"I don't think there's much you could say that hasn't been eclipsed by the reality, Gallian," Keene said. "But for what it's worth, welcome back to Earth."
"Now you have to grow your Earth legs again," Sariena told Gallian. "Somehow, it doesn't seem so bad the second time."
"Well, that's good to know." Gallian looked at Beth and inquired breezily. "And how are we making out in your new specialty field of shell-shock patients? Any signs of getting through to them yet?"
"It's a slow business," Beth replied. "There's a lot of suspicion and suppressed hostility to deal with. But I think we're learning."
"On-the-job training. It's the best kind. You didn't think we brought you here for a vacation, did you? By the time you get back, you'll be a seasoned psychologist with exclusive experience of dealing with Terran survivors. You'll be known across all of Kronia."
Beth smiled at the thought but sighed in a way that said it would be a long time yet.
"And we have news from Kronia," Gallian announced to all of them. "The latest there is that Urzin and the Congress have finally pulled rank and refused to buy the Pragmatists' stunt to worm their way into the Directorates. I've rarely heard our President speak so forcefully about anything. And both Deputies supported him. They were firm that Kronia has its own procedures that are appropriate to Kronia's ways, and a few malcontents from Earth have no business coming here trying to change them. It's not their world too, that owes them any equal voice in its affairs as they claim; it's ours. If they want to come back to Earth and start their own system here again, that's up to them." Gallian peered briefly at the window, grinned, and shrugged. "Well, good luck, I suppose, if that's what they want to do." He cast around at the company again. "But it seems that with luck all this Terran-style political nonsense might be over at last, finally, and now we'll all be able to concentrate on things that are useful." He punched Keene playfully on a shoulder. "No offense, eh, Lan? I wouldn't want to belittle your history or revered institutions or anything."
"Gallian, you don't have to worry yourself about that," Keene said. Actually, he was feeling pretty good. It meant that things had gone the way he'd expected. Cavan's attempt to maneuver him into involvement with the politics instead of focusing on the kind of work that he had always felt to be his true calling had been proved overcautious after all, and Keene was vindicated. The old ways of antagonisms and violence, whether physical, political, or economic, were dead. And the new way that Jon Foy had painted so vividly in Keene's imagination long ago had become the new reality after all.
* * *
At Joburg, Kurt Zeigler tried to follow while Naarmegen tried with exchanges of words and gestures to piece together from Rakki and the white-headed old man called Yobu, who was miraculously still alive, the story of Rakki and his original group of companions. He had heard the account from Keene and the others of how the Tribe had formed mainly from people drifting in. But he was particularly interested in the group that had come to rule, displacing the original occupants of the place.
They were sitting under a thatched awning by the pool cleared in the creek, since Zeigler didn't like the smells, bugs, and closed-in feeling inside the huts. Some of the women who had been washing skins and recognizable remnants of clothing still watched the strangers with a fear that hadn't gone completely away, some with children clinging to them, equally wide-eyed and awed. Zeigler tried to ignore them. He would have preferred not to have to rely on academics or scientists to translate, because he suspected their ideological tendencies and considered them naive. But he was stuck with Naarmegen for the time being. He wouldn't want him to be involved later, when more serious business might need to be addressed.
"Rakki and Yobu, and it sounds like five others, including Calina"—that was the name of Rakki's fair-skinned woman—"came from another clan, or whatever, who live in some caves to the east," Naarmegen said. "From the sound of it, there were a lot more of them than here."
"So there are other groups too," Zeigler said. That was interesting.
"Seems like it."
"How far to the east?"
"I can't make it out, but it sounds like a long way. They wandered around for a long time before they found this place."
"Not very hospitable," Zeigler remarked. East was the inland direction, where the river that flowed west and then south around the plateau came from—a desolation of earthquake-shattered mountains, volcanos, lava flows, and swamps.
"They're a tough bunch," Naarmegen said.
Zeigler looked Rakki up and down again. His body seemed youthful in some ways, yet it was scarred and muscled like a veteran gladiator's. His face was barely able to support a beard, but at the same time lined and hardened. The eyes were cruel, alert, cunning—but not unintelligent. He looked back at Zeigler with an unbending stare that seemed to say, So what of your machines and your knowledge of many things? When it comes to the things that make the measure of a man, I, Rakki, can hold my own with the best of you.
"Why did they leave the caves? Wasn't there more safety and protection with the numbers there?" Zeigler asked.
Naarmegen passed the question on. Anger flashed in Rakki's eyes when he answered. His hand move unconsciously to rub his leg. Zeigler caught the words "one only could rule," "betrayed by lies," "left as dead, for the . . ." something that sounded like some kind of scavenger, or maybe ants or worms, and, "he with holes in teeth," pointing to his mouth.
"There was a rivalry to be chief—one of these to-the-death things," Naarmegen supplied. "He was tricked into going out somewhere with some of the other guy's cronies. On the way they jumped him, skewered the buddy he was with, and tossed Rakki over a cliff. But Yobu sent the one called Enka out looking. He found Rakki just about ready to snuff it, and the others went there and got him. I guess, obviously, they couldn't go back."
