Mylai Tui was puzzled. ‘My lord, first there was the death of a great bird, and now there is the death of a child. Surely there is too much of dying in your heart?’
Poul Mer Lo smiled. ‘You are right. There is too much dying. It seems that I must learn to live again.’
THREE
In the year AD 2012 (local time) three star ships left Sol Three, known more familiarly to its inhabitants as Earth. The first star ship to venture out into the deep black yonder was – inevitably – the American vessel Mayflower. It was (and in this even the Russian and European inspection engineers agreed) the most ambitious, the largest and possibly the most beautiful machine ever devised by man. It had taken ten years, thirty billion new dollars and nine hundred and fourteen lives to assemble in the two-hour orbit. It was built to contain forty-five pairs of human beings and its destination was the Sirius system.
The second star ship to leave Sol Three was the Russian vessel Red October. Though not as large as the American ship it was (so the American and European inspection engineers concluded) somewhat faster. It, too, was expensive and beautiful. It, too, had cost many lives. The Russians, despite everyone’s scepticism, had managed to assemble it in the three-hour orbit in a mere six years. It was built to contain twenty-seven men and twenty-seven women (unpaired), and its destination was Procyon.
The third ship to leave was the Gloria Mundi. It had been built on a relative shoe-string in the ninety-minute orbit by the new United States of Europe. It was called the Gloria Mundi because the Germans would not agree to an English name, the French would not agree to a German name, the English would not agree to a French name and the Italians could not even agree among themselves on a name. So a name drawn from the words of a dead language was the obvious answer. And because the ship was the smallest of the vessels, its chief architect – an Englishman with a very English sense of humour – had suggested calling it The Glory of the World. It was designed to carry six pairs of human beings: one German pair, one French pair, one British pair, one Italian pair, one Swedish pair and one Dutch pair. It was smaller than the Russian ship and slower than the American ship. Inevitably its target star was farther away than either the American or the Russian target stars. It was bound for Altair – a matter of sixteen light-years or nearly twenty-one years, ship’s time.
In the twenty-first century the British sense of propriety was still a force to be reckoned with. That is why, on the morning of April 3rd, AD 2012. Paul Marlowe, wearing a red rose in the button-hole of his morning coat, appeared punctually at Caxton Hall registry office at 10.30 a.m. At 10.35 a.m. Ann Victoria Watkins appeared. By 10.50 a.m. the couple had been pronounced man and wife. It was estimated that three hundred million people witnessed the ceremony over Eurovision.
Paul and Ann did not like each other particularly: nor did they dislike each other. But as the British contribution to the crew of the Gloria Mundi they accepted their pairing with good grace. Paul, a trained space-hand, possessed the skills of psychiatry and teaching and was also fluent in French and German. Ann’s dowry was medicine and surgery, a working knowledge of Swedish and Italian and enough Dutch to make conversation under pressure.
After the ceremony they took a taxi to Victoria, a hover train to Gatwick, a strato-rocket to Woomera and then a ferry capsule to the ninety-minute orbit. They spent their honeymoon working through the pre-jump routines aboard the Gloria Mundi.
Despite many differences in size, design and accommodation, the American, Russian and European space ships all had one thing in common. They all contained sleeper units for the crews. None of the ships could travel faster than light – though the Russians claimed that given theoretically ideal conditions Red October could just pass the barrier – so their occupants were doomed to many years of star travel; during which it was a statistical certainty that some would die, go mad, mutiny or find even more ingenious ways of becoming useless. Unless they had sleeper units.
Suspended animation had been developed years before in the closing decades of the twentieth century. At first it had been used in a very limited way for heart transplants. Then someone had discovered that the simple process of freezing a neurotic for a period of days or weeks, depending on the degree of neurosis, could produce an almost complete cure. Then someone else hit upon the idea of using suspended animation for the insane, the incurable or the dying. Such people, it was argued, could be frozen for decades if necessary until an answer was found for their particular malady.
