by Chris Walley
“But it’s true, Merral. It’s an unprecedented shock.”
“But is it, in your view,” he said, thinking how relieved he was to turn away from the subject of the intruders and his trip north, “an unmitigated evil?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was talking to someone at the hospital who was saying to me that at least we might be free of those viruses that come in with travelers from other worlds.”
“Like the Carnathian flu we all had to be inoculated against last year?”
That’s it. Stay away from the intruders. “Yes, I suppose so. . . . I mean, have you found any silver linings in the black cloud? I could use them.”
“Me? Well, I did have one odd thought—”
“Which was?”
She creased her brow and gave him what he always thought of as one of her intense looks. “Well, the Assembly has always valued stability. As you know, Assembly society doesn’t change very much in space or time. It has been said that if you could—somehow—transport one of the founding generation here across those twelve millennia, he or she would fit back into our society with barely a murmur.”
“It’s almost a truism,” Merral said, feeling more relaxed. “Or if our society does change, it changes within only tiny limits.”
Applause drifted up from the room below.
“Yes, well, that is partly due to planning. But there are also sociological reasons why that has been the case. The Assembly is just too big and too open for innovations to take hold.”
“Yes,” he answered, realizing that part of her charm was the way her intelligence and analytical ability stimulated him. “Genetic systems work in the same way. It’s hard to modify large populations as the new genes just get swamped.”
“That may be where the idea came from. Well, you see . . .” She paused, a slender finger tracing a meandering pattern on the table. “I was thinking that in a small, isolated society, which is what Farholme will be for the next fifty years, change can happen.”
“I see. . . .” It was an interesting insight.
“And,” she went on, “when we get reconnected, we may be very different.”
“And this change . . . ,” Merral asked slowly, watching her delicate face, “would be good?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Isabella’s face. “Well, of course, not all change is good. We need to be careful. That’s what we will be looking at. But—and it’s a tentative thought—the Assembly may, for the best reasons, have kept us back.”
“Kept us back?” Merral felt suddenly tense.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Merral. What I mean is this: To be an adult you need to make choices. We have not had the choices. We have been kept in a moral kindergarten.”
“Go on, Isabella,” Merral said, feeling unease. “I’m just a plant person really. All this social analysis stuff is new.”
She stared at him. “Well, you see, societies may be like people. Perhaps we too need to go beyond kindergarten.”
Merral felt cold, as if the lake waters were seeping into his veins.
“I see,” he said, trying not to express his disquiet. “I would need to think about that. It’s a new idea.”
Isabella touched his hand again. Far away, the band struck up a new piece.
“Maybe,” she said, in a low voice that seemed somehow to make all Merral’s concerns trivial, “maybe we need to think about it.”
Merral, feeling both longing and alarm in equal and conflicting amounts, tried to speak in as smooth a way as he could manage. “Yes, but not just now. When things settle down.”
Then to cover his confusion, he took another sip of his juice. I wish Vero were here. I need to talk with him about how she perceives the situation.
Then, in order to restore balance to his mind, he switched the subject to the plans for a new sports tournament for the Ynysmant schools. After an hour, pleading genuine tiredness, he walked her back to her house.
As he donned his night-suit for bed that night, Merral still found himself troubled. He took down imaging glasses off his shelf, went to the table, and carefully picked up the small crystal egg that was perched on a stand. He placed it on the personal creation reader by his bed, lay down, put on the glasses, and ordered that he be logged on to the castle tree simulation.
He closed his eyes as the optics adjusted and opened them to see that he was standing a few meters above a thick snowfield that was lit by late winter’s afternoon sun. Data hanging in the air told him that in the fortnight since he had last visited his world, over three years of simulated time had elapsed.
Merral paused, adjusting himself to the sterile, noise- and odor-free brightness of his world. Then he flew effortlessly over the gleaming ground until the vast, snow-streaked brown bulk of his castle tree loomed up before him. He stared at it, admiring again its towering mass, twice the volume of Ynysmant town, before slowly spiraling up around the outside, examining its surface. At the completion of his survey, he found himself pleased; the simulation was progressing well. There was new growth, and despite the heavy snowfall, only a few branches had snapped under the snow’s weight.
Now, at the top of the tree, Merral turned and floated down into its enormous hollow interior. Here, protected by the vast wall of the tree, a quieter, milder climate prevailed, and he found that parts of the lake at the bottom had remained unfrozen. He was not surprised to see no sign of life; the only creatures he had created so far were insects, and they were overwintering as larvae in the crevasses of the trunk.
Satisfied, Merral ascended again until he was high in the air above his creation, and as the sun set, he put himself in a slow circular orbit around the tree. There he toyed with the questions his simulation raised. When should he let the tree breed? Should he make another tree anyway? And what other life-forms should he create? He could, of course, just let the insects evolve, but that would take time.
