"Then send a message back in time and get someone to deflect the meteorite!" said Pierre.
"Unfortunately, our time machines don't allow communication with times before the machine is first turned on," said Sky-Teacher.
"Then we've had it," said Pierre, his body jerking about in his console chair. "The hull won't last more than two minutes."
Rescue
06:53:40 GMT TUESDAY 21 JUNE 2050
An intermittent buzzing sound radiated through the crust. Cliff-Web tried to ignore it and continued with the pleasurable task of setting out tiny parasol plants in a border around his back garden to replace the old ones that had gone to seed. He pulled up the old plants and put them in a pile for Moving-Sand to haul away, then replaced them with new little shoots. They were a new variety he and Moving-Sand were developing from a mutant form he had discovered on his last engineering job.
The normal parasol plant had twelve supporting rods that grew up and out from the single tap root to support the reddish, cool concave top surface that radiated to the sky. These shoots had twenty-four rods. The doubling was not simple, however, but was more like two plant skeletons trying to exist under the same skin, for the glowing pollen tips of the cantilevered rods alternated in sex and color. Normal parasol plants slowly pulsed with time, the pollen tips turning from deep red-black to a bright white-hot glow, then back again. The two sets of tips on the double parasol were out of phase. While one set was dark, the alternate set was bright, producing a pleasing blinking effect.
The buzzing persisted.
"Moving-Sand," he hollered into the crust. "Can you answer that for me?"
"You get it. I'm busy cleaning out the Slink rooms," came a voice from the rear of the compound.
With a shrug, Cliff-Web emptied out his gardening pouch, wiped his manipulator on a wiper, dissolved the stubby, bony
arm back into his body, and made his way to his study. The buzzing grew louder as he entered the room. Lassie was still resting in the warm corner of the room. He glided onto the taste-plate in the floor, and a portion of his undertread touched the ANSWER square on the screen. It was Admiral Star-Glider, head of the Slow One Rescue Expedition. The picture was speckled with white spots again. He would have to call the video-link company and get them to find the bad spot in the X-ray fiber cable to his compound.
"Turn on your holovid to the public services channel," said Star-Glider. "The legislature is winding up its debate on the funding for the Jumbo Bagel. There should be a tally soon, and then we will be able to start work."
"Seeing" Star-Glider through the ultrasensitive taste buds built into his tread, Cliff-Web turned some of his eyes toward a silvery screen set in one wall of his study. He formed a tendril and, reaching to a small console set into the floor, touched some panels. Brief scenes flashed in front of the screen as the planar phased-array antenna embedded in a corner of his compound switched its reception beam to receive a stream of modulated gamma rays coming from a direct broadcast satellite hovering to the west of the Eyes of Bright.
Four of his eyes looked upward at the pattern of six glowing asteroids hovering over Bright. The pattern was badly askew.
"The Six Eyes are already way out of their pattern," said Cliff-Web. "We should have been up there to fix that long ago. After all, we promised we would."
"Well, politicians like to make promises," Star-Glider replied. "But when it comes to appropriating money for it, they seem to feel they can take their time, especially in cases like this one, where there is no real urgency. We have plenty of time."
"We did have plenty of time when the accident happened," Cliff-Web reminded him. "But the politicians have fooled around for six greats of turns trying to find a cheaper way to do it. My engineers and I have done our best, but there is no way we can build that giant inertia drive engine and get it up into space for less than a billion stars, and the longer they wait, the more it is going to cost. How are the humans taking it?"
"According to Sky-Teacher, they are becoming panicky. He can tell by the overtones in their speech."
"What is the present estimate of the time to failure?"
"It's hard to tell. We have an eight body gravity model that can predict the future positions of the ship and asteroids with respect to Egg fairly accurately, but the real unknown is the strength of the spacecraft hull. The humans are in the process of climbing into their acceleration protection tanks, and they should be safe there for a while. But, I would like to get the rocket fixed before the hull fails so the humans can take the whole ship back up when it is time for them to go. I would guess we have at least two human minutes."
