His Majesty's Starship
Page 9
“Many are not,” Arm Wild said.
“Yeah, but I bet they wanted to. Everyone from His Highness the King down. I heard your embassy got thousands of begging calls from people who wanted to go, even though they didn’t meet the requirements?”
“There were many such requests,” Arm Wild agreed, “even though we had stipulated that interested parties must have their own ship. Incidentally, I had understood that the correct designation for King Richard is His Majesty.”
Adrian winced. “Yeah, I should remember that. The point is, you can understand it, right? I mean, explore a new world? Yeah, yeah, it’s not new, your people are there already, but it’s new to us. It’s engrained in the human psyche – explore!”
“From our own observations,” Arm Wild said, “that seems only to be true of a handful of humans, even though it is a trait to which many might lay claim. The fact appears to be that explorers are a tiny minority in your race.”
“Well, okay,” Adrian agreed. “Okay, there are a few billion people on Earth who don’t want to explore, who never have explored, who never will ... it’s lack of opportunity, is all. Most of them are tied down with the necessity of making a living, and I think that kind of drains your ambition away. House, family ...”
“So an explorer must not be tied down?”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m a spaceboy. My grandparents came from Australia but my parents were born on a habitat in Earth orbit and I was born on UK-1. I’m not tied down to a world or to a place and that means I’m free to go where I want.”
“Within reason,” said Arm Wild.
“Within reason, yes, I could get seriously yelled at if I made the ship go somewhere it wasn’t meant to, but the point is I’m free. The ambition is there, given the opportunity, and here it comes!”
“If I may say so, you appear to be the only crew member with this kind of wanderlust.”
“Maybe,” Adrian said. “But listen: the last guy to have a continent named after him was someone called Amerigo Vespucci and he died in the sixteenth century. I looked it up. I’m not saying I’ll get a continent named after me, but I have a chance ... along with the couple of hundred other humans on this mission, of course.”
(Comments of Arm Wild: several times Adrian Nichol emphasises its freedom. It clearly cherishes its status as a self-determining, individual, adult human. Yet, like Julia Coyne who seeks individuality in space, it is consciously part of a social organism in which it cannot operate independently. It is difficult for the First Breed to conceptualise this, yet the humans find no inconsistency. This is not a recommendation that we dispense with their services – far from it. I am more and more of the opinion that the human mind may be just what is required.)
[Report ends]
- 9 -
27 April 2149
Solitude at last! Strange, for a member of the First Breed to welcome it so. Since coming on board Ark Royal, Arm Wild Timbre Grey Wood Temple Southern Plains had worn small gas cylinders that released First Breed pheromones into its nostrils to give the sense of a crowd, and eye-surrounds that flashed subliminal images to give the impression of other First Breed in its peripheral vision. None of the humans had commented on the attachments, perhaps out of politeness.
Now Arm Wild was in deepest space and the nearest ship was hundreds of metres away, yet it was happy. The suit was full of pheromones, it was away from the humans and it was heading back to its own kind.
The fleet had finished boosting and for the time being it was in free fall again, climbing high above the plane of the planets and moving through the solar system’s gravitational field to find the correct solar alignment for the journey to the Roving system. Michael Gilmore had offered Arm Wild the use of the boat Sharman but it had politely declined, citing the incompatibility of docking mechanisms as a veiled excuse. Now its suit was pushing it on its own through space towards the First Breed prideship. The only sound was the hiss of the thrusters and the hum of the suit’s air conditioning.
A voice sounded over the speakers. “This is the prideship to Arm Wild. Your suit’s beacon is registered and we are bringing you in.” A proper voice! Not that horrible, over-loud barking of the Ganglies but the gentle, cultured tones of the First Breed; straight out of the speaker’s throat, not filtered through its translator’s circuitry. Mouthtalk only, of course; still inferior to the fulltalk that came from face-to-face contact, but infinitely better than nothing.
“Thank you, prideship.” Arm Wild suddenly could not bear to be formal any longer. “Thank you, sibling!”
