The Songs of Distant Earth (8 page)

That same morning, Brant had also visited Mayor Waldron, who greeted him with slightly less than her usual warmth when he dumped the fragments of his fish-trap on her desk.

“I know you’ve been busy with more important matters,” he said, “but what are we going to do about
this?”

The mayor looked without enthusiasm at the tangled mess of cables. It was hard to focus on the day-to-day routine after the heady excitements of interstellar politics.

“What do
you
think happened?” she asked.

“It’s obviously deliberate – see how this wire was twisted until it broke. Not only was the grid damaged, but sections have been taken away. I’m sure no one on South Island would do such a thing. What motive would they have? And I’d be bound to find out, sooner or later …”

Brant’s pregnant pause left no doubt as to what would happen then.

“Who do you suspect?”

“Ever since I started experimenting with electric trapping, I’ve been fighting not only the Conservers but those crazy people who believe that
all
food should be synthetic because it’s wicked to eat living creatures, like animals – or even plants.”

“The Conservers, at least, may have a point. If your trap is as efficient as you claim, it could upset the ecological balance they’re always talking about.”

“The regular reef census would tell us if
that
was happening, and we’d just switch off for a while. Anyway, it’s the pelagics I’m really after; my field seems to attract them from up to three or four kilometres away. And even if everyone on the Three Islands ate nothing but fish, we couldn’t make a dent in the oceanic population.”

“I’m sure you’re right – as far as the indigenous pseudo-fish are concerned. And much good that does, since most of them are too poisonous to be worth processing. Are you
sure
that the Terran stock has established itself securely? You might be the last straw, as the old saying goes.”

Brant looked at the mayor with respect; she was continually surprising him with shrewd questions like this. It never occurred to him that she would not have held her position for so long if there was not a great deal more in her than met the eye.

“I’m afraid the tuna aren’t going to survive; it will be a few billion years before the oceans are salty enough for them. But the trout and salmon are doing very well.”

“And they’re certainly delicious; they might even overcome the moral scruples of the Synthesists. Not that I really accept your interesting theory. Those people may talk, but they don’t
do
anything.”

“They released a whole herd of cattle from that experimental farm a couple of years ago.”

“You mean they
tried
to – the cows walked straight home again. Everyone laughed so much that they called off any further demonstrations. I simply can’t imagine that they’d go to all this trouble.” She gestured towards the broken grid.

“It wouldn’t be difficult – a small boat at night, a couple of divers – the water’s only twenty metres deep.”

“Well, I’ll make some inquiries. Meanwhile, I want you to do two things.”

“What?” Brant said, trying not to sound suspicious and failing completely.

“Repair the grid – Tech Stores will give you anything you need. And stop making any more accusations until you’re one hundred per cent certain. If you’re wrong, you’ll look foolish and may have to apologize. If you’re right, you may scare the perpetrators away before we can catch them. Understand?”

Brant’s jaw dropped slightly: he had never seen the mayor in so incisive a mood. He gathered up Exhibit A and made a somewhat chastened departure.

He might have been even more chastened – or perhaps merely amused – to know that Mayor Waldron was no longer quite so enamoured of him.

Assistant Chief Engineer Loren Lorenson had impressed more than one of Tarna’s citizens that morning.

15. Terra Nova

S
uch a reminder of Earth was an unfortunate name for the settlement, and no one admitted responsibility. But it was slightly more glamorous than “base camp”, and was quickly accepted.

The complex of prefabricated huts had shot up with astonishing speed – literally overnight. It was Tarna’s first demonstration of Earth-persons – or rather Earth robots – in action, and the villagers were hugely impressed. Even Brant, who had always considered that robots were more trouble than they were worth, except for hazardous or monotonous work, began to have second thoughts. There was one elegant general-purpose mobile constructor that operated with such blinding speed that it was often impossible to follow its movements. Wherever it went, it was followed by an admiring crowd of small Lassans. When they got in its way, it politely stopped whatever it was doing until the coast was clear. Brant decided that this was exactly the kind of assistant he needed; perhaps there was some way he could persuade the visitors…

By the end of a week, Terra Nova was a fully functioning microcosm of the great ship orbiting beyond the atmosphere. There was plain but comfortable accommodation for a hundred crewmembers, with all the life-support systems they needed – as well as library, gymnasium, swimming pool, and theatre. The Lassans approved of these facilities, and hastened to make full use of them. As a result, the population of Terra Nova was usually at least double the nominal one hundred.