"That gives us four greats of turns," Cliff-Web said. "I should be able to get the drive built in less than two. If we get the money." He turned his attention to the three-dimensional scene floating above the floor in front of the silvery holovid screen. The legislators had gathered in a large depression in the center of Bright that served as a meeting compound. The place wasn't used very often lately, since most large gatherings for business and entertainment were carried out through multiple communications linkups rather than in person.
This was the last session of the legislature before the recess for elections, however, and it was traditionally held at the meeting compound. The last item of business left in this great's session was the appropriation of the money to build the giant scale inertia drive engine needed to replace the failing engine on the human herder rocket. The large, doughnut-shaped device had been dubbed the "Jumbo Bagel" by the holovid newscasters. The name came from the engine's resemblance to a confection eaten by the humans. One of the legislators was speaking, and the holocamera zoomed in on the waving eye-stubs as the speaker's pad amplified his tread motions.
"... I, for one, don't want to go back to my clan just before election and say that we are going to have to raise taxes just to save a bunch of ignorant Slow Ones who were too dumb to build their spacecraft correctly. Let them rescue themselves, I say!"
"I'm sure my esteemed colleague in the third sextant of the chamber didn't really mean that," another speaker chided. "We certainly can't blame the Slow Ones for being ignorant. They live so slowly that there is no chance they
will ever catch up with us. Yet they are not animals. We cannot ignore their plight and just let them die. After all, they did help us once."
"But that was long ago. Back when we were still but savages. We have paid them back in full by filling up their memory crystals with all the advanced technology they could possibly use. We even cleaned out the black holes in their Sun to stop the ice ages they would otherwise have to face. We owe them nothing, I say. Space exploration is dangerous. People—humans and cheela alike—are often killed by unforeseen accidents. These Slow Ones knew they were on a risky mission when they volunteered. They were unlucky and will have to accept their fate. Why should we empty our pouches to save them from their own foolhardi-ness. I will vote No!"
"He can't be serious!" Cliff-Web exploded in anger. "We can't let those humans die when we could easily save them! He must be playing to the voters. Is there really a chance that those fools won't give us the money?"
"If it comes to a tally this turn, the appropriation will probably pass, although it will be close," Star-Glider calculated. "What I am afraid of is that they will decide to put the tally off until after the elections. We will then have a large number of newly elected clan representatives and we will have to go through the whole round of re-educating and re-justifying. It could cost us a full great of turns, and time is getting short...."
Another cheela moved to a speaker's pad. She had to be leader of the fourth sextant since she came from the frontmost pad of that sextant. Her body was large and firm and she had great presence. The wave-pattern in her eye-stub motions moved slower and slower as she drew the attention of the assembled legislators.
"The legislator from the first sextant and the legislator from the third sextant are both competent people They have both looked at the same set of f
acts yet can't seem to agree. I am sure that there are others of you with similar differences of opinion. I would like to propose a compromise position. I recommend that we return this appropriations scroll to the hole in the scroll wall that it came from, and pull it again when the elections are over. By that time we will have more information from our accountants and engineers and we can make a more knowledgeable decision. Perhaps by that time,
they will have found a less costly way of carrying out the project."
"The humans are in danger, we must act now if we are going to do any good at all!" said a tread from the first sextant. The leader of the fourth sextant paused, formed a pair of tendrils, reached into a pouch, and pulled out a scroll. She placed it on the floor where the gravity held it flat. Lowering one of her eyes near the ground, she proceeded to read.
"Record of the reports to the Legislative Sub-Group on Space, Communications, and Slow One Interactions. Dated Turn 112 of the 2875th great of turns since Contact. A progress report from the Commander of the Slow One Rescue Expedition, Admiral Star-Glider." She skipped over a portion, then continued."
