EIGHT
The half-starved youth, clad in a threadbare samu, who climbed up the steps as Poul Mer Lo watched from his verandah, seemed vaguely familiar. But though there were not many beggars in Baya Nor, their faces all looked the same – like those of the proverbial Chinamen to people on the other side of a world on the other side of the sky …
‘Oruri greets you,’ said the youth, neglecting to hold out his begging bowl.
‘The greeting is a blessing,’ retorted Poul Mer Lo automatically. After two fifty-day Bayani months, he found ritual conversation quite easy. According to form, the youth should now tell of the nobility of his grandfather, the virility of his father, the selfless devotion of his mother and the disaster that Oruri had inflicted upon them all to bring joy through penitence.
But the boy did not launch into the expected formula. He said: ‘Blessed also are they who have known many wonders. I may speak with you?’
Suddenly, Poul Mer Lo, who had been sitting cross-legged with Mylai Tui, enjoying the light evening breeze, recognized the voice. He sprang to his feet.
‘Lord, I did not—’
‘Do not recognize me!’ The words shot out imperiously. Then the boy relaxed, and carried on almost apologetically: ‘I am Shah Shan, of late a waterman. I may speak with you?’
‘Yes, Shah Shan, you may speak with me. I am Poul Mer Lo, a stranger now and always.’
The boy smiled and held out his begging bowl. ‘Oruri has seen fit to grace me with a slight hunger. Perhaps he foresaw our meeting.’
Silently, Mylai Tui rose to her feet, took the bowl and disappeared into the house. Poul Mer Lo watched her curiously.
She had seemed almost not to see Shah Shan at all.
‘Poul Mer Lo is gracious,’ said the boy. ‘It is permitted to sit?’
‘It is permitted to sit,’ returned Poul Mer Lo gravely.
The two of them sat cross-legged on the verandah, and there was silence. Presently Mylai Tui returned with the bowl. It contained a small quantity of kappa, the cereal that was the staple diet of the poor and that the prosperous only ate with meat and vegetables.
Shah Shan took the kappa and ate it greedily with his fingers. When he had finished, he belched politely.
‘I have a friend,’ he said, ‘whose head has been troubled with dreams and strange thoughts. I think that you may help him.’
‘I am sorry for your friend. I do not know that I can help him, but if he comes to me, I will try.’
‘The kappa is still green,’ said Shah Shan.
Poul Mer Lo was familiar enough with idiomatic Bayani to understand that the time was not ripe.
‘My friend is of some importance,’ went on the boy. ‘He has much to occupy him. Nevertheless, he is troubled … See, I will show you something that he has shown me.’
Shah Shan rose to his feet, went down the verandah steps and found a small stick. He proceeded to draw in the dust.
Poul Mer Lo watched him, astounded.
Shah Shan had drawn the outline of the Gloria Mundi.
‘My friend calls this a silver bird,’ he explained. ‘But it does not look like a bird. Can you explain this?’
‘It is truly a silver bird. It is a – a—’ Poul Mer Lo floundered. There was no Bayani word for machine, or none that he knew. ‘It was fashioned by men in metal,’ he said at last, ‘as a sculptor fashions in stone. It brought me to your world.’
‘There is another thing,’ continued Shah Shan. ‘My friend has seen the silver bird passing swiftly round a great ball. The ball was very strange. It was not a ball of yarn such as the children play with. It was a ball of water. And there was some land on which forests grew. And in the forests there were waterways. Also there was a city with many temples and four great reservoirs … My friend was disturbed.’
Poul Mer Lo was even more amazed. ‘Your friend need not be disturbed,’ he said at length. ‘He saw truly what has happened. The great ball is your world. The reservoirs are those of Baya Nor … Your friend has had a very wonderful dream.’
Shah Shan shook his head. ‘My friend has a sickness. The world is flat – flat as the face of water when there is no wind. It is known that if a man journeys far – if he is mad enough to journey far – from Baya Nor, he will fall off the edge of the world. Perhaps if he is worthy, he will fall on to the bosom of Oruri. Otherwise there can be no end to his falling.’
