by John Rankine
Koenig made a mental effort that came near to spraining his brain and shrugged off his fatigue.
Meeting like with like, he shoved his laser into its clip and went forward with open hands. Trying to pitch his voice right for friendly welcome he said, ‘Koenig. Commander Koenig. We are from Moonbase Alpha. Greetings.’
It got close attention. The woman ran the tip of her tongue round her lips and looked at him with wide eyes.
He tried again. ‘We are from the Moon which has appeared in your sky. We came to find out why the people of this planet attacked our base without warning.’
Surprisingly, there was an answer. Haltingly, using a language which had been learned in a crash course, the woman said, ‘We know. We have listened. Our . . . com . . . puter . . . has analysed your speech.’ She touched the firm point of her breast with a slim finger, unconsciously falling into the pose of much religious art, and said, ‘I . . . am . . . Rama. This is . . . Menos.’
Menos was looking hard at Sandra Benes. She was not a data analyst for nothing and moved half a step nearer Paul. These Copreons might well have fallen on austere times, but there was something in his eye which seemed to be weighing her up as orgy potential.
Koenig said, ‘Since you have listened to us, you will know why we are here. Perhaps you can explain why we were attacked?’
Menos looked round the group of Alphans. Once committed to speech he proved a better linguist than Rama. ‘We know, Commander Koenig. Your Moonbase Alpha is a life raft that you maintain only by constant effort. We can sympathise with you. Our case is much the same. Except that, in this valley, we live freely under the sun. But we are marooned here, as surely as you are marooned on your dead asteroid. You need rest and food. Come, we will show you how we live and discuss our problems. It is possible that we can help each other.’
Victor Bergman said, ‘We have a time limit. The moon will drift out of your gravisphere. We have to return to our people.’
Menos touched the metal band on his forehead. ‘You know the magnetic effects here. I see you have taken steps to protect yourselves. There is a wide fluctuation and a period of maximum disturbance is very near. It will be stronger than anything you have met so far and your machine would be impossible to navigate. We have lived with these effects for a long time and know how to deal with them. Our living quarters are screened. We can talk there.’
Bergman looked at Koenig. Scientific curiosity never sleeps for long. He was clearly interested. For Koenig it was another matter. However peaceful the demonstration, the Copreons had prevented them from reaching Eagle Nine. That was a fact. If he had been fresh and full of natural aggro, he might have stuck with that and gone for a trial of strength. But to his jaded mind, the spiel had the ring of truth and reason. He nodded and Victor Bergman, for one, looked pleased and said, ‘Very well.’
Rama and Menos looked at each other and both smiled. It could be that they were social types and liked to entertain the passing stranger, but a small alarm bell sounded in Koenig’s head. Why should they care either way? What advantage were they looking for?
The agreement was well received by the main body. Some had been looking about uneasily as though the magnetic flux was likely to appear in physical form. Menos turned to them and spoke two words that fell on the ear like Arabic and there was a general move.
Seen close, the vegetation was higher than they expected. Feathery-topped grasses were shoulder high. Trees with broad spade leaves towered overhead. Beyond the first screen there was a path wide enough for four abreast and the crowd surged along it. There was no obvious discipline and yet no confusion.
There was not far to go. The path took a down turn and led between two walls of rock which had been machine cut. Fifty metres on, there was a square opening with a monolithic lintel. Inside, it was pink as a throat with fluted cladding to hide the rock and lights set in ceiling ports.
On the last stretch, Koenig had been conscious of pressures in his head and was ready to believe that Menos had been right about the force field. Inside the gallery, there was an instant change; confusion lifted. They had a screening system all buttoned up.
But a subdued thump from the rear had him spinning round on his heel. Doubt crowded in. The end of the tunnel had sealed itself from roof to floor with a solid shutter of the same pink hue as the rest of the decor.
He stopped dead and faced Menos. ‘Why have you done that?’
‘Do not be concerned, Commander. It is just as easily opened. It completes the screening for all our comfort. Also, we have enemies.’
‘The androids?’
‘Just so. It is a long time since they last tried to take us by surprise. But who can tell? It is better to be on guard. At these times when the magnetic flux is at greatest intensity, they have most power and illusions of grandeur. It is a bitter thing that those creatures should be in the air and we should be forced underground like rodents.’
Rodents they might be, but the underground sanctuary had been set up with sophisticated care for creature comfort. The entry shaft ended in a huge regular hemisphere which was decorated like a baroque folly.
There was enough food for vision to bring the Alphans to a stop as they tried to organise the scene into understandable features. Halfway up the dome there was a continuous gallery with a richly carved balustrade. It was reached by three curving stairways set like the blades of a turbine and floating down to a clear circular area like a dance floor in the centre of the rotunda.
In a notional sense, the stairways divided the space into three sectors and the division was carried on by specialist use of the floor area. They were entering the leisure and recreation zone. Small white tables were dotted about, pot plants, couches, soft furnishings, alcoves, a free-standing screen showing a moving picture and piped music plaintive as a zither.
