by John Brunner
“Ah—yes, Master Holdernesh!” the woman began.
“Cyreen Gorl,” Lula supplied. It was one of her duties to act as his nomenclator.
“Mistress Gorl!” Holdernesh said promptly. “What’s your question?”
“Not so much a question, sir, as a statement of fact.” She was flushing a little, as though unaccustomed to finding herself the focus of attention; she was, he realized, younger than her dress and manner made her appear. “Many thousands of parents of young families, among whom I count myself, already concerned about the prospect of allowing foreign ships to land, are being further disturbed by the publicity Holdernesh Group has been putting out. Contrary to what one assumes to be the desired effect”—she was recovering her self-control, and confidence could be heard flooding into her voice—“your advertisements have made a lot of them extremely worried. For every person who agrees that opening up long-range contact with other systems will bring us benefits, there must be ten or twenty who are more concerned about the vastly increased risk of destabilizing our hard-won—”
Holdernesh could bridle his tongue no longer. He leaned forward, his expression as earnest as he could make it.
“Mistress Gorl, forgive me for interrupting, but I’m sure that not just I but everyone else realizes this argument has been rehearsed before, if not perhaps in such eloquent terms”—got to keep them on my side, a few compliments won’t come amiss— “when my great-grandfather laid the foundations for what is now the only starfleet of any consequence in this part of the Arm, conceivably in the whole of it.”
He leaned back. “I’m sure you learned at school”—a trace of patronizing, not to insult her youth but to make sure everyone bears it in mind—“how there was opposition on just the same grounds way back then. Who, though, would now contest the advantages of interstellar contact? We’ve learned so much from it! A few, admittedly only a few, have even been able to visit distant worlds for pleasure, out of interest. Many more have been able to study at foreign universities like the one at Inshar, on Shreng. Who would dare to claim that we are worse off, rather than better, for the information and the insights that they’ve brought us? Surely, for the sake of our children’s future, we need to exploit the opportunity now before us. The alternative, bear in mind, is eventual total dependence on Sumbala! Master Plon!”
He turned, beaming, to the correspondent from Global Datalink, whom he recognized without prompting.
Plon, however, was frowning.
“All right, sir, I accept there have been advantages, many of them—as who could not? What our subscribers seem mainly to be concerned about is the fact that currently we are running at full blast, in a planetary sense. We have a relatively small population supporting a major manufacturing economy. I think you yourself have predicted that the day may dawn when we devise something small enough but desirable enough actually to be worth exporting physically rather than in the form of design parameters, and I hope you won’t take it amiss if I add that we all expect it to be Holdernesh Group that produces such an article, if it ever materializes.”
The bastard! He’s taking my own words and twisting them into an attack—making it sound as though I’m promoting the new starships purely for private gain!
But Holdernesh maintained his smile, even though his cheek muscles were starting to ache. “Go on,” he invited. “I don’t think you’ve made your point yet.”
“The point, sir, is this.” Plon, a rangy, graying man with sharp dark eyes, fixed him with a penetrating stare, as discomforting as though he were right here in the room. “Even assuming that the enormous investment your superstarships will require is within our collective means, we shall still find ourselves facing the same risks as are entailed if we let Sumbalan ships land here. That’s to say, if by mischance alien organisms were to be imported from the new systems you intend to contact—”
“I’m sorry, Master Plon, but this was exactly the argument used against my great-grandfather. And—”
“And in those days,” Plon snapped, “everyone who had any contact whatsoever with foreign life-forms was quarantined, regardless of expense! Hundreds died before we reached the stage where we could armor ourselves even against organisms from the handful of planets that we regularly visit. You just reminded Mistress Gorl about her history lessons—have you forgotten your own?”
Holdernesh sat with clenched teeth, fuming but not daring to reply. Plon continued.
“Now we’ve grown casual about such matters—many say too casual. We even let tourists visit other systems. Do the rich who can afford a vacation on another planet put up with the sort of treatment the pioneers willingly endured? They do not! Some of them even try to refuse their immunization courses!”
“But we don’t let anyone board a starship—”
“Without an immunization certificate?” Plon countered. “Sure! But what’s a certificate? A pattern of electrons! And when it comes to the Sumbalans …”
“Are you claiming”—Holdernesh’s blood rose to the boil— “that our health precautions are worthless?”
Plon gave a skull-like smile.
“Not me, sir. But many do say exactly that, and they’re among the most vociferous of your opponents.”
“Oh, they’re crazy! We’ve detected tachyonic emissions from a thousand systems’ distance down the Arm, and that means not from anywhere as close as Sumbala! Are we to sit on our butts until another starflying culture comes to us—us, who opened up intersystem contact? Who can guess what they’ll be like? Granted, the Sumbalans did behave in a proper manner, even though they’ve now gone behind our backs and signed contracts with worlds where we used to enjoy exclusive right to interstellar trade. But our next visitors may not care as much about precautions.”
“That’s exactly the point!” Plon rasped.
“Yes! Yes!”
Suddenly there was uproar. Out of the clamor Holdernesh caught snatches:
“Suppose they’ve achieved total armoring! Suppose they don’t care what alien organisms they bump into!”
