Poikolainnen smiled and left.
She pointed into the closet “What is that?”
Coldewe reached for the object in question. a wide-brimmed black hat, handling it reverently. “This is my cowboy hat. The mayor of Upper Marlboro gave me it last year.”
“Do you still read those Karl May western books?” Sanmartin thought better of the question. “I thought only outlaws wore black hats.”
Coldewe yawned. “It seemed more appropriate somehow.”
Sanmartin folded her arms. “Uncle Hans, have you been up all night?”
“I’m sure I got a nap in somewhere. Ask Esko.” Coldewe waved his hand impatiently. “I need your help. You're the only xenobiologist in on the secret.”
“When does the news become public?”
“Tomorrow, probably. Anton and I turn in our reports to Steen today. The Nat leaders will meet tomorrow, and in case they decide not to say anything, Anton has asked a few old friends of the press to join him for breakfast on Saturday.”
“Simon knows already. Uncle Anton asked me to tell him.”
“You're family. You're prettier than he is, anyway.” Coldewe shrugged and sat down in the other chair. “After I went through munitions requirements with Saki Bukhanov, I started having second thoughts. What works for killing people might not work on Neighbor.” He added in a strained voice, “Even more than other subjects, affairs of war are subject to continual change.' “
Rikki rubbed her temples, “Who are you quoting now, Helmuth von Moltke or Karl May?”
“Don Quixote. I find myself assuming that people on Neighbor are a lot like us, but what if they have chitinous armor-”
“Like giant beetles?”
“Or whatever. Is it safe to assume that they're carbon-based blobs of protoplasm? Why not silicon beings, or energy beings?” Coldewe sighed. “Can I use 5mm caseless, or do I have to figure out how to build ray guns?”
“How much do you know about amino acids, Uncle Hans?”
“Not one thing,” Coldewe said cheerfully.
“One of these days, people are going to take you seriously when you make jokes like that,” anmartin warned him darkly.
“I was educated as befits a gentleman. which is to say I learned literature and tactics and several foreign languages.”
“I have heard you try to speak some of them.” Rikki pondered. “Let me think how simple I can make this.”
“Very simple, I hope.”
“I will try. First, the living organisms on every planet human beings have visited are aggregates of amino acids. This seems to be the basic autocatalytic process in the universe.”
“But-” Coldewe began.
“I am coming to that part. Life on different planets arises from different groupings of the base amino acids. Simon made me do a paper once in which I compared the enzymatic conversion of dUMP to dTMP in Suid-Afrikan organisms with the same process in Terran organisms. This is a very basic process, and the sequence of the amino acids that assist in binding the pyrimidine remain remarkably stable over time.”
“Whatever,” Coldewe agreed, nodding.
“In Earth's common E. coli bacterium, the last twelve amino acids in this sequence are arginine, serine, cysteine, aspartate, valine, phenylalanine, leucine, glycine, leucine, proline, phenylalanine, and asparagine. In a human being, the amino acids in these positions are arginine, serine, glycine, aspartate, methio nine, glycine, leucine, glycine, valine, proline, phenylalanine, and asparagine, which clearly shows that the two organisms the bacterium and the human being-share a common ancestry, however remote. In Suid-Afrikan organisms. while the process is essentially identical, the sequencing of amino acids is completely different”
“I’m glad this is the simple part.”
“Neighbor is an Earth-type world, which is to say that the average temperature of its landmasses and seas is comfortably situated between the melting and boiling points for water. As the probe data shows, the planet now has a remarkably Earth-like atmosphere. This did not come about by chance. Oxygen is extremely reactive, and free oxygen does not occur naturally in such quantities. Neighbor’s high oxygen and low carbon dioxide levels obviously result from aerobic processes, which is strong evidence that evolution on Neighbor followed the same general path as evolution on Earth, or Suid-Afrika, or a dozen other worlds. On such worlds, the prebiotic atmosphere is mainly carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, and nitrogen, with significant amounts of hydrogen, methane, and ammonia vented from rocks. Through a simple series of chemical reactions, these compounds are transformed into hydrogen cyanide and formaldehyde, which in turn react with water and ammonia to form amino acids. Eventually, these amino acids string themselves into self-replicating polymers that become life, as we know it This is to say that in my professional opinion if the organisms you encounter on Neighbor are grossly dissimilar from Terran or Suid-Afrikan organisms, I will eat your precious hat there.”
