Tomorrow’s Heritage

by Juanita Coulson

  “Ah, but it pays. ‘You say it, we’ll replay it, worldwide and all the way out to Goddard and the Moon. We’ll translate it, and pretty you up, and make you sound like the savior of mankind. For a fat fee.’ ” Dian’s dark stare forced Todd to ease off from the bitter tirade. “Ignore me. As a matter of fact, earlier I was trying to see Earth as if it were brand-new to me, wondering what I’d make of the view.”

  “Starting with the family’s impressive properties?” Obviously, Dian hadn’t missed the display of Saunder Enterprises’ holdings.

  Todd smiled sheepishly. “I’m a chauvinist, telling myself that the Saunders aren’t such a bad example of what’s been going on with Homo sapiens these past few years. It’s odd that we never acquired a permanent property where things all started to take off for us . . .”

  “In my territory, up by the Chicago United Ghetto States enclave,” Dian said. “From a rickatick lab out in the ‘95 war craters to Saunder Enterprises. Pretty impressive.” She was teasing again, but Todd didn’t respond.

  “Saunderhome’s the earliest photo record Jael kept for us. She must have thrown away the other pictures. She kept some of Dad and us kids, but not of the places we lived. And so many of those I associate with Dad, with the five of us, trying to stay alive . . .”

  Grief cut at him. Dian began kneading his neck and shoulders gently, working at the tension gathering there. She shifted with his body’s reactions, coping expertly with the zero gravity. After a lengthy silence while she soothed his nerves, Dian asked, “You still planning to save the announcement?”

  “Yes.” Dian didn’t stop the massage, but he could feel her impatience. He tried to crane his neck to look at her, but she pushed his head around face forward again, concentrating on a stubborn knot of muscles near his spine. “We’ve been through this,” Todd reminded her.

  “Okay. Risky. You sit on it too long, and it’s somebody else’s baby, not yours. You found it. You ought to have the credit for dropping it in the Science Council’s lap first . . .”

  “We found it.”

  “Ar-gue! Project Search team, huh?” Dian spit out the words with capital letters and sarcastic underlinings. “You paid.”

  “Don’t bring that up. I’m still hurting from the tradeoffs it’s costing me. It was worth it, though.” Todd grunted as Dian popped loose a particularly nasty kink in his back. His voice was distorted by the pummeling she was delivering. “This isn’t going to be simple. Never is. But now that we’ve got it, it’s my job to untangle it. It’s not enough just to put out a press release and then spell out the details for the Science Council in a couple of weeks. This reaches to Goddard and beyond. When the theocracies and politicians get hold of it . . .” Dian made an obscene comment and Todd chuckled. “Yes, but they will. It’s going to be general knowledge. The timing’s the thing. I’ve got to try and get Pat’s help. So we wait.” He hesitated for a moment. “Will Beth and the others last until after the reunion?”

  Dian’s hands dug in painfully along his neck for a moment. Then she resumed the massage, softening it to a caress. “They’ll wait. Trust.”

  “I do. But I know how it feels. Hell, the urge to blab the news right now to the world is almost irresistible. I want to do it myself, and never mind waiting to share it with the family first.”

  “So?” Dian patted his shoulders, finishing her ministrations. She floated around him and perched on the edge of the monitor console. Her expression was wry.

  “Just how do you suggest I make that announcement, Dr. Foix?” Todd asked. “Just break in on their favorite entertainment system or local news outlet? Our news is going to change everything radically, no matter how it’s done. Our species is a masterpiece of contradictory reactions, anyway. Never more than right now.” He stared at the ERS views of Earth in space and chuckled bitterly. “Look at it, so peaceful. The epitome of the new Spirit of Humanity movement, cutting across religions, uniting the believers down there. And the same beings still wage war against each other, kill one another, even organize arenas where performers and spectators both can be maimed and killed, just so the excess violence gets boiled off from human society. How to break the news? ‘Hey, humanity, there’s an alien vehicle headed this way, a messenger from another intelligent species, one more powerful and advanced than we are. But I don’t want you to get excited about this. Stay calm. Everything’s going to work Out okay.’ ”

  Dian cocked her head, her dark brown eyes glittering with the joy and wonder of the discovery they bad made. “You could do it . . .”