“Our pleasure, Arm Wild. Welcome home.”
There to greet it in the airlock (a proper size! Gangly rooms were so cavernous!) was the Pride Senior itself, Timbre Grey. It came forward and extended its graspers, and Arm Wild twined its own graspers round them. Now they could actually see and smell each other, they could communicate properly.
<
How could any race rise to civilisation depending just on verbal communication? Arm Wild had often wondered. Humans recognised the existence of bodytalk but how could they relegate it so to such negligible importance? The Pride Senior’s legs were properly positioned; the slightly emphasised posture of its body showed that its welcome was genuine and glad. Arm Wild took care that the precise strength of its grasp and lowered position of its head emphasised its acknowledgement of the other’s seniority.
I am noticing First Breed fulltalk! Arm Wild thought in sudden horror. I have been among the Ganglies for too long!
<
<
[Amusement] <
<
[Pleasure] said Timbre Grey. [Polite concern] <
<
Timbre Grey [amusement]
<
<
Arm Wild [true].
They met in the commune-place; the First Breed liaisons from all the ships and as many of the prideship’s crew as could be spared from duties. The First Breed always felt the pain of separation and the tales told by those liaisons who had already returned meant that by the time Arm Wild arrived, the commune-place was resonant with sympathy and healing love. Arm Wild fell into it like a fish returning to water, and for the first hour that was it. It suspected that a human watching would have seen the First Breed milling around, apparently without aim, and the first word to come to mind would probably have been ‘cattle’.
At long last, Arm Wild and the others felt clean again; they were back in the pride. Food were served in small piles around the floor, beverages flooded into the drinking basins and the proceedings finally took on a form that the humans would have recognised, as small clusters of First Breed formed out of the mass to chat amongst themselves.
[Cheerful curiosity/interrogative] <
ssigned to the Euro ship, Bruxelles.
[Approval] said Arm Wild. <
[Scorn/horror] <
<
[Uncertain challenge] <
<
[Grudging admission] <
[Resignation] <
[Resignation reinforced] <
[Interrogative]
<
[Loathing] Arm Wild said. <>
[Minor remonstration] <
[Doggedness] <
Tree Bright changed the subject. <
<> Arm Wild said. <> [Interrogative] <
<
[Understanding] Arm Wild said. <>
[Contempt] <
<<-and was most upset to hear this from a comparative stranger>>
[Interrogative] <
<>
[Amused interrogative] <
<
[Amusement] <
Arm Wild [agreement]
*
A formal reception on a World Administration ship! R.V. Krishnamurthy always relished irony and this was as ironic as one could get. He wondered if David Sorhindo, the WA’s delegate, had considered not inviting him to this reception, even though it was meant for all the delegates. Krishnamurthy smiled as he strolled into U Thant’s saloon, hands behind his back, to mingle with the others. Ah, to be a liberal! To have to be nice to everyone! It was not a problem Krishnamurthy had ever had.
Sorhindo and U Thant’s captain were waiting to greet guests as they came in.
“Mr Krishnamurthy.” Sorhindo’s tone could have frozen warts. “Delighted you could come.” They shook hands and Krishnamurthy deliberately held on long past the handshake had run its natural course.
“I’m very glad to be here,” he said. “It is so important that we delegates mix together and get to know one another, wouldn’t you say? I do so admire you for your work in remaining neutral-”
Sorhindo managed to extract his hand. “You’re very kind,” he said. “Excuse me-” He turned to the next delegate in line and Krishnamurthy sauntered on in. He took a glass from a steward and looked around. Not bad, he thought, not bad. U Thant wasn’t a luxury ship but she could run to a reasonable degree of hospitality.
Then his gaze settled on a knot of three delegates together: two men and a woman. He sensed more sport and wandered over to join them. The woman was a smartly dressed blonde and the man whose face he could see had dark hair that was largely grey, and a permanent shadow on his jowls. The other, smaller man had his back turned but Krishnamurthy knew who he was. He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Your Royal Highness!” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He relished the ways the expressions of the three froze as Prince James turned to meet him.