“No bulletproof silicon beings?”
“A number of scientists have postulated the existence of silicon-based life, but no one has worked out an appropriate mechanism. and the atmosphere that would evolve on such a world would probably not be significantly Earth-like. There are no guarantees in the universe, but you were not the only one to stay up late, and everything I have seen from the probe data suggests that the Neighbors are not too terribly different from us.”
“Those poor, benighted beings,” Coldewe said in a tone of wonderment that broke Rikki Sanmartin up completely. “So, Madame Scientist, what are these people like?”
“They are almost certainly bipedal, between a meter and two and a half meters in height. If you smoked, I would bet you a cigar that they average out at a little over two meters. And they reproduce sexually, which would be a helpful thing for you to know.”
“How do you know all that?”
She shrugged. “Four limbs is obvious. Life from the seas colonizes the land. and no one has come up with a reason why a fish that does this would develop more than two limb girdles. Bipedal is equally obvious. Civilization implies grasping hands as well as intelligence. At some point, there is no reproductive advantage to developing intelligence without hands to manipulate the environment.”
“And the size?”
“The gravity on Neighbor is 94.32. percent of Earth's, which dictates to a large degree the maximum size of plants and animals. Intelligence is not necessarily an optimal adaption for all creatures.” She smiled impishly. “Anything smaller than a meter is very likely to be too far down in the food chain to concentrate on becoming smarter, while anything larger than two and a half meters tall probably doesn't need to.”
Coldewe threw up his hands. “I used to have conversations like this with your mother. All right, why do they reproduce sexually?”
”The sexual selection process is a powerful force in nature. Organisms that reproduce sexually preserve greater genetic variation and are able to evolve much more quickly than asexual organisms. An asexual organism either stabilizes to fill a particular environmental niche, or quickly becomes extinct.”
There was a knock at the door. Coldewe called out, “Come in.”
Esko Poikolainnen stuck his head inside and said apologetically, “Saki Bukhanov is on the line. He is agitated.”
“May I take the call?” Coldewe swiveled around in his chair and chose the appropriate menu selection on his computer. Bukhanov's round, homely face appeared. “Hello, Saki.”
Bukhanov was wearing a gray suit and a white shirt and tie. “Hello, Hans. Who is that behind you”
“That’s Rikki Sanmartin.”
Bukhanov nodded. “You've grown since I saw you last. Tell Hans to mind his manners.”
Coldewe interrupted, “What’s the problem, Saki?”
“Sir, I am feuding with that intendance officer of yours.” Bukhanov wore a pained expression. “I want four engineering vehicles, and he says he won't release them--he'll lay down in front
of the wheels first. The Imps only loaded four, and that isn't nearly enough. We are going to have to plan on a succes sion of supply ships, and I do not want to even think about moving that kind of tonnage by hand.”
Lightweight and powerful, the little engineering vehicles were excellent as forklifts and light bulldozers. With electromagnetic strips mounted in the tires, they were as adept at moving cargo in orbit as they were at digging bunkers dirtside, and for that reason, they were worth their weight in precious metal.
“I'll talk to Christiaan. He's young enough to be miffed that I didn't include him in on the planning. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes, sir, there is.” Bukhanov adopted an even more pained expression. “Before the news breaks, call my wife and make sure she understands that I am not going with you. Otherwise, I will find my clothing in a pile in the street, and it’s a nuisance getting it dry-cleaned.”
“Right. Coldewe out.” Coldewe blanked the screen.
“His wife wouldn't really do that, would she?” Rikki inquired.