Most of the guests – whether invited or not – were anxious to help and determined to make their visitors’ stay as comfortable as possible. Such friendliness, though very welcome and much appreciated, was often embarrassing. The Lassans were insatiably inquisitive, and the concept of privacy was almost unknown to them. A “Please Do Not Disturb” sign was often regarded as a personal challenge, which led to interesting complications…

“You’re all senior officers and highly intelligent adults,” Captain Bey had said at the last staff conference aboard ship. “So it shouldn’t be necessary to tell you this. Try not to get involved in any – ah – entanglements until we know
exactly
how the Lassans think about such matters. They appear very easygoing, but that could be deceptive. Don’t you agree, Dr. Kaldor?”

“I can’t pretend, Captain, to be an authority on Lassan
mores
after so short a period of study. But there are some interesting historical parallels, when the old sailing-ships on Earth put to port after long sea voyages – I expect many of you have seen that classic video antique,
Mutiny on the Bounty.”

“I trust, Dr. Kaldor, that you’re not comparing me to Captain Cook – I mean Bligh.”

“It wouldn’t be an insult; the real Bligh was a brilliant seaman, and most unfairly maligned. At this stage, all we need are common sense, good manners – and, as you indicated, caution.”

Had Kaldor looked in
his
direction, Loren wondered, when he made that remark? Surely it was not already so obvious …

After all, his official duties put him in contact with Brant Falconer a dozen times a day. There was no way he could avoid meeting Mirissa – even if he wished to.

They had never yet been alone together, and had still exchanged no more than a few words of polite conversation. But already, there was no need to say anything more.

16. Party Games

“
I
t’s called a baby,” Mirissa said, “And despite appearances, one day it will grow up into a perfectly normal human being.”

She was smiling, yet there was moisture in her eyes. It had never occurred to her, until she noticed Loren’s fascination, that there were probably more children in the little village of Tarna than there had been on the entire planet Earth during the final decades of virtually zero birthrate.

“Is it … yours?” he asked quietly.

“Well, first of all it’s not an
it;
it’s a he. Brant’s nephew Lester – we’re looking after him while his parents are on North Island.”

“He’s beautiful. Can I hold him?”

As if on cue, Lester started to wail.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” laughed Mirissa, scooping him up hastily and heading towards the nearest bathroom. “I recognize the signals. Let Brant or Kumar show you round while we’re waiting for the other guests.”

The Lassans loved parties and missed no opportunity for arranging them. The arrival of
Magellan
was, quite literally, the chance of a lifetime – indeed, of many lifetimes. If they had been rash enough to accept all the invitations they received, the visitors would have spent every waking moment staggering from one official or unofficial reception to another. None too soon, the captain had issued one of his infrequent but implacable directives – “Bey thunderbolts”, or simply “Beybolts”, as they were wryly called – rationing his officers to a maximum of one party per five days. There were some who considered that, in view of the time it often took to recover from Lassan hospitality, this was much too generous.

The Leonidas residence, currently occupied by Mirissa, Kumar, and Brant, was a large ring-shaped building that had been the family’s home for six generations. One storey high – there were few upper floors in Tarna – it enclosed a grass-covered patio about thirty metres across. At the very centre was a small pond, complete with a tiny island accessible by a picturesque wooden bridge. And on the island was a solitary palm-tree, which did not seem to be in the best of health.