“Suppose they’re bent on conquest! Suppose they’ve sunk too much of their own planet’s resources into starships, so they’re out to rob and pillage!”
“Suppose those emissions aren’t due to new starflying cultures at all! Suppose they’re due to the Ship, which hasn’t come back because out there it’s met something it can’t handle and it still hasn’t finished its mission!”
Oh, black holes and supernovae! All the trivial, all the nonsensical rubbish the news channels are spouting—!
“Master Holdernesh!” The voice of Lula Wegg, insistent in his ear.
“Later! I’ve got to sort these people out—make them see sense!”
“But it’s a message from Mart’s college. There’s an emergency.”
Holdernesh’s heart missed a beat. Mart was his only son. He dreamed that one day, as he had taken over from his father and his father in turn from his, and his from his back to the foundation of the company, Mart would be his own successor.
He whispered rather than subvocalized, “What is it?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. They said they’d only speak to you in person.”
“Make the link!”
“What about the press conference?”
“To a black hole with the lot of them!”
He added aloud, “I’ve heard all this before, it’s all speculative rubbish, and I’m appalled that intelligent persons like you should give it credence!”
“We’re not speaking for ourselves,” Cyreen Gorl countered hotly. “We’re representing our customers, so—”
“I’ve said everything I have to say. Good morning!”
The holos vanished. To the air Holdernesh said, “Who’s calling from the college?”
“This is Sers Vanganury,” said a familiar voice, that of the principal instructor. “I regret to state that your son Mart has been exposed to a severe health risk.”
What’s that supposed to mean? The words
burned on his tongue, but he bit them back. Aloud he said, “How?”
And as he listened to the answer, he heard the landslide noise of his ambitions crashing down about his ears.
THE USE OF LEAPERS WAS NORMALLY FORBIDDEN WITHIN THE city limits, but like all the major firms in the industrial zone Holdernesh Group kept one against the need to rush an injured employee to the hospital. Raging like a maniac, Jark Holdernesh tore through the corridors of the works, shouting orders for it to be readied at once and programmed to head for the college. Lula’s reminders about illegality had no effect; he retorted that he would pay the fine—any fine—so long as he got there fast.
Its once-sleek metal skin abraded to roughness like everything else on the planet, it was waiting for him as he rushed out of the headquarters building. The pilot made to usher him aboard. Cursing, he shouldered her out of his way and dropped into the control chair. It had been years since he last flew a leaper—the insurers with whom his board had a policy on his life had made giving it up a condition of coverage—but as was commonly said, once you learned how, you never forgot.
Door slammed, scant seconds spent confirming that the route was properly coded—to avoid monorails and other obstacles—and he was away. He registered nothing of the city as he streaked across it, feeling the curious chest-tightening sensation due to cancellation of acceleration, “cansax” as the pilots called it, by the inverse gravity field. For some reason it never quite worked perfectly; there was always a delay in the response, not long enough to be more than a nuisance but distinctly uncomfortable. The ghoulish thought occurred to him that he wouldn’t have cared to be delivered to the hospital by this means if something heavy had crashed his rib cage.
He had never seen the college from the air before and had little chance to survey it as the leaper slammed down. He was only aware that there were a great many people on the verge of panic milling around while police attempted to calm them. The moment he opened the door he heard loud announcements, intended as reassuring, but to which nobody seemed to be paying attention.
Lula had flashed a message ahead, and even as he set foot to ground, Vanganury hastened toward him: a small brown man with immense sad eyes. He was shouting, “Master Holdernesh, I must desperately apologize for—”
“Save it!” Holdernesh retorted. “I chose your college for Mart the same as my father chose mine for me, in full knowledge that you stick to the traditional ways, holding classes in the physical presence of the teachers. I took it for granted you’d extend the principle to visiting lecturers. And Aimel, after all, is one of my own employees—somebody I’ve known for years!”
Members of the teaching staff, hurrying to add their support to what their principal had planned to say, slowed and backed away, their faces eloquent of relief. A senior policeman, resplendent in black uniform with silver braid at his wrists, thrust his way through the throng. He wore a communicator helmet spined with antennae.
“Are you Master Holdernesh?” he called.
“See my lawyer about my using the leaper!” Holdernesh barked, and made to push past. Vanganury’s message had made it clear that Mart was trapped in one of the lecture rooms that occupied the eastern side of the lawn on which he had landed, and that was where he was heading.
The policeman looked bewildered, then recovered.
“Who could think about such matters at a time like this? All I wanted to say was thank goodness you’ve turned up so quickly, though I’m afraid the situation is extremely grave … By the way, I’m Constable-Major Porch.”
Gradually Holdernesh felt himself calm. His breathing slowed, and the sense of swirling in his head diminished. The fact that someone apparently competent had already taken charge removed a great weight from his mind. He said, licking lips that tasted of the inevitable bitter dust, “How many are shut in?”
“An entire class. Almost forty.”
“Thirty-seven,” Vanganury muttered. He held his hands finger-linked in front of his body, as though to stop himself from wringing them.
“In one of those lecture rooms?”—pointing.