Poul Mer Lo was silent for a moment or two. Then he said hesitantly: ‘Shah Shan, I, too, have a friend who seems wise though he is still very young. He told me a story about six men who found a sleeping tlamyn. Each of the men thought the tlamyn was something else. Eventually, they argued so much that it woke up and ate them.’
‘I have heard the story,’ said Shah Shan gravely. ‘It is amusing.’
‘The tlamyn is truth. It is not given to men to understand truth completely. However wise they are, they are only permitted to see a little of the truth. But may not some see more than others?’
Shah Shan’s forehead wrinkled. ‘It is possible,’ he said presently, ‘that a stranger to this land may see a different countenance of the truth … A stranger who has journeyed far and therefore witnessed many happenings.’
Poul Mer Lo was encouraged. ‘You speak wisely. Listen then, to the strange thoughts of a stranger. Time is divided into day and night, is it not? And in the day there is a great fire in the sky which ripens the kappa, rouses the animals and gives the light by which men see … What is the name of this great fire?’
‘It is called the sun.’
‘And what is the name of all the land whereon the sun shines?’
‘It is called the earth.’
‘But the sun does not shine on the earth by night. At night there are many tiny points of light when the sky is clear, but they do not give warmth. What is the Bayani word for these cold, bright points of light?’
‘Stars.’
‘Shah Shan, I have journeyed among the stars and I swear to you that they seem small and cold only because they are very far away. In reality they are as hot and bright and big as the sun that shines over Baya Nor. Many of them shine on worlds such as this, and their number is greater than all the hairs on all the heads of your people … My own home is on a world that is also called Earth. It, too, is warmed by a sun. But it is so far away that a silver bird is needed to make the journey. And now that the silver bird on which I came is dead, I do not think I shall return again.’
Shah Shan was watching him intently. ‘There are cities like Baya Nor on your earth?’
‘There are cities greater than Baya Nor. Cities where men accomplish wonderful things with metal and other substances.’
‘Is Oruri worshipped in your cities?’
‘For my people, Oruri has many different names.’
‘And you have god-kings?’
‘Yes, but again they are known by different names.’
‘I have heard,’ said Shah Shan, smiling, ‘that Enka Ne permitted you to keep all that was found with you. They were things which the god-king found interesting but of no practical value. Is there anything among these things that would lend weight to the wonders of which you speak?’
Poul Mer Lo hesitated. There was the atomic powered miniature transceiver – the most he could raise on it would be static. There was the electronic wristwatch, a beautiful instrument but lacking, perhaps, the dramatic quality he needed to convince Shah Shan that he spoke the truth.
And there was the sweeper rifle. The ace that he had sworn only to use in extremity.
Should he risk throwing the ace away? He looked at Shah Shan, a boy filled with curiosity and a turmoil of strange new notions. Poul Mer Lo made his decision.
‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I will bring you something that is both wonderful and terrible.’
He went into the house, took the sweeper rifle from the niche he had made for it and returned to the verandah.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is a weapon that, if it is used properly, could kil
l half your people.’
Shah Shan looked at the small plastic and metal object uncomprehendingly.
‘Observe,’ said Poul Mer Lo. He stood on the verandah, raised the rifle to his shoulder, pushed the breeder button and sighted at the base of a large tree about a hundred metres away. He pressed the trigger.
There was a faint whine, and the rifle vibrated almost imperceptibly. At the base of the tree, a plume of smoke began to rise. Then the tree toppled over.
‘Observe,’ said Poul Mer Lo. He switched his aim to a clear stretch of water on a waterway that was about two hundred metres away. He pressed the trigger. The water began to stream, then boil, then produce a miniature waterspout.
‘Observe,’ said Poul Mer Lo. He aimed at the ground not far from the verandah and blasted a small crater in which the lava hissed and bubbled long after he had put the rifle down.
Shah Shan put out a hand and touched the weapon gingerly. ‘Truly, it is the work of gods,’ he said at last. ‘How many have you destroyed with it?’
Poul Mer Lo smiled. ‘None. There has been no cause.’