Over to the right, beyond the first stairway, was a dining area with a huge table in curved sections set in a ring formation round a fountain. Water jetted from a nymph’s navel and fell into a moon-shaped dish on an eccentric cam. As it filled, it tipped and shot a bright cascade into smaller vessels, which in turn shot their load down the line.
The third sector had claimed Bergman’s interest. Its centrepiece was a perpetual-motion gimmick of three huge bronze disks, high on a pedestal and circling endlessly on each other’s rims. At ground level, the walls were lined with hardware: computer panels winking with coloured telltales, monitor screens, operating consoles. There were free-standing desks and a duty force at work, bare to the waist, as were all the Copreons, and looking out of place surrounded by the trappings of high-level technology. Inside the hive, headbands were not worn and, clearly, not needed.
It gave the lie to Meno’s apparently spontaneous gesture. The Copreons had not turned out to a man to welcome the stranger. Behind the smiles and the open palms, they were hardheaded realists and there had been no break in essential services.
Menos gave them a minute to let the scene make its impact. Better than any words, it showed that, marooned or not, the locals had a great deal going for them. The Alphans would understand that they were dealing with equals or, as he believed, superiors.
It was a lot to take in after a busy day. Koenig sensed that Menos was waiting for some comment. A guest has his duties. He said, slowly, ‘This is very impressive. Your race has climbed a long way up evolution’s ladder. You could survive here indefinitely.’
He missed Rama’s quick look, but it was not lost on Helena Russell. She had a question. Medical practice has much to do with the very young and the very old. She had seen neither. ‘All your people are in the prime of life. Is there no ageing on Pelorus?’
Rama said, ‘For many centuries now, we Copreons have known how to arrest the ageing process.’
Alan Carter said, ‘It’s the national costume keeps libido at a surge. It’s a life style we could introduce on Alpha.’ He was looking at Rama with open admiration and, although his meaning was a mystery to her, the vibrations were crys
tal clear. With an effort, she kept to the intellectual bit. ‘Our life span is not materially different from yours. But to the end of it, we are able to retain all our physical and mental powers.’
Helena Russell tried the other end of the spectrum. ‘Children? Are there children in this community?’
A shadow crossed Rama’s expressive face. ‘There are no children.’ She gave no further explanation.
‘Then in a limited time the community must die out.’
‘Just so.’
Menos was looking anxious, as though the conversation had taken an unwelcome turn. ‘Come. You must refresh yourselves. Then we will all join together for a banquet to celebrate this strange meeting of two peoples adrift in space.’ He clapped his hands. Half a dozen of the nearest Copreon women detached themselves from the crowd and approached with smiles and open hands, miming for the Alphans to follow them. They led to the nearest stairway and at the foot of the stairs each took a guest by the hand. There was one spare and, reacting sensitively to atmosphere, she lined up on Carter’s free side.
It was a silent sequence, as though they were attended by deaf mutes. But the service was deft and gentle and courtesy could go no further. At intervals, arches led from the gallery into a honeycomb maze of inner passages and rooms. Decor was plushy and subtly stirring to the senses. First call was a trip through a series of baths from warm, relaxing foam to an astringent deluge of cool, scented sprays with intermediate stops on massage tables.
The attendants had stepped nimbly out of their kilts at first base and clearly worked on the thesis that the human frame was well known to one and all and had nothing surprising to offer in a purely therapeutic situation. In the dreamlike sequence it was an easy lead to follow, but at the end of the line, there was consumer resistance, when trim kilts were laid out for public wear. Helena and Sandra settled for their simple inner suits and clipped on their service belts with lasers and commlocks in their clips. Uniforms had been cleaned and pressed. The three men shrugged into full gear.
Still working in mime, the Copreons led the way to a suite of rooms opening off a lounge area. Carter’s friends seemed unwilling to leave him, but finally backed off with a last tug at the set of his jacket and gestures that made it plain he only needed to ask.
Moved by a kind of common impulse, the Alphans pulled up chairs and sat round a table. It was like a conference in the command office on Alpha and with much the same personnel to attend it. Koenig flipped a memo pad from a breast pocket, wrote briefly and pushed it before his neighbour. Victor Bergman nodded and passed it on. It said, ‘Keep it general. Very likely bugged.’
When he had it back in front of him, Koenig said, ‘The day has ended better than it started. Give or take some minor differences, these people are like ourselves with the same expectations. They want to talk. Now we have the best part of Alpha’s executive council round this table. Could we recommend to our people that we ask for an agreement with the Copreons for joint occupation here? Would there be a balance of advantage?’
Bergman took the hint. For a credible discussion there had to be a hostile witness. He said, ‘That’s going too fast for me, John. We hardly know a thing about them. Point one: As far as we know this may be the only fertile plot on this planet. Would it support another three hundred people? Point two: Are we prepared to live indefinitely under a siege economy? It’s comfortable and it looks viable, but the androids have the high ground. Do we want to start with a war on our hands? Point three: There’s no turning back. Once we operate the Exodus plan, it’s good-bye to Alpha. Is this the planetfall we were looking for?’
