The South Bank was the city’s poor quarter. In contrast to the broad and elegant avenues of the city centre and the placid suburban estates of northern Helixport, the South Bank was dirty, ramshackle and noisy. Here the streets and alleyways had not been built to some preordained design but had grown up haphazardly in blithe disarray according to the whims of its inhabitants. Tin-roofed shacks and squat adobes lined the narrow, twisting thoroughfares where the sunlight seldom penetrated and dogs barked incessantly.
Most of the inhabitants of the South Bank were refugees from the Plains and the Valleys who had migrated to the city hoping for higher wages and improved living conditions. They found neither. Helixport was under a slow, controlled expansion and there was no place for unsolicited labour. The citizens of the South Bank had thus found it necessary to construct their own social order. Handicrafts such as pottery and weaving were popular, and often the quality of the goods was excellent Links with the harbour were strong, and it was frequently possible to buy fish which was as fresh and far cheaper than that sold in the market at Capitol Square. Mostly, though, life revolved around semi-legal pursuits such as gambling, prostitution and drug-trafficking. By far the greatest amount of revenue was obtained from the processing of the drug euphorin, an opiate derivative extracted from the macerated bodies of the speckled jellyfish which infested the coastal waters of Gaia. The women Annia, Jax and I had seen on the beach during our last visit to Helixport had been collecting creatures for that very purpose. The authorities had made half-hearted attempts to stamp out the trade (such as fencing off the beaches) but the militia made few arrests, primarily because the prospective recipients of the drug were the rich and influential citizens of Gaia (only the rich could afford to indulge themselves, for the market price for the purified drug was over ten thousand checks per gramme).
Euphorin, as its name implied, was a mood-enhancer and hallucinogenic. It was reputedly non-addictive and free from side-effects, though Wendi, who was studying pharmacology, told me that psychological dependence was common and that prolonged usage could cause personality disorders. The current vogue amongst the rich was to visit a dream parlour under the influence of the drug, and the consequences of this were frequently dire. The blissful dream-states evoked by the combination of drug and brain-rhythm modulation eventually proved more attractive than reality and resulted in schizoid withdrawal. The woman who had accosted me outside the café the day I learned of Annia’s death had been such a drug-parlour freak—a “zombie” slowly surrendering to the formless mists of catatonia.
The South Bank was also the cradle of a variety of different religious sects and political groups whose unorthodox views could find no place in the secular, conservative ethos of Gaian society at large. Their temples and meeting-halls—generally these were derelict buildings which had been appropriated for their use—played host to small gatherings of zealots who had evidently discovered salvation in the contemplation of strange divinities or visions of a new social order. The sects ranged from the genuinely philanthropic to the grossly eccentric, and most of them comprised only a handful of devotees. Wendi and I were fascinated by their rituals and tenets. There were the Psychometricians, who urged that the government be handed over to psychologists who would then use their understanding of human behaviour to construct a just society; the Humanistic League, a group of disaffected radicals who viewed the M’threnni presence as invidious and dispensed pamphlets advocating that they be petitioned to leave Gaia; the Supplicants, a silent, lugubrious sect who regarded the M’threnni as gods and prayed hourly to their masters, prostrating themselves in the direction of the tower; the Children of the Divine Light, a saffron-robed sect who hated the M’threnni and saw the twin suns as the eyes of the goddess Capella who watched over Gaia and directed all human activity; the Panpsychists, who believed that everything in the universe possessed sentience and earnestly discussed abstruse philosophical problems with rocks and handfuls of sand; the Holiest Church of the Most Venerable Latter-Day Saints, a resurrected version of a faith which had originated on Earth; the Harbingers of Existential Glory, whose mythos was so complicated it must have attracted adherents by virtue of its intellectual challenge. All these, and more, lent a dash of colour to the grime and poverty of the South Bank. It was refreshing to discover such a jumble of heterodoxies, and Wendi and I always felt welcome there for a genial attitude of laissez-faire prevailed amongst its inhabitants.
At the beginning of Winter we had to choose our specializations. Wendi was already embarked on her medical studies; I, after some vacillation, finally decided on Generics, a somewhat grandiose title for what was a broad-spectrum course which would enable me to pursue my dual interest in science and history, Wendi and I now shared a double room on the top floor of the residence hall and we had settled into a quiet, almost mundane lifestyle, preferring to concentrate on our studies and our explorations of the city than to attend the many social events on campus. It was a fruitful, industrious time, unmarked by any upheavals or events pertinent to this account.