"Is that where he messed up his leg?" Zeigler asked.
"Rakki, when you fall from cliff." Naarmegen pointed. "Your leg is broken then?"
Rakki nodded curtly and glowered. "And pierced by spear. Many days, they carry . . ." Zeigler missed the rest. White-haired Yobu added some more.
"The rival's name is Jemmo. He's still there, at the caves. But one day Rakki will rule them. And some swamps—I'm not sure where they fit in. Revenge seems to be an obsession."
Zeigler had noticed how Rakki's eyes would stray toward Kelm when Kelm came close as he ambled about, checking over the surroundings and developing his Earth legs. Rakki watched the other SA troopers who were present too. What seemed to interest him was their guns. He seemed to know what they were. However proud and defiant the eyes that met Zeigler's consciously, the glances when Rakki didn't realize Zeigler was watching betrayed envy of the strangers' power. And that could be the pointer to finding the kind of opening for a mutual advancing of interests that Zeigler was looking for.
A message an hour or so ago from Serengeti had brought the news that the Pragmatists' bid to expand their powers back on Kronia had failed. Before very much longer, therefore, Zeigler expected to receive the code notifying him that Blue Moon was going ahead, which meant he should take any opportunity that presented itself to prepare accordingly. Recruiting the small Tribe here at Joburg would not bring about anything decisive; but they were natural fighters, and it could help. However, if they could lead him to this other group, who by the sound of things numbered considerably more, that could make a significant difference.
And there might well be more still to be found, scattered around in this ruin of a continent, beyond those.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Since their emergence as a recognized political force, the Pragmatists had built up their organizational center and focus of support on Iapetus, second outermost to Phoebe among Saturn's principal moons. After their failure to open a back door to power in the Directorate arm of the Kronian Congress, Valcroix and Grasse departed from Titan for Iapetus with a coterie of leading Party names, staff, and sympathizers aboard a local transorbital called the Eskimo
. Most observers of the scene concluded that the intention was to consolidate after their defeat and consider where they would go from there.
A day out from Titan, Eskimo vanished without warning. It was the kind of thing that could happen at any time in a region still subject to hazard from rogue objects of all sizes, and the incident was recorded as "Presumed Impact Destruction. Unconfirmed." Many felt inwardly, though it would have been in poor taste to say so, that perhaps Kronia had been spared much in the way of future complications that it really didn't need right now. Those who believed it was Kronia's destiny to found a civilization intended by Divine Purpose interpreted the event accordingly.
* * *
Aboard the Trojan, still following the initial part of the course that would take it to Jupiter, Colonel Nyrom met privately with Lieutenant Robin Delucey in a sparsely furnished staff office in Accommodation Module 3, not currently being used. Since the ship was carrying a large consignment of material and industrial equipment for the cache to be established somewhere in the Jovian system for future use, occupancy was relatively light for a vessel the size of the Trojan, comprising the crew and the SA contingent, and scientific groups concerned with the mission's survey work.
Nyrom waited until Delucey sat down opposite him at the metal-edged table, then took off his hat and leaned back. "At ease, Lieutenant. What I want to talk to you about is just between us and the walls."
Delucey made the concession of resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, but otherwise remained guarded. He said nothing but regarded Nyrom questioningly.
"We know a lot more about you than you might imagine, Lieutenant." Nyrom made his voice pointed and confidential, communicating that this was a time to open up. "You went through a lot back there, didn't you? Lost everything, lost practically everybody. And you made a heroic effort to start out again and make a go of it. I'm full of admiration for the guts it took. But it didn't work out, did it, son? You're not happy. Am I right?" He paused, reading the face that without change of expression asked where this was going, then shook his head. "Kronia isn't for you. Stifling, unexciting . . . But demanding. And that's how it was going to be for the rest of your life. That was why you joined the Security Arm. That was why a lot of young people who are here on this ship did."
Delucey's eyes retained their detached, mildly cynical look. "What else is there?" he asked after taking a few seconds to consider what Nyrom had said.
"There's Earth." Nyrom's voice warmed to the thought of it. Again the wary look, waiting, conceding nothing. "All the things you remember are still there: oceans, mountains, endless landscapes, air you can breathe under open skies. Except now it's wild again, untamed. There's room for a thousand lifetimes there, all different."
"They're going back. The Varuna . . ."
"And what will they do there? I'll tell you. They'll turn it into Kronia all over again. Is that what you want to have waiting if you ever go back too one day? Or would you rather have your world, that lets you be what you used to be, the way you ought to be?"
"You sound as if you're offering some kind of choice," Delucey said.
Nyrom liked directness, and nodded. "As we all know, the recent Pragmatist proposal to broaden the Kronian political process to a more equitable basis was rejected by those who control the present system. What most people don't know is that it didn't end there. The Congress had the chance to reform within the legitimacy of its own constitution. But since they won't change to something that's fairer for everyone there, we'll take the only alternative . . ."
"We?"
Nyrom nodded. "It's bigger than you probably think. We'll create our own system—the only kind that's workable in the long run—in the only other place available at the present time. We'll build Earth again. And you can be part of it, Lieutenant."