By the beginning of the twenty-first century, suspended animation had become an integral part of the way of life of every civilized community. Not only the seriously ill and the seriously mad were frozen. Criminals were frozen, suspended animation sentences ranging from one to fifty years, depending on the seriousness of the crime. And rich citizens, who had lived most of their lives and exhausted all the conventional rejuvenation techniques would go voluntarily into indefinite suspended animation in the sublime hope that one day somebody would discover the secret of immortality. Even the dead, if they were important enough and if they could be obtained soon after the point of clinical death, were frozen – on the theory that a few more decades would bring great advances in resurrection techniques.
But whatever the value of suspended animation was for those who hoped to cheat death, the asylum, the executioner or the normal laws of existence, it was certainly the ideal form of travelling for those who were destined to venture into deep space.
It was estimated that the Gloria Mundi could not possibly reach Altair in less than twenty years of subjective time. Therefore a programme of rotational suspended animation had been worked out for the crew. For the first three months of the voyage all crew members would be live and operational. For the rest of the voyage, with the exception of the last three months, each pair would, in turn, remain live for one month (terrestrial time) and then be suspended for five. In case of an emergency all five frozen pairs (or any individual whose special skill was required) could be defrozen in ten hours.
During the course of the long and uneventful voyage to Altair, Paul Marlowe spent a total of nearly four working years in the company of his ‘wife’. He never got to know her. As a psychiatrist, he would have thought that the absolute isolation of a long space voyage would have been bound to bring two people intimately together. But he never got to know her.
She had dark hair, an attractive face and a pleasant enough body. They made love quite a lot of times during their waking months. They shared jokes, they discussed books, they watched old films together. But somehow she was too dedicated, too remote. And he never really got to know her.
That, perhaps, was why he could summon no tears, could feel no personal sense of loss when she finally disappeared on Altair Five.
FOUR
Morning sunlight poured through four of the sixteen small glassless windows of the donjon. Poul Mer Lo was sleeping. The noia did not waken him. Clearly he had been touched by Oruri. He needed to sleep.
As always she marvelled at the stature and appearance of the outlander. He was half as high again as Mylai Tui, who was reckoned exceedingly tall – and therefore ugly – by her own people. His skin was interestingly pale, whereas hers was brown and almost, indeed, the prized black of the Bayani of ancient lineage. His eyes, when they were open, were light blue – a wondrous colour, since all Bayani eyes were either brown or ochre. The muscles in his arms and legs were like the muscles of a powerful animal. Which was strange since, though he was clearly a barbarian, he was a man of some sensibility. He was also very much a man; for she, who had experienced many vigorous Bayani as a priestess in the Temple of Gaiety, had found to her surprise that she could only accommodate his thanu with difficulty. The effort was at times painful: but also, at times, it produced joy greater even than the condescension of Oruri.
She shrank back from the mental blasphemy, shutting it out. Nevertheless she took joy in the remembered frenzies of Poul Mer Lo. Apart from the facts that his nose was rather sharp and h
is ears seemed to be imperfectly joined to his head his only serious malformation was that he had too many fingers.
Poul Mer Lo stirred and yawned. Then he opened his eyes.
‘Greetings, my lord,’ said Mylai Tui formally. ‘Oruri has bestowed upon us the blessing of another day.’
‘Greetings, Mylai Tui.’ He was getting familiar with the customs as well as with the language. ‘The blessing is ill deserved.’
But the words were mechanical and the look in his eyes was blank. Or far away. Far, far away …
‘Soon we shall eat and drink,’ she went on, hoping to bring him back to reality. ‘Soon we shall walk in the garden.’
‘Yes.’ Poul Mer Lo did not move. He lay on his back despondently, staring at the ceiling.
‘My lord,’ said Mylai Tui desperately, ‘tell me again the story of the silver bird. It is one that is most beautiful to hear.’
‘You already know the story of the silver bird.’ He did not look at her, but laughed bitterly. ‘You probably know it better than I do.’