  “No, I’m no orator. And that’s what it’ll take—someone to make them accept, keep down the fear, convince them the alien will bring the wonderful future. I’m not that person. Most of them have never heard of me. But if Pat . . .” Todd wondered if he was making the decision on a superstitious base: If he pretended the scheme would work, maybe it would come true.

  “No worries about converting little sis to the cause, huh?” Dian said slyly. “You know, this just might throw those wild-eyed secessionists at Goddard back on the tracks.”

  “Why not, as long as we’re wishing.”

  Dian’s pert features hardened. So did her voice. “Wishing. That’s what it is and we know it. We can’t hide what we’ve found, and we’re going to trigger off a massive reaction. Hope against hope, some of them—a lot of them—are going to panic. They’ll blow up the news and dress it in alien invasion stuff.” She touched his face, communicating her willingness to share despite her cynicism. “But a first contact is going to take place. No stopping it, or you. You detected it, and you deserve the credit. If we’re lucky, and there’s someone in the future to write a history about this era, your name is going to get remembered. I want that.”

  “Take the long view,” Todd said, reciting a phrase they had bandied back and forth for many months.

  “Affirmative . . .“

  The fear was there, deep within his mind, the way it had been ever since they had conclusively confirmed the data three weeks ago. It was wonderful, a dream of ages, Ward’s dream, his, come true. Yet the excitement and the anticipation were being tainted by his fear of the consequences. He hadn’t looked that far ahead, at the beginning, hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate the impossible—that Project Search would succeed. Now he would have to live with the inevitable reactions. If he hadn’t detected the signal, someone else would have, eventually. But that didn’t change the fact that he would be the first to announce the existence of the extraterrestrial signal to mankind. That responsibility was going to remain with him the rest of his life.

  An interrupt beeped on Todd’s personal monitor, one of his secretary techs reminding him that Pat’s speech was coming up. Todd acknowledged, releasing his seat webbing and clicking his tether line onto the safety rail.

  “We could watch it from in here,” Dian suggested softly. “Privacy.”

  “We could, but rank hath responsibilities as well as privileges. The troops will expect me to put in an appearance.”

  “Huh! I know you. Responsibility! Reason you space up here to Geosynch so much is to get away from all that responsibility down at the planetside ComLink offices. You hide up here and let Mikhail and Elaine and your other execs handle all the tough stuff while you loaf.”

  Todd grinned, admitting it. “That’s a major advantage in owning the company. Nobody can fire me for playing Spacer games on company time. Well, I can’t be a coward and hide out all the time. Besides, I’d rather watch Pat on the main screen . . .”

  Dian’s tether made a whistling sound as it scooted along the rail behind Todd’s. They swam out of the office and into the corridor. “Safer to be a coward, my grandma said. She sure patched up a lot of people who played at bein’ brave and got themselves shot and shrapneled and missile-concussed. She told me never to be too dumb to run for cover.”

  Todd smiled grimly, not commenting. Wyoma Lee Foix was a legend. No one could count the heroic stories about her work among the shattered populat
ions that were to become the Midwestern United Ghetto States. Dian quoted her beloved grandmother frequently, but Todd was never quite sure how much was truth and how much myth in the making. Dian talked the coward’s way out, but she wasn’t the type, any more than Wyoma Lee had been.

  They hand-over-handed, their tethers sliding on the guide rails as they moved toward Main Com Display. Todd’s orientation remained with the office monitors’ view of Earth. He felt as if he were climbing “up” toward Main Com.

  Actually, he was moving parallel to Geosynch HQ’s orbit. Earth was “down there,” and the satellite and all its occupants and attendant mini-satellites were racing west to east, keeping pace with Earth’s rotation. This distortion in his usual thought patterns annoyed Todd. If he kept up, he would arrive at Main Com Display flailing and dizzy, like a newcomer from planetside.

  Main Com Display was abnormally noisy. Conversation vied with the muted audio of hundreds of monitor screens. Apparently Geosynch’s staff had decided to use Pat’s speech as an excuse for general socializing. Todd raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. All work and no goofing off made for personnel problems. He had always had better results holding the presidential reins loosely and letting his subordinates in the corporation put on the pressure when necessary. The work output proved the tactic was a good one.

