
I tell ye, Andersen, it’s like to be
drivin me mad.”

“
I know what you mean,
Chief.”

“
I mean it’s bad enough to be racing
sideways to center when ye have an end in sight. That comes with
the territory, an’ no spacer worth his weight will carp over an
isolated cruncher here and there. But this bloody thing goes on an’
on, No tellin when it’s going to bloody end.”