Normally, unless he was going to make adjustments to the program or take images, Merral would have exited his created world fairly promptly. But today, somehow, things were different. As the darkness gathered under and inside the tree, Merral found himself lingering. He had always been fond of his world and proud of his castle tree, but he had never had any illusions that it was anything more than a pure fiction of electrons and photons created and sustained by enormous processing power. Yet now it held an attraction for him that it had never had before. There was something clean, simple, and undefiled about this world that he found alluring. “If only it was real,” Merral said with longing, and he marveled at the strangeness of the thought.
The following morning Merral walked across the two-kilometer causeway and went straight over to the office of his director, wondering what Henri was going to say to him.
Henri gestured him straight to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He flung his own wiry frame into the facing seat.
“Man, I’m glad you are back,” he drawled. “Ach. You chose a momentous time to be away.” He gave Merral a bewildered, almost stunned smile.
“Yes. Pretty momentous.”
“Momentous. Isn’t it?” Henri toyed with his beard, and Merral noted that it had lost its usual neatness. “A week ago the job of this Institute was to slowly and steadily expand the forest and the settlements. Then, out of the blue, the Gate goes, and everything is changed. Now our job is ensuring survival.” He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Ach, man, we haven’t a clue how to do it. So it’s endless meetings. But I think we will have to let much of the north go to wildwood.”
Merral groaned. “Wildwood? Oh, let’s hope we can avoid that.”
Henri looked sympathetic. “I know. Foresters see wildwood as a mark of defeat. But what else can we do? Our overstretched resources won’t allow for more. And remember, it’s merely a fifty-year setback. Think of the ten thousand years we have already spent on this world.”
“I suppose you are right, Henri; take the long view.”
“There’s no other way.” Henri
paused, raised an eyebrow in inquiry, and leaned toward Merral. “But we can talk about that later. Your Herrandown trip. What can you tell me?”
Merral thought for a few seconds. “I’m glad you put it like that. The answer is, not a lot yet. . . .We have got a lot of data in Isterrane, and it’s being studied. But there does appear to be something up north, beyond Herrandown. Something that is genetically odd.”
There was a sharp, quizzical look. “What? The Antalfers may be your family, but they are my responsibility. Some sort of anomaly?”
“Yes, something like that . . .” Merral paused. “A mutation or mutations. Perhaps.”
“Hmm. I gather from the quarry team at Herrandown that you sent a message advising more precautions?”
“Yes, people to work in pairs, not to work at night. To avoid the woods.”
“Man, I’d like to know more. . . .” Henri’s dark eyes seemed questioning.
“I’d like to tell you. But we just want to be careful. I’ll tell you when we have firm data and a decision on what to do. But I take it no one is intending to visit the Lannar Crater area?”
“Not for a month. Assuming that the schedule holds. Which I doubt. But you have a suggestion?”
“I think the area should be left alone. We shouldn’t send anybody north of Herrandown until things are clearer.” Merral heard a sharp edge to his voice.
Henri rapped slender fingers sharply on the chair arms. “Well, I’d normally request your reasons, but it’s now an unusual situation right across the board.” He sighed. “And to be frank, man, the development of the extreme north was always going to be the first casualty of the Gate loss. Okay, we’ll veto the extreme north. We may boost some of the southern colonies instead. They are less demanding.”
“Thanks. So tell me, what have I come back to?”
Henri leaned back and gave a chuckle, but it was one without any happiness. “Ach, a fluid and fast-moving situation. I don’t even know whether your tropics posting is going to come off.”
“It can wait,” Merral answered, and he meant it.
“Sorry. Anyway, the initial directives are for categorization; we have to look at all our plans in terms of what equipment and resources they need and whether they make use of non-Farholme-sourced material.”
“Any specific guidelines?”
“Two specifics: Delete no data files unless you have first checked that the Library holds a copy. And just today I have had a direct order from Representative Corradon’s office telling me that we are not to use machines with gravity-modifying engines. All available Farholme GMEs are prioritized for medical, rescue, and other such work. So, if you need a low-impact machine, use a hovercraft, not a GM sled.”
“Makes sense,” answered Merral, wondering what else would be affected.
“Yes.” Henri rubbed his forehead. “I suppose we must be positive and see it as a challenge. There’s a pile of things on your desk.”
“Yes. I saw it.”
Henri rose to his feet. “Yes. But, man, it’s good to have you back.”
Seated in his office, Merral began to sort out the memos and files that had accumulated on his desk and on the in-tray of his deskscreen.
A lot of the material awaiting him dated back to before the loss of the Gate, and Merral was able to simply consign it to either a digital or real recycling bin. It was when he stared at his personal calendar with its list of forthcoming virtual conferences across the worlds that he had been planning to attend that the isolation his planet was now under came home to him. He closed his eyes and issued an order. “Diary, delete all reminders re inter-system conferences from today onward.”
The metallic tones came back to him. “Diary query: Your request normally requires an end limit. Until when am I to delete them?”
“Diary, unlimited deletion. All of them. Until further notice. Forever.”
The words “request completed” echoed around the office.
“Good-bye, my old life,” Merral said aloud, and suddenly struck by the enormity of it all, he put his head in his hands.