  Techs, on and off duty, maintenance personnel, and a bunch of civilian and military pilots laying over temporarily at the satellite crowded the island below the supervisor’s cage. Nothing of interest showed on the huge main screen yet, so they were floating around or anchored in their seats, talking and swapping gossip. Todd and Dian made their way the length of the cylindrical chamber. Questions and opinions assaulted them as they did.

  “Think it’s about the Trans-Pacific war, boss?”

  “Has to be, huh, Dian? Or maybe it’s about the appeal for glacier relief funds.”

  “Bigger than that. Must be peace news. The P.O.E. arbitration committee’s been wrangling with them for weeks.”

  “Your brother . . . uh . . . Mr. Saunder wouldn’t ask us for a global and lunar feed unless it was really important, would he, boss?”

  Todd smiled cryptically, confirming nothing, but he shared the sentiments. They all hoped a peace announcement was in the offing. Twelve years’ madness in the Pacific had cost millions of lives, countless lost resources, and desperately needed production. It was the only current on-going major war afflicting a planet already bled anemic by war and natural disaster. Whether an old nation or one of the many new ones rising out of the earlier catastrophes, they had all been hurt; everyone wanted an end to it.

  When they reached the supervisor’s cage, Todd scaled the webbing. He pivoted and untangled his tether, then inserted his length through the cage door. Beth Isaacs patted the empty command chair at her side. “Saved a seat for you, boss.”

  “Thanks. Any trouble?”

  “None whatsoever. Ground stations and ComLink Central assure it’ll rip right through.” Beth shifted her position as if to offer her chair to Dian. But the black woman refused with a smile. She settled herself against the cage’s outer webbing while Beth fine-tuned the booth’s axes. Servos rotated them until the suspended cage gave the three of them a straight-line view of the large main screen.

  Gib Owens left the other pilots on the island and floated up toward the cage. Todd hooked his thumbs in his jumper’s thigh pockets, waiting. Owens steadied at eye level, bobbing slightly, clinging to the outer webbing. The pilots peered up at him, trying to eavesdrop. “This broadcast won’t delay our launch, will it, sir?” Owens asked.

  His question wasn’t subtle, but then he was young. Goddard pilots and their counterparts posted at Lunar Base Copernicus and patrolling the military sats always assumed there must be things going on that Todd could tell them. He was a Saunder and, therefore, would know where the secrets were hidden. Todd wondered why his noncommittal response to the earlier questions hadn’t satisfied Owens. “You want to scrub and launch later?” he asked. “It’s a good window, but if you think . . .”

  “Oh, no, sir! Comps read fine.” Owens hung there, his boyish, freckled face hopeful. He hardly looked old enough to qualify for a pilot’s regs. A lot of pilots didn’t. The plague mutations had put huge gaps in Earth’s population, and some age groups had been hit especially hard. There were many pilots in their teens and early twenties, doing the jobs that used to be assigned to men and women in their late twenties and early thirties. The kids piled up expertise fast. They had to, if the shuttles needed them.

  Todd gave Owens a thumbs-up. “I’ll be suited and geared on time, Captain. Rely on it.” Defeated, the pilot returned him a sloppy salute and propelled himself back down to the island.

  “You could have thrown him a bone,” Dian said. She and Beth Isaacs snickered conspiratorially. The black woman and the tall chief tech indeed held a secret Owens and his fellow pilots would have liked to know in advance of the rest of the world. But they weren’t telling.

  Todd grumbled. “Why does everyone think I know Pat’s brains inside out? He doesn’t tip me off about his speeches. I don’t know if this damned announcement of his will delay the launch. His campaign manager or Jael calls me and says the candidate will make a speech and is buying this much air time. I plug them through and collect my fee. I work here just like the rest of you . . .”

  “Except you have a bigger office,” Beth muttered.

  Todd glowered at her. “. . . and I’m always the last one to get the word.”

  “No, Goddard will be. I wonder how bad this speech is going to hurt them.” Dian’s face showed that she was sorry the moment she had spoken. Beth lost her grin and became absorbed in the master readout boards. Todd couldn’t slump effectively in zero gravity, but he wanted to—the posture would have expressed his current emotions.