“You haven't met the gay divorree, have you? Petronella latched on to Saki after we got back from Tokyo. Until he became a banker, he used to keep extra clothes in the armsroom in case we ran late.” Coldewe looked away. “I'd love to have him along, but he almost didn't get back from Tokyo, and I think he's seen enough.”
“I notice he called you 'sir.' “
“My officers usually do that when they're telling me my head needs soaking. I find it difficult to give myself airs-too many people remember me as a lieutenant with a questionable sense of humor.”
The comer of Rikki's mouth turned down. “Your sense of humor hasn't gotten any better, Uncle Hans. Can't you be serious about anything?”
“You know, Rildd-tikki-tavi, I was serious once.” Coldewe's eyes took on a faraway look. “At your age, I was serious about everything. And one day among the pebbles in a very dry wadi, I stopped. Being serious, that is.”
“That was Ashcroft, wasn't it?”
Coldewe coughed, remembering the desert “Who told you about Ashcroft?”
“Uncle Matti, of course. He is really the only one of you who will say anything about what my father did as a soldier. Ashcroft left its marks on my father.”
“On all of us.”
Esko Poikolainnen rapped on the door. “Colonel, it’s time...
“Right” Coldewe looked at the time display on his wrist mount. “I'm due in court.”
“What did they catch you at?”
“I’m being called as a character witness for a former D Company soldier named Prigal. He's up before the landrost for dangerous driving.” Coldewe coughed. “He's a trifle hard up for character witnesses.”
“Not the Prigal?” Rildd exclaimed. “You mean, there really is a Prigal?”
“You know him?”
“You used to tell me Prigal stories. When I was a girl.” She glared at him accusingly. “You should be ashamed of the stories you made up about him.”
“Prigal, the world's oldest recruit private--this world or any other.” Coldewe began coughing. He started to say something and then began coughing again. “As God is my witness,” he finally managed to say, “every word was truth. Misfortune is Prigal's ruling star and his mishaps the stuff of legend.”
“Even Prigal's Island?”
Tears of mirth trickled down Coldewe's cheeks. “God is my witness.” He waved a finger weakly. “Prigal, through skillful manipulation of the air pressure in his tires and a 45-degree compass error-I never got the details straight, but I understand it had something to do with the magnet he used to hang a pinup—managed to bury his armored car in the heart of the largest swamp on the continent. A Cadillac will float, so don't ask me how. We had to drop forty-three tons of stone before we could fly in a crane big enough to haul him out”
“Oh, my.”
“Meri Reinikka, our engineer company commander, got stuck with the salvage job, and we had to take his rifle away, he was so mad. He actually fired a couple of shots in Prigal's direction, but he usually hits what he aims at, so nobody took him seriously. Prigal's Island has the dubious distinction of being the only named terrain feature in a five-thousand-hectare area”
“Oh, dear.”
“Prigal now drives a taxi as if it were an armored car. Wish me luck as I perjure myself,” Coldewe said. “If I told the court a fraction of the truth, he'd never get his license back.”
Friday (1167)
“THE NEXT ITEM ON THE AGENDA.” PRESIDENT ANDRIES STEEN said primly in Afrikaans, glancing up and down the table, “concerns Colonel Vereshchagin's meeting with Imperial commissioner Mutaro.” The absence of non-Afrikaners obviated the need to use English.
Having purged “softs” from the Reformed Nationalist party's leadership council, Steen and his middle-aged “hard” supporters kept tight control.
Near the foot of the table, District Leader Jooste van Drooste ventured incautiously, “Vereshchagin is no friend of ours. If the old man wants to go, we will never have a better chance to get
rid of him.”
Wiser heads waited to take their cue from Steen.
Andries Steen was a sleek man with piercing eyes, his face framed by an imposing gray Vandyke beard and a dark mustache that ran like a streak to either side of his jawline and gave him a strikingly effective television presence.
Steen waited half a moment before turning on van Drooste. “The Imperials are our enemy. One does not compromise with enemies.” In his path to power, Steen, notoriously humorless, had repeated that maxim more than once. Although never a soldier, Steen fully understood that an enemy who is given a line of retreat lives to fight again.