"I quote Admiral Star-Glider. 'Our analysts estimate the tides will be high enough to tear the hull of the human spacecraft by 2880. The humans can survive in the tidal protection tanks until perhaps 3010.' " she continued. "In a later section ... 'From the time a start is authorized, our engineers estimate that it will take about two greats to make the inertial drive engine and install it in the human rocket.' "
"We have time. In a few turns it will be just 2876. The humans will be safe for at least four greats, and we only need two greats to complete the task. Surely we can defer a decision for a short period while we go through elections."
The leader of the first sextant moved swiftly forward to a speaker's pad. "The distinguished leader of the fourth sextant neglected to continue the quote of the Commander of the Slow One Rescue Expedition. Would she please read the next portion of the report while she has it so conveniently under tread?"
Her eye-stubs twitching in annoyance, she continued reading. " 'If there is a delay in the start of construction, however, the actual cost may exceed the present estimated cost. To maintain the schedule, a number of fabrication steps will have to be taken in parallel. There is a possibility of error and costly rework may be necessary.' " She raised her eye from the scroll, "Yes, there is risk in delaying the start, but there is risk in starting now and not looking for a less expensive solution. As leader of the fourth sextant, I press for a tally on holing the scroll."
"That does it," Star-Glider muttered. "Once a leader of a sextant presses for a tally, debate stops until the tally is
taken. I'm glad she was at least made to read the part about the extra expense, but she covered herself well. This is going to be close. If the tally were yes or no to appropriate the money, then we would probably win, because no one wants to go on scroll as being willing to let the humans die. But there are a lot of yes tallies that would be just as happy to put off a decision until later."
The view on the holovid zoomed back to show the legislators moving to their pads, where they touched their tread screens to indicate their tallies. In a glowing rectangle inset in the center of the holovid block, Cliff-Web could see the tally. It had reached 114 Yes and 112 No for holing of the scroll when two more legislators scurried down the ramps and the total was tied at 114 each.
"There is one legislator missing!" Admiral Star-Glider exclaimed.
"I see someone in the back."
"Bright's Curse!" Admiral Star-Glider quickly identified the missing cheela. "It's Talking-Tread of the fifth sextant. He's bound to tally for holing the scroll. But he's only got three sethturns to get to his voting pad."
They watched the legislator moving down the ramp. He was one of the senior legislators, and his pad was down near the center of the meeting bowl.
"One sethturn left," Star-Glider whispered. "Just 12 blinks ... 8 .. .7 ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ..." A gong rang out and the tally remained tied at 114 Yes and 114 No.
"A tie tally is no tally," the tally counter announced.
"We've won!" shouted Star-Glider's image so loudly that Cliff-Web felt his tread tingle. "Pack your pouches. I'll see you at the East Pole Spacecraft Assembly Plant."
"Won?" Cliff-Web said. "They haven't even started to take a tally on the appropriation. How can we have won?"
"Considering how easy it is on the brain-knot of a legislator to postpone things, that last tally was an overwhelming victory. Take my word, when they finally do get around to voting on the appropriations scroll, it will be 3 to 1 in our favor."
But Star-Glider was wrong. With the leader of the fourth sextant pressing for a tread tally, the vote was unanimous.
Cliff-Web turned off the holovid and returned to his gardening. It wouldn't do to leave the border unfinished, and he needed the little bit of peaceful relaxation that came from
working the soft crumbled crust with his manipulators before he went off to take personal charge of one of the larger engineering projects his company was undertaking.
The gardening finished, he returned to his quarters and started to stuff his pouches with the things he would need during his long trip away from the compound.
"Moving-Sand!" he called. "Where are my engineering badges and body paint? There's bound to be some formal ceremonies and I will have to wear them."
"They are still in your travel bag," said Moving-Sand, bringing the bag to him. "You never unpacked from the last trip. I took out a bunch of dirty wipers that had so much dirt and food stains on them you could use them for compost. There are clean rolls of wipers and some glow-jewels in the lower left hole of your dressing wall."
"Just put the wipers in the bag," said Cliff-Web. 'The glow-jewels can stay. This is a job, not a party."