Towards the end of the season, the rains arrived. Winter was always a time of gales and downpours, but no one was prepared for the severity of the storms which broke at the beginning of eleventh month. The fishing fleets were forced into harbour on three occasions—the first time this had happened in over five cycles—and many shuttle flights were suspended. Then, on the penultimate day of the month, a particularly severe storm erupted, lasting for two days. The swollen Tamus heaved over its banks and wide areas of the city were flooded. Particularly hard-hit was the South Bank, whole streets of buildings collapsing as the ground beneath them dissolved into mud. When the storm finally abated, an eerie silence settled over the city. I remember going out on to the balcony of my room on that first fine morning and looking out over the campus. Nothing moved, and everything seemed weighed down by the tremendous burden of the rain. The suns, which now burned with a peculiar intensity in the clear skies, fixed me with their baleful gaze.
Restoration work was speedily accomplished on the North Bank, where the flood damage had been relatively light, but by the time the authorities had turned their attention to the less fortunate inhabitants on the other side of the river, an epidemic of fever was raging there. Although short-lived, its effects were severe: over fifteen hundred people, one per cent of the city’s total population, died, Wendi and I spent several evenings in the South Bank during the closing days of twelfth month as volunteers with the salvage teams. The entire area was devastated and the survivors wandered around numbly, their faces glazed with shock. As the days passed and the full impact of the tragedy began to register, discontent burgeoned. Why had the M’threnni sat idle in their tower while people were dying? Why had they not come forward with direct aid to ameliorate the effects of the flooding and the disease?
Newseason’s Day of Spring marked the beginning of the thirtieth cycle of settlement on Gaia, and a grand parade had been organized to celebrate the event. In common with the rest of the city, the Institute held a pageant. We ail dressed up in the garb of the original colonists and, an hour after zenith, began our march from the campus to the city centre.
We were wearing the stiff, elasticated tunics of the pioneers and the hemispherical face-masks which they had employed to screen out possible harmful bacteria (a precaution which they had soon discovered to be unnecessary). The costumes had been faithfully duplicated from the originals—too faithfully, for after a half-hour’s marching we were all sweating profusely. We were forced to discard the masks and make vents in the sides of our costumes, compromising authenticity for comfort. For the pioneers, the first few months on Gaia must have been uncomfortable ones indeed, sealed as they were in cocoons, of their own perspiration.
We continued southwards, Lionel and the rest of the staff at the head of our column, dressed in the navy-blue robes of their office. By fourteen hours we were approaching the city centre, and we joined the main parade at the northern end of Albany Avenue. The street was f
illed with spectators—people thronging on the sidewalks, people standing on the first-floor balconies of shops, people sitting on the roofs. At the bottom of the avenue we turned right into New Broadway with its governmental offices and its incubator hatcheries, and thence into Falkirk Street, the narrow road which finally debouched into Capitol Square, our destination. It was with great relief that we sat down and unlaced our heavy boots, for it had been a warm, cloudless day with only a hint of wind.
The square had been cleared of the majority of its stalls (those remaining had been gathered in one corner to dispense food and refreshments) and the brown cobblestones, swept and hosed for the occasion, gleamed immaculately. Banners and buntings hung everywhere in a splash of colour, the red, white and blue of our ancestor nations vying with the green, gold and black of Gaia. The rapidly swelling crowds milled about, and there was much talk and laughter. Wendi and I took a table at a café in an arcade just off the square and ordered a demilitre of roseplum wine. It was going to be a long evening.
When all the marchers had finally dispersed, a clearing was created at the centre of the square and a troupe of dancers entered, cartwheeling and leaping over the cobbles. All the members were naked, save for the flesh-coloured codpieces of the males, and they staged an elaborate, sensual ballet which drew roars of approval from the crowd at its completion. A mime-theatre came next, the actors garbed in black leotards and balaclavas. Their pantomime was full of slow, jerky movements, compelling in its strangeness, the players like shadows acting out some phantasmal drama. Jugglers, fire-eaters, singers, musicians followed, a relentless sequence of acts to keep the crowd entertained. We purchased a fresh bottle of wine. The sky bronzed, reddened, slowly darkened. Puppeteers displayed their art; a woman was bound in chains and wriggled free within half a minute; a fortune-teller cast dice, consulted cards, and predicted prosperity for Gaia. Incense thickened the air, intermingling with the smells of fried fish, vegetable broth, pastries and freshly baked bread. Wendi and I shared a bowl of soup, a hunk of cheese and a large chicken pie. We drank more wine.