Delucey stared hard at the table. Nyrom could almost feel his mind racing. "But I thought the Pragmatists were against returning to Earth," he said finally.
"Against trying to support a major Earth base from Kronia and sustain Kronia at the same time," Nyrom agreed. "But a self-contained operation on Earth would be something different. And the beginnings of it are right there, waiting for us already."
"You mean the base there? Taking it over?" Delucey's reply followed so easily that Nyrom got the feeling he had been ahead of the conversation all along.
"There's enough aboard this ship to start a pilot industrial operation—and to defend it if need be, while it's becoming self-sufficient. Add that to what's there now, and the things the Aztec is carrying, which is bound for Earth already, and we're off to a pretty solid start." Nyrom paused, to let Delucey take it in, watching his eyes flicker unconsciously around the room as if searching for the flaws. "And you wouldn't even be saying goodbye to the family," he went on. "Since your mother is on the Aztec too." He noted the surprise that flashed in Delucey's eyes and nodded. "Oh, yes. I told you we know more about you than you probably imagined. And we know how you think too, Lieutenant." Another pause, shorter this time, indicating that he was through. "Whatever your answer, clearly we have to deny you access to communications beyond the ship until our purpose becomes more widely known. But we have to begin detailed arrangements now. When we move to assert control of the Trojan, where will you stand, Lieutenant? Will we be able to count on you?"
Delucey answered quicker than most of the others that Nyrom had already talked to, and he had fewer questions. "I'm with you, Colonel," he said simply.
* * *
A probe reconnoitering over the southern part of western Asia discovered a band of survivors apparently moving northward out of the devastation that had been the Middle East. Guesses were that they had somehow ridden out the floods in the higher places, and were moving toward the gradually warming, less hostile central area of the continent. Another probe sent back pictures of crude shanty structures built on a high pass in the resculpted North American Rockies, but they appeared to be deserted.
Meanwhile, expansion of Serengeti continued. A transportation depot for surface vehicles was commenced, facing the pad area, which was being extended as planned, and two more storage domes appeared behind the labs and workshops to house the flow of supplies and materials arriving from orbit. Foundations were laid for a General Fabrication Plant to be built around the profab equipment that was on its way aboard the Aztec. Capable of producing just about anything commensurate with its size limits and the variety of available materials, this would add enormously to the base's capability and potential for further expansion. Since the profab units could just as easily turn out parts for more profab units, Serengeti would be on its way to becoming literally a self-constructing factory town freed from dependence on supply from Kronia.
Finally, an area outside the base was cleared for experiments in crop cultivation and rearing livestock. Beyond that, possibilities were limited only by what further exploration of Earth might reveal.
These were still surface installations, and therefore vulnerable to strikes by meteorite showers from the debris that Athena had left in the vicinity or strewn liberally in Earth-crossing orbits. However, even at the bottom of its deep gravity well Earth was a large place, and it had been decided that the risk was acceptable until deeper excavations and shelters could be commenced using the lithofracture gear also being sent with the Aztec.
The Agni system was functioning flawlessly, which meant that until Aztec arrived, Keene's commitments would be fairly light. He found his thoughts going beyond the immediate engineering needs of the base and plans for its further expansion, to the longer-term reasons for hastening the return to Earth that Foy had talked about and which Gallian had come here primarily to oversee: the grounding of a new civilization in the ways and values of Kronia. If humanity had been able to accomplish as much as it had by the time of Athena despite all the blotches on just about every page of the history of the past five thousand years, then how much more might it stand to achieve without them?
Sariena by her nature was concerne
d over the same issues too, and they spent a lot of time together and with Gallian debating the philosophy they should adopt toward survivors who were not only uncomprehending of such concepts, but schooled by their experiences in just the opposite direction. The object, after all, was to set the basis for a society that would embrace all its members, not create some master race versus slave situation. No surer way than that could have been devised for insuring that the same troubles, resentments, hatreds, and evils that had shaped the past would one day arise all over again.
* * *
Keene and Sariena stood near the workshop domes on the "industrial" side of the base, watching a jib crane swinging a preformed roof truss into position in one of the new buildings, directed by a Kronian using a remote control unit nearby. With the weight under Earth gravity, construction was a trickier and more hazardous business than in freefall or on Saturn's moons, and the Kronians were working to master the requisite skills and judgment. All the same, there had been several accidents already. No amount of briefing and instruction, or attempts at simulation by hologram or in rotating space structures, could substitute for the actuality of being here and doing it, and feeling the real fears of knowing what might happen if something went wrong.
"That guy's getting a hands-on crash course in high-gravity physics," Keene commented. "Everything's dinosaur proportions compared to what he's been used to back home."
He was still finding it exhilarating just to be able to stand outside without a roof between him and the sky, even if the sky was turbulent gray, and the wind cutting and laced with stinging dust. Sariena was acclimatizing, getting outside for gradually longer spells, and spending as much time standing as she could comfortably manage.
"I never thought of it that way," she said. "Remember to tell that to Vicki when she gets here."
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