‘It shall be remembered,’ said Shah Shan. Then he, too, smiled. ‘But it did not save you from the darts of the hunters, did it?’
‘No, it did not save me from the darts of the hunters.’
‘That, too, must be remembered,’ said Shah Shan. He rose. ‘My lord, you have given me kappa, you have nourished my spirit, you have shown, perhaps, that my friend is not entirely mad. Oruri is our witness … I will go now, for time runs swifter than water. And for many there is much thinking to be done. Live in peace, friend of my friend … The fingers did not cause too much pain?’
‘It is over,’ said Poul Mer Lo briefly. ‘It was a small price.’
Shah Shan formally touched his lips and his eyes, then turned and went down the verandah steps.
Poul Mer Lo watched him make his way towards the sacred city.
Without speaking, Mylai Tui picked up the empty kappa bowl and the sweeper rifle and took them away.
NINE
There had been many discussions aboard the Gloria Mundi about the possibility, probability and variety of extraterrestrial life. During the first three months of the voyage, before any of the twelve crew members had been suspended, the discussions tended to take place on the mess deck after dinner, or in the library. During the last three months of the voyage they tended to take place in the astrodome. But during more than nineteen years of star-flight, when only one pair was operational at a time, the favourite place for discussion was the navigation deck. It was there that the ship’s log was kept up to date. It was there that diaries were written and letters ‘posted’ for successive pairs so that the month-long vigil would not be too lonely.
It was there that in the seventeenth year of star time, Paul and Ann Marlowe held a champagne and chicken supper to celebrate their successful triumph over the first meteor perforation of the entire voyage. It had not been a very big meteor – less than an inch in diameter – but it had passed with a musical ping clean through the hold of the Gloria Mundi, leaving what looked like two neat large calibre bullet holes on each side of the ship’s hull.
As soon as the air pressure dropped the alarm bells began to ring. Paul and Ann, mindful of basic training, immediately dashed to the nearest pressure suits and were fully encased long before they were in any danger of explosive decompression. It took them barely five minutes to trace the leaks and another fifteen minutes to process the self-sealer strips and make a chemical weld. Then Paul covered the emergency plugs with two slabs of half-inch titanium, and the crisis was over. It had not been a big crisis really, but it was a good excuse to open one of the bottles of champagne. After he had made a brief statement in the log, Paul scribbled a note to the French pair, who were next on watch. It read: Since we saved you from a fate worse than freezing, we feel entitled to broach a bottle of the Moet et Chandon ’11. I believe it was a very fine year … Don’t be too envious. We really had to work for it. Paul.
And so it came about that he and Ann were sitting at table on the navigation deck with the Moet et Chandon in a makeshift ice bucket and Altair on the other side of the paraplex window, more than two light years away and looking like a fiery marble.
‘Suppose,’ said Paul, after his second glass, ‘we came upon a world that was nothing but water. Not a bit of land anywhere. What the hell would we do?’
Ann shook her dark hair and giggled. She had never been much given to alcohol, and the champagne had gone to her head. She hiccupped gravely. ‘That’s easy. Go into low orbit and drop a couple of skin divers complete with aqualungs to look for intelligent sponges.’
There was a brief silence. Then Paul said tangentially: ‘It’s an odd thing, but I’ve never been quite sure whether or not I believe in God.’
‘What is God?’ demanded Ann. ‘What is God but an extension of the ego – a sort of megalomania by proxy?’
Paul laughed. ‘Don’t mix it with me, dear, in the field of psychological jargon. You’re only a gifted amateur. I’m a hardened professional.’
‘Well, what the hell has God got to do with intelligent sponges?’ demanded Ann belligerently.
‘Nothing at all … Except that if God exists he might just possibly have a sense of humour far more subtle than we bargain for. He might have created intelligent sponges, moronic supermen, parthenogenetic pygmies, immortal sloths or sex-crazed centipedes just for kicks – or just to see what them crazy mixed-up human beings would do when they encountered them.’