‘Nevertheless, I would hear it once more … If my ears are still worthy.’
Poul Mer Lo sighed and raised himself on one arm, but still he did not look at her.
‘There is a land beyond the sky,’ he began. ‘It is a land filled with many people who are skilled in the working of metal. It is a land where men do not know the laws of Oruri. It is a land where people may talk to each other and see each other at a great distance. It is truly a land of miracles. Among the people of this land there are some who are very wise and also very skilled and very ambitious. They have looked at the night sky and said to themselves: “Truly the stars are far from us, yet they tempt us. Shall we not seek ways of reaching them so that we may know what they are like?” ’
Mylai Tui shivered and, as always at this point, interrupted. ‘Such men,’ she pronounced, ‘must not only be brave and mad. They must also be most eager to accept the embrace of Oruri.’
‘They do not know the laws of Oruri,’ pointed out Poul Mer Lo patiently. ‘They hunger only for knowledge and power … So it was that they dreamed of building a flock of silver birds whereon their young men and women might ride out to the stars.’
‘It was the old ones who should have made the journey, for their time was near.’
‘Nevertheless, it was the young ones who were chosen. For it was known that the stars were far away and that the flight of the silver birds would last many seasons.’
‘Then the young ones would grow old on the journey.’
‘No. The young ones did not grow old. For the wise men had found ways of making them sleep for the greater part of the journey.’
‘My lord,’ said Mylai Tui, ‘those who sleep too much also starve.’
‘These did not starve,’ retorted Poul Mer Lo, ‘for their sleep was deeper than any living sleep that is known in Baya Nor … You have asked for the story, noia, so let me tell it; otherwise neither of us will be content.’
Mylai Tui was saddened. He only addressed her as noia – knowing that it was incorrect – when he was angry.
‘I am reproved by Poul Mer Lo,’ she said gravely. ‘It is just.’
‘Well, then. Three silver birds left the land beyond the sky, each of them bound upon a different journey. I and eleven companions were chosen to ride the last and smallest of the birds. We were bound for the star that you know as the sun of Baya Nor. The wise men told us that the flight would take twenty or more cool seasons … We journeyed, most of us sleeping, but some always watching. As we came near to this star we saw that it shone brightly on a fair world, the world of Baya Nor. To us who had ridden upon the silver bird through a great darkness for so many seasons, the land of Baya Nor seemed very beautiful. We directed the bird to set us down so that we might see what manner of people lived here. Nine of our party set out to wander through your forests and did not return. After many days, we who were left decided to look for them. We did not find them. We found only the darts of your hunters and the donjons of Baya Nor … Because no one returned to set the bird upon its homeward journey, it destroyed itself by fire.’ Poul Mer Lo suddenly looked at her and smiled. ‘And so, Mylai Tui, I am here and you are here; and together we must make the best of it.’
The noia let out a deep breath. ‘It is a sweet and sad story,’ she said simply. ‘And I am glad, my lord, that you came. I am glad that I have known you.’
Outside there were sounds of marching feet. Presently the bars were taken from the door. Two slaves, watched by two guards, entered the donjon with platters of food and pitchers of water.
But Poul Mer Lo was not hungry.
FIVE
The Gloria Mundi had gone into the thousand-kilometre orbit round Altair Five. Farther out in solar space other satellites were detected; but they had been rotating round the planet somewhat longer than the terrestrial vessel and they were untenanted. They were nothing more than great dead lumps of rock – the nine moons of Altair Five that had once, perhaps, been a single moon. To the naked eye they were large enough to reveal themselves as a flock of large and apparently mobile stars.
The planet itself was a miracle. Statistically it was the jackpot, for the occupants of the Gloria Mundi could not bring themselves to believe that – in a cosmos so empty, yet whose material content was so diverse – either of the other terrestrial vessels could have encountered an earth-type planet. The odds were greater, as the Swedish physicist succinctly put it, than the chance of dealing four consecutive suits from a shuffled pack of playing cards.