  On the three-meters-square main screen, a world renowned newscaster was introducing the Protectors of Earth Trans-Pacific Conflict arbitration committee. Inserts framing the central image showed scenes from around the world. Nightside inhabitants were waking up, registering their presence on the instant-feedback response boards. Reporters conducted quickie interviews with national leaders or common citizens around the globe, adding local color commentary. In villages and controlled-violence arenas, in isolated country areas and megalopolises, the Earth’s activities slowed down, attention turning to ComLink and Todd’s rival network outlets. Anyone who wanted to close-view an insert program could cue it and have it replayed later. Most of Todd’s staff didn’t bother.

  Like Todd, they were capable of absorbing multiple inputs and automatically sifting the chaff from the material they wanted to retain. Four generations of media-reared humans had done that, each generation improving on the efficiency of the one before. By now, print media were becoming rare, and telecom handled the bulk of human information.

  “When did they sign him on?” Dian wondered, indicating the newsman on the main screen. “I thought Dmitri Kirshon was a member of World Advancement Party.”

  “He was,” Beth said. “Rumor has it that the man switched over to Earth First a couple of days ago, and they put Kirshon right to work. It’s all the same reactionary coalition, anyway.”

  “Huh! The anti-Spacer, back-to-the-good-old-days coalition. I was there, and the good old days were hell.”

  Beth agreed fully. “Probably World Advancement and President Galbraith’s Social Traditionalists will claim Patrick Saunder bought Kirshon off. Oh, well. Maybe he did.”

  “Not personally,” Todd corrected her. “Pat wouldn’t bother. Jael handles that kind of stuff. She enjoys the dirty work.”

  Beth’s long fingers skipped over the console, guiding her eyes as she studied the boards. She spoke toward the chief duty tech’s monitor screen and the signal relayed to the job stations on the island below. “We’re into the red a bit, Noelle, on forty-five dee ess. If they need it planet-side, be prepared to boost the South Sino sat feed.” Dian tapped another readout, drawi
ng Beth’s attention silently. The taller woman nodded. “Sava, stretch the Greater Mediterranean translator-splits, please.”

  “I thought Maintenance had that orbiter locked,” Dian complained.

  “Compared to Worldwide TeleCom’s and Incorporated Network’s, it’s gorgeous. For ComLink, it’s merely adequate. We have standards to keep up,” Beth stated with pride. “I’ve put it on the top of Maintenance’s list. They’ll have it in A-One shape for the next global campaign speech.”

  “Acceptable. Bet that’s a rebuttal from the Third Millennium Movement or the United Theocracies at the other end of the scale.” Dian made jokes out of the political parties’ names, speaking with mocking awe. “No matter what Patrick says, they’ll scream and demand equal time under P.O.E.’s campaign rules. . .”

  The women’s conversation, other murmuring voices, and the audio confusion lapped at the fringes of Todd’s awareness. Dian’s earlier comment drummed in his mind: “Goddard will be the last to know.” True, if only by a second and a fraction. And it was likely this would be one more blow to the shaky situation existing between the space station and Earth. Pat’s speeches had hurt Goddard Colony—and Mariette Saunder—often this past year. Saunder Enterprises was a family quasi-nation. But Pat and Mariette were heading in opposite directions fast, philosophically and literally.

  And who’s in the middle? Me, as usual.

  The famous newscaster’s image was crisp. Color phasing good. The modified holo-mode gave his face and form three dimensions. Pat’s treasurer ought to be pleased with the product; Numbers would move from Pat’s accounts over to Todd’s ledgers. Mariette would contribute a small sum also, buying the broadcast for Goddard Colony in order to keep up to the minute re the anti-Spacer campaign. Three ledgers, three siblings—separate, scrupulously maintained and audited. Jael hired only the best, whether it was a cook for Saunderhome, a sharpshooter security guard, or a bookkeeper. In places where they didn’t own an enclave, the Saunders cheerfully paid taxes to the government in charge. But whenever possible, the input and outgo of the family corporation went from one sibling’s pocket to another. Jael called it intrafamily courtesy. Their rivals, particularly the other family-owned quasi-nations, like the Nakamuras, Alamshahs, and LeFevre Société, called them a power-grabbing monopoly threatening to consume the entire world.