Again he paused, to give weight to his remarks. “It is clearthat the Imperials have bribed Vereshchagin to betray us. He betrayed the Imperials once, and once a traitor, always a traitor. Any compromise would cause our people needless confusion at this juncture in history. This proposed expedition is nothing more than an attempt to weaken Suid-Afrika.”
During the second, ultimately successful rebellion. Imperial intelligence had coerced a large number of Suid-Afrikans into providing information. A former trial lawyer, Steen had achieved political eminence by crafting Suid-Afrika's lustrance law, which debarred such individuals from participating in politics.
With an election pending, it was abundantly clear to most of the party leaders present that having played the anti-Imperial card to propel himself into power, Andries Steen proposed seeing if it would capture another trick. No one present had the audacity to ask Steen how much of what he had said he believed. Discussion stopped at the faint sound of children's voices singing, “Oh, we're having a war, and we want you to come!' So the pig began to whistle and to pound on a drum.”
Steen made an effort to control his face.
Until Steen took office, “The Whistling Pig” had served as Suid-Afrika's national anthem, and it still served the 1/35th Rifle Battalion as its official drinking song.
He spoke to one of his bodyguards. “Seivert, go out in the plaza and make them stop.”
Some part of Steen's mind knew that he was trying to hold back the tide with a very small bucket, but it is a prerogative of kings and princes to try.
That afternoon, when his speech aired, bitterly attacking the Imperial Government and cautioning Suid-Afrikans to guard their independence, in the security of his quarters, Hans
Coldewe bounced a paperweight off the television screen.
Used to Coldewe's eccentric mannerisms around televisions, Esko Poikolainnen, Coldewe's communications sergeant and constant shadow, touched a button and turned the set off. “Sir, he hasn't turned down the expedition, yet”
“No, but I know the difference between a hawk and a hand saw.” Coldewe looked around for something else to throw. “Depend on it, Esko, Andries Steen just declared war.”
Poikolainnen smiled thinly. “War is what we're good at.”
Saturday (1167)
“HEER MUTARO?” SEEMINGLY OBLIVIOUS TO MUTARO'S approach, Vereshchagin continued to observe the small amphtiles playing around his feet. “I trust your trip was uneventful.” Camouflaged by the battledress he was wearing, Vereshchagin's outline seemed to blur into the backdrop of the forest’s edge.
Mutaro glanced back at his escort, Roy “Filthy DeKe” de Kantzow, with a degree of amusement “It was quite interesting.”
“Frosting straight,” the tall former soldier affinned.
Although Vereshchagin discouraged his soldiers from using profanity, Filthy DeKe had always been a glorious exception. When The Deacon left active service to marry a sweet thing half his age, several colleagues reported that de Kantzow had visibly purpled under the strain of keeping a civil tongue during the ceremony.
De Kantzow walked away, and Mutaro sat down gingerly on a small camp chair that Vereshchagin had provided.
“I rather like the forest,” Vereshchagin said. “I find it tranquil.”
Mutaro gazed up at the tall trees. “I understand that Heer Steen has rejected the idea of assisting the expedition.”
“The matter had become entangled in party politics.”
Mutaro sighed deeply. “Vereshchagin-san, perhaps Steen does not comprehend what is at issue. Perbaps someone could explain matters to him.”
Vereshchagin shook his head “Heer Steen does not and perhaps cannot view Neighbor as a threat to Suid-Afrika. And he believes that he is playing for the highest stakes of all--the verafrikansing of Suid-Afrika. What he desires are changes in Suid-Afrika's constitutional structure that would allow him to disenfranchise non-Afrikaners and suppress opponents. Have you been briefed on Suid-Afrika's political situation?”
Mutaro smiled. “Inadequately, it seems.”
Vereshchagin paused to consider his words. “Over the past three years, the Reformed Nationalist party has been radicalized by the fear that the younger generation is losing sight of its Afrikaner heritage.”
“They are losing their intolerance for other peoples, which is perhaps not such an unfortunate thing,” Mutaro rejoined.
Cain's Land Page 4