Altair Five was not only earth-type; it was oddly symmetrical and – to people who had conditioned themselves to expect nothing but barren worlds or, at best, planets inhabited by life forms that were low in the biological series – quite beautiful. It was slightly smaller than Mars and nine-tenths of it was ocean, spotted here and there by a few small colonies of islands. But there was quite a large north polar continent and an almost identical south polar continent. But, most interesting of all, there was a broad horseshoe of a continent stretching round the equatorial region, one end of it separated from the other by a few hundred kilometres of water.
The polar continents were covered for the most part by eternal snows and ice; but the great mass of equatorial land displayed nearly all the features that might be observed on the terrestrial continent of Africa from a similar altitude.
There were mountains and deserts, great lakes, bush and tropical rain forests. Under the heat of the sun, the deserts burned with fiery, iridescent hues of yellow and orange and red; the mountains were brown, freckled with blue and white; the bush was a scorched amber; and the rain forests seemed to glow with a subtle pot-pourri of greens and turquoises.
The planet rotated on its own axis once every twenty-eight hours and seventeen minutes terrestrial time. Calculations showed that it would complete one orbit round Altair, its sun, in four hundred and two local days.
The life of the planet was clearly based upon the carbon cycle; and an analysis of its atmosphere showed only that there was a slightly higher proportion of nitrogen than in that of Sol Three.
The Gloria Mundi stayed in the thousand-kilometre orbit for four hundred and ten revolutions or approximately twenty terrestrial days. During that time every aspect of the planet was photographed and telephotographed. In one section of the equatorial continent, the photographs revealed the classic sign of occupation by intelligent beings – irrigation or, just possibly, transport canals.
The occupants of the Gloria Mundi experienced sensations akin to ecstasy. They had endured confinement, synthetic hibernation and the black star-pricked monotony of a deep space voyage; they had crossed sixteen light-years in sixteen years of suspended animation and over four years of waking and ageing. And at the end of it their privation and endurance had been rewarded by the best of all possible finds – a world in which people lived. Whether they were people with four eyes and six legs did not matter. What mattered was that they were intelligent and creative. Wit
h beings of such calibre it would surely be possible to establish fruitful communication.
The Gloria Mundi touched down within twenty kilometres of the nearest canals. With such a large ship – and bearing in mind that the German pilot had only experienced planetary manoeuvres of the vessel in simulation – it was a feat of considerable skill. The vessel burned a ten-kilometre swathe through the luxuriant forest then sat neatly on its tail while the four stability shoes groped gently through the smouldering earth for bedrock. They found it less than five metres down.
For the first three planetary days, nobody went outside the vessel. Vicinity tests were conducted. At the end of three days the airlock was opened and two armoured volunteers descended by nylon ladder into a forest that was already beginning to cover the scars of its great burning. The volunteers stayed outside for three hours, collecting samples but never straying more than a few metres from the base of the ship. One of them shot and killed a large snake that seemed to exhibit the characteristics of a terrestrial boa.
On the ninth day of planetfall an exploration team consisting of the Swedish pair, the French pair and the Dutch pair set out. Each of the members of the team wore thigh-length boots, plastic body armour and a light plastic visor. The temperature was far too high for them to wear more – other than fully armoured and insulated and altogether restricting space suits.
The women carried automatic sweeper rifles: the men carried nitro-pistols and atomic grenade throwers. All of them carried transceivers. Between them they had enough fire-power to dispose of a twentieth-century armoured corps.
Their instructions were to complete a semicircular traverse in the planetary east at a radius of five kilometres, to maintain radio contact every fifteen terrestrial minutes and to return within three planetary days.
All went well for the first planetary day and night. They encountered and reported many interesting animals and birds, but no sign of intelligent beings. In the middle of the second planetary day, radio communication ceased. At the end of the third day, the team did not return.
Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset Page 42