The prince did it best, Krishnamurthy had to admit. An eyebrow went up and a look of polite disdain settled on his face. “No, I don’t believe we have,” he said. “Mr Krishnamurthy, isn’t it?”
“The same. Your obedient servant.” As we were your obedient servants for three hundred years, while you bled our country dry, turned us into second-class Englishmen and denied us our proper heritage.
“Charmed,” said the prince.
Krishnamurthy turned to the others. “And you are ... don’t tell me ... Ms duPont of the North American Federation? And Mr Ganschow of Starward. Do tell me: what is a space company doing on this delegation? I never really gathered.”
Paul Ganschow couldn’t quite managed the prince’s hauteur. “We have our reasons for being here.”
“Of course, of course. And you, Your Royal Highness? Planning to rebuild your empire on the Roving?”
“The UK will submit its own plan for the Rusties’ consideration, in due course,” the prince said.
Krishnamurthy stayed jovial. “And make them all Christians? Dictate their culture? Rename their places for them?”
The prince grew even colder in contrast to Krishnamurthy’s smile. “Since their place names are all unpronounceable and mostly untranslatable, very probably,” he said. “As to your other points, I really couldn’t say. I like to think we’ve grown out of that kind of behaviour.”
“Let us hope so.” And much good may it do you, he thought, remembering the lodge in the Himalayas again, because I know what they’re up to and you don’t, ha ha ha. Krishnamurthy could have stayed and continued to annoy them, but apart from the satisfaction to be gained there were other things he could be doing more profitably. “Well, excuse me. Business calls.”
He wandered away from them, singing inside. So, those three were allies. Alliances would be bubbling up and bursting throughout this whole business: though the invitation suggested the Rusties would only deal with one nation, that one nation would find things far easier for itself if it had friends among the other humans. He wondered who else would-
The delegate for the United Slavic Federation drifted over to their group and was absorbed into the circle. Fascinating. Didn’t they realise they were broadcasting their togetherness to the world at large? So much better to keep secrets, to keep people guessing.
A snatch of conversation drifted across his hearing. His presence really was being felt-
“I’m amazed he has the nerve to show himself here.”
“The WA dropped the charges.”
“I know. I never could see why, though.”
“It was something like, the Burm
ese had voted in an open election to remain part of the Confederation-”
“Sure!”
“-and so the Confederation was justified in taking whatever action they felt necessary to put down the undemocratic rebels. Rangoon was India’s so they could do what they wanted with it.”
Precisely, Krishnamurthy thought, and we did. He considered turning round and congratulating the speaker defending him for his grasp of politics, but then one of his circle of allies caught his eye and began to wander over. Krishnamurthy gave an imperceptible shake of his head. No, don’t advertise yet. Keep them in suspense; they’ll find out about us in due course.
- 10 -
31 April-17 May 2149
A sphere, a strange blurry nothingness in spherical form, blossomed out of nothing ahead of the ships. Gilmore winced as he tried to make his eyes focus on it.
“Aagh!” Samad said, puncturing the tension on the flight deck, and Gilmore knew he was feeling the same thing. How do you focus on nothing?
He noticed he was gripping the edges of his desk, and deliberately let go, one finger at a time. But this, finally, was the unknown. They were about to do what no human had ever done before.
The fleet was holding position at the step-through point, 11 light minutes away from the sun. All ships were on orders to stand by for boost at a moment’s notice, and Gilmore had passed the time checking with the briefing pack on what was about to happen.
The pack assured him that these passageways in space were nothing new: humans had used the theory of Quantum Gravity to predict them for two hundred years, as if that was meant to be a comfort. Humans called them wormholes. The Rusties called them tubules and they were constantly appearing and vanishing on very small scales: tiny tunnels through the dimensions of space-time, far too small to let anything substantial pass through and existing only for tiny fractions of a picosecond. The prideship had scanned for one such that connected to the Roving system, caught it and inflated it to millions of times its normal size. Through that sphere, Roving space was just a step away.