For the next few days, Merral threw himself vigorously into his work. He heard nothing from Isterrane and part of him began to hope that Vero’s proposal for teams was going to be refused. Perhaps, he thought, I can return to my old life. Yet every meeting he went to was dominated by the changed priorities they all now faced and reminded him that his old life was gone beyond recall. And at any meeting, whenever a map was produced, he found his glance straying northward to where the broken circle of the Lannar Crater appeared.
Midmorning on the last day of the working week, there was a knock at his door. Henri walked in carrying a large carton and two long white envelopes, one of which was open.
“Morning, Merral,” he said in a strange, unsettled tone. “May I talk to you privately?”
“Of course.”
Henri closed the door behind him and, putting the carton down on the floor, pulled up a chair at the other end of the table.
“Our world is changing isn’t it?” Henri’s voice expressed how uneasy he was with the idea.
“Yes. And it worries me, very much.” I can guess what is about to happen. It is what I have been expecting since I got back.
Henri waved the letters. “These were couriered to me today. And this carton. Both marked ‘urgent.’ One letter for me personally and one for me to hand to you. From Representative Corradon.”
“Ah.”
He handed an envelope to Merral, who glanced at the front, taking in the linked crests of Farholme and Menaya and the embossed emblem of the Assembly, the words Private and Confidential, and the two-line address Forester Merral Stefan D’Avanos, Ynysmant Planning Institute.
“I think you’d better read it now,” Henri said. “Ach, it’s private, but we need to discuss what it says.”
Merral opened the heavy envelope with a knife and unfolded the two sheets of paper. The heading on it said simply Anwar Corradon, representative for northeastern Menaya, and underneath the previous day’s date was a neatly handwritten message. Merral read it carefully through twice.
Dear Forester D’Avanos,
I have carefully considered both our discussions and the letter I have just received from you on the state of matters in Larrenport. After meeting with the other representatives, I am hereby authorizing your release from your duties at the Ynysmant Planning Institute to work specifically on some of the questions raised by the appearance of the intruders. I have written separately to your manager requesting your immediate release. You are authorized to use such resources of Farholme as needed. You may wish to use the Planning Institute as your base for the time being.
In an accompanying package you should find the datapaks of all the imagery you need. I would like to be made aware of any significant developments in this matter as soon as possible by personal or written communication alone. No contact of any form with the intruders is to be sought without my permission. I have written similar letters to Captain Perena Schlama Lewitz and Dr. Anya Schlama Lewitz.
Furthermore, after further discussion with Sentinel Enand, the other representatives, and Advisor Clemant, I have, most reluctantly, authorized the creation of a Farholme Defense Unit that will interlock with the research work authorized above. Sentinel Enand has been authorized to instigate and organize the development of the Defense Unit, again with the strict ruling that no contact with the intruders is to be made without my approval.
In a break with Assembly tradition which, we must pray, is a temporary measure, the nature of your research and the existence of the Farholme Defense Unit is not to be made public knowledge.
These arrangements will be reviewed on a monthly basis.
Please keep this document private and secure.
Be assured of all our prayers and support.
Yours in the service of the Assembly,
Anwar Corradon, representative
Merral closed his eyes as the import of the letter sank in.
&nbs
p; “You okay, man? You look like you need some fresh air.”
For long moments, Merral could not answer. “My responsibilities are now heavier than you can imagine,” he said finally. “Sorry, Henri. What do you know?”
“A bit. The representative says that he has appointed you to be—how did it go?” Henri looked at his letter. “ ‘To be in charge of a special project of vital importance to the future of Farholme, centering on some of the oddities that have been occurring within Menaya. Rather uniquely’—I’ll say—‘this is not to be made public. I would ask you to assist him in whatever way you can. If you wish to discuss this matter, please do it either by a hand-couriered document or by face-to-face contact with me. I am anxious that no mention of this matter is made on either diary links or the Admin-Net.’ ” Henri looked up and shook his head. “I’m still trying to work out the implications of that. And the rest. But I don’t like it. Not at all.”
“Me neither.”
“Anyway, he goes on to say, ‘I would be grateful if you would not press Forester D’Avanos on any matters to do with this project. Yours, et cetera.’ ”
“Does it say to keep this document private and secure?”
He smiled ruefully. “Ach. Man, it’s worse. At the bottom it says, ‘Please commit the above to memory and then have it destroyed.’ ”
Henri looked intently across the table at him. “I have no real idea what this is about. I have never heard of anything like this happening. But, Merral, you have my support. Anything I can do to help, I will do.”
He extended his hand and Merral shook it.
“Thanks, Henri,” he answered, his mind still adjusting to the arrival of what he had both hoped and feared. Then he walked over to the window and for long moments stood there, resting his fingers on the sill. He looked across the lake where the sun was breaking through thin, ashen clouds and lighting up the tops of waves in the distance. My days of being a forester are ended, he thought. He tried to console himself that, weeks or months away, he might be fully able to resume the work he loved. Yet it was a consolation that now seemed hard to believe.