"You will take the glow-jewels," Moving-Sand insisted. "You'll be visiting the space stations and Topside Platform. You may not think much of yourself, but you're a celebrity to those people. There will be receptions, and you should look like the owner of one of the largest private companies on Egg." Moving-Sand pulled the radioactive jewels made of neutron-fat uranium crystals out of the hole in the dressing wall. He gave them to Cliff-Web, who watched the jewels for a while as they sparkled with gamma-ray emission from the spontaneously fissioning uranium nuclei, then tucked them into his travel bag. He opened a pouch in his side and tucked the travel bag away in his body. He would have to take it out again when he took the Jump Loop transport. They only allowed a small amount of pouched baggage in the main cabin of the jumpcraft.
He went to his study, pouched a few instruments and technical scrolls, then gave his robotic office secretary instructions for handling messages. Lassie, having seen her master leave many times before, moved slowly from her resting pad and came over to have him pat her on the eye-stubs. As Cliff-Web patted the balding Slink, he made soft electronic whispering noises to her, while at the same time talking to Moving-Sand with his undertread.
"It will be at least a half-great before I can take time away from the project to come back for a visit," he said. "It could be that Lassie will die while I'm gone."
"I'll take care of her," Moving-Sand promised. "The rest of the Slinks will be glad to have something besides Flow-Slow meat in their meat-bins."
"Don't feed her to the Slinks," said Cliff-Web. "She has been my faithful Slink since engineering school. I will eat her myself."
"I can't understand you!" Moving-Sand sounded disgusted. "Here you are rich enough to eat prime cheela steaks every day and now you tell me you want to suck old, stringy Slink meat."
"I do," said Cliff-Web. "But perhaps you're right about it being old. Better make ground meat out of the tougher cuts." He gave Lassie one last pat, picked up his mascot plant Pretty-Web, and flowed out the door, through the courtyard, and out to the street where a robotic glide-car was waiting to take him to the Jump Loop.
He slid onto the waiting plate of thick metal between the front shie
ld and the rear power unit, and the transparent superconducting shell closed over him. The glide-car rose a few microns and sped down the street, riding on the traveling ripples of magnetic field that it generated in its base plate.
The passenger terminal for the Jump Loop was on the outskirts of Bright, not far from the ruins of the ancient Holy Temple. There was some restoration work going on there, and Cliff-Web could see the large crust-moving machines working on an eye-mound. The job was one of the few that Web Construction had lost. He and his engineers were used to high-technology jobs and always ended up losing on price for crust-moving projects. The glide-car came to a halt, and Cliff-Web inserted his magnecard in the slot. The glide-car subtracted 8 stars and 64 greths and released him from his temporary transparent prison.
The terminal was in a tough part of town, so he moved quickly across the street toward the door marked IN. Just as he activated the automatic door with his tread, a small youngling burst through the opening going the wrong way. He was filthy and his decorationless hide had more scars than most soldiers. Holding the door open with his tread, he jabbed a sharp metal pricker at Cliff-Web, who rapidly reversed his tread ripple.
"That's right, you fat egg-sucker. Move back and you won't get hurt." He looked back through the door.
"Crumpled-Tread ... Speckle-Top ... Move it!" he hollered. "The Clankers are right behind you!" Two more street urchins burst through the door; they were even smaller than the gang leader. The littlest one had some costume jewelry and an embroidered wiper she had obviously stolen. She was no more than a hatchling, and Cliff-Web could look down on her topside to see that "Speckle-Top" was indeed covered with spots of different emittance than the rest of her body. The speckled pattern extended to her eyes, some of which were pink instead of the normal dark red.
Crumpled-Tread gave the gang leader one of the two travel bags he had snatched, and the three street urchins took off in opposite directions. Cliff-Web heard a banging on the closing automatic door and stepped on the activator mat to open the door and let the Public Peace Officer out. Her twelve eyes took everything in at a glance, and she took off after the gang leader, who was still trying to stuff a heavy travel bag in a pouch. Cliff-Web watched her go, but it was obvious that the officer, weighed down with her weapons, badges, and communicator, was not likely to catch the fleet youngling.
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