‘Sandra?’ Koenig looked at his data analyst. There was not a lot of hard fact to process, but her clear, precise voice made it sound official. ‘It is unlikely, Commander, that this is the only habitable place. Conditions which produced this valley will be repeated elsewhere. With the help and good will of the Copreons we could set up a community of our own. But we would live under constant strain from the magnetic forces. It is certainly not what we hoped for. But then, the statistical probability that we shall ever find our ideal home is so small . . . that, indeed, only a miracle could help us.’
‘Paul?’
‘I agree with Sandra. It is far from ideal, but it could be the best we can get. I think it should be put to a full meeting of all sections for a decision.’
‘By the rule book, the final decision has to be mine; but I concede that the known opinion of all Alphans would have a big influence on it. What about you, Alan?’
‘I’ve been a military pilot most of my working life. I guess I’m used to carrying out orders. I know my section. They’d be prepared to work something out here and go for a hot war against the androids. I leave it to professionals in other fields to sweat out the moral arguments. What I’ve seen I like.’
Sandra widened her expressive eyes and he added courteously, ‘None can compare with our own companions, but they do have an agreeable knack.’
Koenig had left Helena to the last. She had been sitting, chin on hand, blonde hair hanging forward and hiding her face. She lifted her head. ‘As I see it, there’s a simple criterion. We want the life style we know. We want families and children and room for expansion and a natural life. We’ll face hardship. We’ll have to. But we want the possibility of a settled future. Can anybody say, honestly, he can see that on Pelorus?’
There had been no sound of approaching footsteps, but Rama was already well through the hatch. She had changed her kilt for a diaphanous red one and a large hexagonal jewel, hung on a gold chain, lay between her breasts. Palms out and smiling, she said, ‘The banquet is prepared. We wait for our honoured guests.’
A man may smile and smile and be a villain. Koenig had a flash of intuition that the same could be true of even such a woman.
CHAPTER SIX
Marooned on Pelorus, they might be; but scratching a living from the bare rock, they certainly were not. The opulent banquet spread in the diner was luxury run amok. If there were no pearls dissolved in the goblets of green wine, it was only because the cook had not heard of it.
Koenig had the seat of honour on the top table with Rama on his left and Menos on his right. Dishes came in endless succession from serving hatches which had opened in the cyclorama and gave glimpses of a gleaming kitchen area. The nymph on the fountain filled her buckets with a soft plash, digestive music filtered from the very stone, lighting flushed and changed through every hue of the spectrum. It was a sustained battery on the senses; a public-relations exercise to end all.
Either the word had gone out that the Alphans were to be given the full treatment or the Copreons were natural hosts. There was a language barrier for the hoi polloi, but the two nudes smothering Alan Carter with welcome were managing to get their meaning across. Sandra Benes, though no prude, came close to hacking at her right-hand neighbour with an electrum carver.
In spite of all, Koenig had a feeling that the Copreons were holding back. They were keeping the wake within bounds that the Alphans would not find it too disturbing. For his own reasons, Menos wanted the alliance. But what could the Alphans bring to a community that had all it needed? They would be extra mouths to feed and would bring inevitable strains to such an enclosed society. Every effort he made to get a serious conversation under way was turned aside. After two hours, he was no nearer on hard information.
Menos clapped his hands and the assembly came to order. Eyes looking to the high table were brilliant and challenging. They would obey, but nobody was pretending to like it. He spoke slowly and clearly for a good minute. Reluctantly, the Copreons pushed away from the tables. The party was over. Good manners still had a toehold. Each bowed to the guests and gave the palms up gesture of good will. Then, in groups, they began to move away, some to the lounge area, some up the long stairways.
Menos said, ‘Your sleeping rooms have been prepared for you. It has been a tiring day. Feel free to withdraw whenever you wish.’
Koenig said, ‘Your hos
pitality has been very generous. We have to thank you. But there must be discussions between us. You understand the time problem. We must talk.’
Rama and Menos exchanged glances. Menos came to a decision and said shortly, ‘This way.’
They all moved into the third sector, past the duty team of Copreons, who had remained on station through the social evening, and into a circular conference room, plain and functional, with chairs set round an oblong table and a panel of switchgear set at every place.
Menos said, ‘This is the meeting room for the council. On matters of great importance, we take corporate decisions, as you do.’
It was a small slip, but Koenig knew for a truth that their discussion upstairs had been monitored, word for word. He said evenly, ‘That is the only way. Every man must feel that his opinions have been considered. In our system, we talk a matter out. The decision, when it comes, can never please all, but we aim to satisfy the majority and the others loyally abide by that.’
‘So it is with us.’
‘You have not said whether there are other valleys like this one.’
‘You have not asked.’
‘I am asking now.’
Rama, anxious to avoid any appearance of secrecy, came in quickly, ‘You must understand. For centuries Copreon has used Pelorus as a quarry for a metal which does not exist on our own planet. We call it infrangom. It is light and very strong and does not corrode in the atmosphere. It is very important to us. A community was established here. Pelorus is a barren desert. This valley was engineered by our specialists to reproduce a piece of homeland on Pelorus. There is no doubt that other sites could be developed like this.’
Victor Bergman said, ‘With immense outlay of power and labour. When this was done, there was the backup organisation of a whole planet. Are there local resources to do it again?’