“They have to keep replacing it,” Brant said apologetically. “Some Terran plants do very well here – others just fade away despite all the chemical boosters we give them. It’s the same problem with the fish we’ve tried to introduce. Freshwater farms work fine, of course, but we don’t have space for them. It’s frustrating to think that there’s a million times as much ocean, if only we could use it properly.”

In Loren’s private opinion, Brant Falconer was something of a bore when he started talking about the sea. He had to admit, however, that it was a safer subject of conversation than Mirissa, who had now managed to get rid of Lester and was greeting the new guests as they arrived.

Could he ever have dreamed, Loren asked himself, that he would find himself in a situation like this? He had been in love before, but the memories – even the names – were mercifully blurred by the erasing programs they had all undergone before leaving the solar system. He would not even attempt to recapture them: why torment himself with images from a past that had been utterly destroyed?

Even Kitani’s face was blurring, though he had seen her in the hibernaculum only a week ago. She was part of a future they had planned but might never share: Mirissa was here and now – full of life and laughter, not frozen in half a millennium of sleep. She had made him feel whole once more, joyful in the knowledge that the strain and exhaustion of the Last Days had not, after all, robbed him of his youth.

Every time they were together, he felt the pressure that told him he was a man again; until it had been relieved, he would know little peace and would not even be able to perform his work efficiently. There had been times when he had seen Mirissa’s face superimposed on the Mangrove Bay plans and flow diagrams, and had been forced to give the computer a pause command, before they could continue their joint mental conversation. It was a peculiarly exquisite torture to spend a couple of hours within metres of her, able to exchange no more than polite trivialities.

To Loren’s relief, Brant suddenly excused himself and hurried away. Loren quickly discovered the reason.

“Commander Lorenson!” Mayor Waldron said. “I hope Tarna’s been treating you well.”

Loren groaned inwardly. He knew that he was supposed to be polite to the mayor, but the social graces had never been his strong point.

“Very well, thank you. I don’t believe you’ve met these gentlemen
–
”

He called, much more loudly than was really necessary, across the patio to a group of colleagues who had just arrived. By good luck, they were all lieutenants; even off duty, rank had its privileges, and he never hesitated to use it.

“Mayor Waldron, this is Lieutenant Fletcher – your first time down, isn’t it Owen? Lieutenant Werner Ng, Lieutenant Ranjit Winson, Lieutenant Karl Bosley …”

Just like the clannish Martians, he thought, always sticking together. Well, that made them a splendid target, and they were a personable group of young men. He did not believe that the mayor even noticed when he made his strategic withdrawal.

Doreen Chang would have much preferred to talk to the captain, but he had made a high-velocity token appearance, downed one drink, apologized to his hosts, and departed.

“Why won’t he let me interview him?” she asked Kaldor, who had no such inhibitions and had already logged several days’ worth of audio and video time.

“Captain Sirdar Bey,” he answered, “is in a privileged position. Unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t have to explain – or to apologize.”

“I detect a note of mild sarcasm in your voice,” the Thalassa Broadcasting Corporation’s star newsperson said.

“It wasn’t intended. I admire the captain enormously, and even accept his opinion of me – with reservations, of course. Er – are you recording?”

“Not
now.
Too much background noise.”

“Lucky for you I’m such a trusting person since there’s no way I could tell if you were.”

“Definitely off the record, Moses. What
does
he think of you?”

“He’s glad to have my views, and my experience, but he doesn’t take me very seriously. I know exactly why. He once said, “Moses – you like power but not responsibility. I enjoy both.” It was a very shrewd statement; it sums up the difference between us.”

“How did you answer?”

“What could I say? It was perfectly true. The only time I got involved in practical politics was – well, not a disaster, but I never really enjoyed it.”

“The Kaldor Crusade?”

“Oh – you know about that. Silly name – it annoyed me. And that was another point of disagreement between the captain and myself. He thought – still thinks, I’m sure – the Directive ordering us to avoid
all
planets with life-potential is a lot of sentimental nonsense. Another quote from the good captain: “Law I understand. Metalaw is bal – er, balderdash”.”