“Yes.”
Holdernesh forced himself to a halt, shading his eyes as he looked left and right along the facade of the building, made like virtually every structure on the planet out of vitrified blocks of wind-drifted loess. Was that someone frantically waving the other side of the third window … ?
No, just a trick of the light.
“I may not have got the full picture on the phone,” he said after a moment. “I’m afraid I overreacted when I was told my son was in danger. Describe again what actually happened, please.”
From the corner of his eye he noted that the police’s messages were finally having some effect on the crowd; people were starting to drift away, talking nervously among themselves. “You know the background, at least,” Porch suggested. “Yes, of course I do!”—more sharply than he intended. “Whenever one of our ships comes home, Principal Vanganury invites a crew member to address some of the students as part of their general-knowledge course.” He was sweating, though the day was far from warm, and dust was mingling with the moisture on his skin, creating an itchy gray mess. “Usually it’s her captain who obliges. This time Sers particularly asked for someone different, so my staff nominated Aimel Hoak. She’s a chief purser. Among other things she’s responsible for the good behavior of the passengers during a voyage.”
“I thought,” Vanganury whispered miserably, “the class would benefit by hearing of her problems. There have been complaints, or so one hears, concerning the unwillingness of rich tourists to abide by the necessary regulations, especially concerning health, and certain of our students can be rebellious and obstinate, thinking their families’ wealth makes them immune from our own discipline.”
That was too close to the point that had been raised at his abortive press conference. Holdernesh snapped, “Never mind what the reason was! The whole thing’s gone terribly wrong! And I’d never have imagined it in a thousand years. Why, Aimel is one of the keenest supporters of my project for a long-range starship. She even put in an application to be purser on its first voyage!”
“But you didn’t know,” Porch said in a flat voice, “that her enthusiasm had led her to convert to Sharing.”
Holdernesh stared at him blankly. “Sers didn’t tell me that on the phone!”
“We weren’t yet sure what was going on,” Vanganury muttered. “All we knew was that the automatics had slammed shut the quarantine doors around the lecture room and signaled an unknown-organism alert. It’s the first time they’ve operated since I took over, but of course they are always properly maintained.”
“I thought …”. Holdernesh canceled the words. “Oh, skip what I thought. Go on, blast you!”
“We assumed at first it was a mistake. If one expected them to shut, it would surely have been around a biology lab when a dangerous organism leaked from its container, or something like that. In an ordinary lecture room, where a spacefarer— thoroughly screened, given more medical examinations after every voyage than most of us undergo in a lifetime—was addressing a group of our own students, it seemed ridiculous. Only when we had the chance to replay the automatic recordings did it become clear what was happening.”
Porch said in a grim voice, “She had the usual arsenal of VAT material—visual-audio-tactile—and to begin with everything proceeded normally. She played holos and sound and touch recordings, described the life-style of people on the planets she’s visited, gave some idea of the different indigenous flora and fauna … and then all of a sudden she began to rave.”
“Do you wish to view the recording?” Vanganury offered. “I can have a copy beamed over in—”
“No! A summary will do!” Holdernesh rasped. “Porch, you’ve seen the material?”
“At high speed, that’s all, but of course I’m trained to take in that kind of stuff, and I’m getting a real-time feed as well.” Porch indicated the communicator he was wearing. As he did so, his
thumb brushed his cheek and left the same sort of grimy smear Holdernesh could feel on his own skin. “There are a handful of key terms one learns to listen for. Some of the students caught on right away and started to object.”
“Caught on? Recognized her as a Sharer?”
“Exactly. Sharing is a minuscule cult, but it’s attracted a lot of publicity these past few years, and by now most informed people must be aware of its slogans.”
If I could get my hands on some of those smug hypocritical pressfolk I was talking to earlier—!
But desire for revenge on their irresponsible behavior must take second place to rescuing the students—or Mart at least… Once again Holdernesh forced himself to remain calm.
“You mean phrases like ‘because we’re all the children of the Ship we must all share one another’s fate’?”
“That kind of thing, yes.”
“I’m going to drag my psycho-assessors through a hot radiation field!” Holdernesh growled. “That they could have let a practicing Sharer continue aboard one of my ships—!” He made a twisting gesture, as though strangling somebody invisible. “And she actually contrived to bring foreign organisms into the lecture hall? How? Not in her own body, that’s for sure!”
Porch and Vanganury exchanged glances. The latter said, “Apparently, yes.”
“But that’s impossible! During the return voyage, then again after landing—”
“She would have undergone exhaustive examinations, naturally,” Porch cut in. “Our best guess is that she imported the organisms by smearing a nutrient medium inside the cases of her holo crystals, which can’t be radiosterilized because that would blank them. After Customs released her belongings, she must have ingested the germs deliberately.”
“She’s insane!” Holdernesh whispered.
“They’re all insane!” Porch rapped. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, it’s because people like her exist that I’m not exactly keen about allowing the Sumbalans to land or funding your own long-range starship… Anyway, when she was challenged, she said straight out, ‘Yes, I am a Sharer! And now, like it or not, so are you!’ Then she laughed.”