Ann giggled once more. ‘If there is a God, and I don’t think there is, I’ll bet that human beings are His pièce de godlike resistance. They are so damn complicated He would have got Himself confused if He’d tried to dream up anything more complicated … Anyway, if Altair has inhabitable planets, my money is on sex-crazed centipedes … At least it would be amusing. Just think what they could do with all those legs.’
Paul filled their champagne glasses again and in doing so emptied the bottle. He gazed at it regretfully. ‘There are further complications … Predestination. Kismet. What if our little venture is not a shot in the dark? What if the whole thing is fully programmed? What if we are all just shoving back the light-years to keep an appointment in Samara.’
‘You talk a lot of twaddle,’ said Ann. ‘Causation is quite nice and cosy – if you don’t let it get out of hand. An infinitely variable universe must be filled with infinitely variable possibilities … But if you want to know what I think, I think we’re going to find no planets at all – or else a stack of bloody burnt out cinders. The one thing we are not going to find is intelligent life.’
‘Why?’
‘Finagle’s Second Law.’
‘And what, pray, is that?’
Ann was incredulous. ‘You mean to say you’ve never heard of Finagle’s Second Law?’
‘I haven’t even heard of the first.’
Ann hiccupped. ‘Pardon me. That’s the point. There is no first. There is no third, either. Only a second.’
‘All right, I get the message. I won’t even ask who Finagle was. But what the hell is his Second Law?’
‘It states that if in any given circumstances anything can possibly go wrong, it invariably will.’
‘So you think we’ll either score three lemons or come unstuck?’
‘It’s safer to think that,’ said Ann darkly. ‘Nobody in their right mind would tangle with Finagle. The great trick, the ultimate discipline, is always to expect the worst. Then whatever else happens, you’re bound to be pleasantly surprised.’
Paul was silent for a minute or two. Then he said: ‘I think I’ll go right out on a limb and set myself up as a clairvoyant.’
Ann turned to the paraplex window and gazed sombrely at Altair. ‘Well, there’s your crystal, gypsy mine. What do you see?’
Paul followed her gaze, staring at Altair intently. ‘I see the jackpot. We shall find an earth-type life-bearing planet. There might even be intelligent be
ings on it.’
‘Christ, you’re pushing the odds, aren’t you?’
‘To blazes with the odds,’ said Paul. ‘Yes, I’ll go all the way. We shall find intelligent beings on it … And I rather think we shall keep that appointment in Samara.’
Ann smiled. ‘And what, pray, is that?’
‘You mean to say you’ve never heard of an appointment in Samara?’
‘Touché. Prosit. Grüss Gott … That champagne was terrific.’
‘It’s an oriental tale,’ said Paul, ‘And the story goes that the servant of a rich man in Baghdad or Basra, or some place like that, went out to do a day’s shopping. But in the market place he met Death, who gave him a strange sort of look … Well the servant chased off home and said to his master: “Lord, in the market place I met Death, who looked as if he were about to claim me. Lend me your fastest horse that I may ride to Samara, which I can reach before nightfall, and so escape him.” ’
‘Pretty sensible,’ said Ann. ‘Give the servant eight out of ten for initiative.’
‘Ah,’ said Paul. ‘That’s the point. The servant displayed too much initiative. The rich man lent the servant his horse, and he duly set off for Samara at a great rate of knots. But when he had gone, the rich man thought: “This is a bit of a bore. My servant is a jolly good servant. I shall miss him. Death had no right to give him the twitches. I think I’ll pop down to the market place and give the old fellow a piece of my mind.” ’
‘Noblesse oblige,’ said Ann. ‘A very fine sentiment.’
‘So the rich man went to the market place and buttonholed Death. “Look here,” he said, or words to that effect, “what do you mean by giving my servant the shakes?” Death was amused. He said: “Lord, I merely looked at the fellow in surprise.” “Why so?” asked the rich man. “He is just an ordinary servant.” “I looked at him in surprise,” explained Death, “because I did not expect to find him here. You see, I have an appointment with him this evening – in Samara.” ’
Ann was silent for a while. ‘Champagne is schizophrenic,’ she said at length. ‘One minute it lifts you up, and then it drops you flat on your face … Anyway, we didn’t see Death in the market place, did we?’
Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset Page 44