Presently, a searchlight atop the main entrance to the square was activated, throwing a cone of smoke-filled light on to the balcony of the mayor’s residence at the centre of the north façade. The crowd fell silent and turned towards the balcony. Moments later, the tall, thin figure of Helmine Orne, the current Mayor of Helixport, emerged, dressed in her ceremonial robes and flanked by the six members of the City Senate. The golden chain across her shoulders and the oval lenses of her spectacles gleamed in the light as she raised her arms to request a silence which was already complete. Wendi and I left our table and wandered into the square to listen.
“This is an occasion for celebration and reflection,” Helmine began, her unamplified voice carrying effortlessly across the square. “We have already celebrated, so let us pause for a moment to reflect a little.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then moved back from the balcony, and it was Nathan Davidson, the diminutive Vice-Mayor and Helmine’s prospective successor, who stepped forward and began to speak.
“Thirty cycles ago,” he said, “our ancestors landed here on Gaia. They found a harsh and arid planet, an environment which was not immediately suited to human habitation. But they had made the voyage across the void of space to find a new home and there could be no turning back. Here on Gaia there was air to breathe and firm ground to walk upon, so they immediately set about the task of transforming the land into something upon which human beings could live.” He spread his arms. “The evidence of their success is all around you. In thirty cycles we have grown from an original settlement of one thousand people to a thriving community of almost a quarter of a million souls, and there is hardly a corner of the continent which we have not penetrated. We have made large areas of barren land fertile, and we produce food aplenty for all our people. We have incorporated the technological knowledge which was our inheritance from Earth to build a civilized and sophisticated society, of which this city of ours is the prime symbol.”
He let his arms fall and there was a pregnant pause.
“In this time of human celebration,” he went on, “let us not forget that without the city, without a coherent centre of settlement from which to expand, our colony would surely have failed. When our descendants were in direst need of help, help arrived from the skies.” A murmur passed through the crowd. “Helixport was built by human hands, and it is a monument to our endeavours, but much of the materials of our labour were freely donated to us by the M’threnni.” The murmur grew stronger. “They have asked nothing in return, and they have continued to supply us—” someone hissed “—with the raw materials which will ensure our future growth and prosperity.” The hissing was taken up by others, and someone shouted: “Parasites!”
Nathan looked disconcerted, but he attempted to continue: “So let us give thanks—” but his words were drowned in a sea of boos and angry cries.
He stepped back and conferred with Helmine. They had obviously misjudged the mood of the populace in acknowledging our debt to the M’threnni, The torrent of hisses, boos and yells was full-blooded by now, and Helmine stepped forward and gestured towards the entranceway. The searchlight went out.
An instant later, a series of explosions erupted overhead and the night sky was rent with bursting flowers of green, gold, red, white and blue. The firework display was splendid and by the time it was over, the mood of anger had all but evaporated and everyone’s attention had turned away from the now empty balcony. Dancers reappeared in the square, inviting members of the crowd to join them. Soon the festivities were in full swing again, and Wendi and I were amongst the revellers.
Chapter Five
Mayoral elections were always held at the start of each new cycle and it was the custom for the outgoing mayor to endorse a candidate. The City Senate members, having risen through the hierarchy of central government, were regarded as heirs apparent to the position, and Helmine had followed tradition by endorsing Nathan, the Vice-Mayor, as her successor. Nathan, a comparatively young man for the position (he was still in his forties), was hardly an imposing figure. Small of stature and somewhat diffident in character, his performance as Helmine’s back-up had been undistinguished, his speech to the crowd on Newseason’s Day aptly demonstrating his lack of political acumen. His term of office seemed assured, though, for the elections, held at the beginning of second month, had in the past been formalities: the official candidate had run unopposed. But now, for the first time, there emerged a concerted opposition to central government.
In the aftermath of the floods and the spontaneous outburst against Nathan’s speech in Capitol Square, the Humanistic League, that eclectic body of radicals who had been languishing on the South Bank, had recognized the prevailing mood of disaffection towards the M’threnni and had united under the leadership of one Eilan Bailey, a former psychologist once in the employ of the government, now an ardent and eloquent voice for those who demanded that the M’threnni leave Gaia. While the mayor and her protégé were making bland speeches to the polite sections of city society, the League launched a vigorous attack against both the government and the aliens, pasting posters on prominent buildings by night and distributing pamphlets by day.
There was nothing in the city constitution to debar anyone from running against the official candidate, and it soon became clear that the League was attracting grass-roots support not only on the South Bank, but also in the High and Low Valleys, where there had never been a fondness for aliens. Although the outlying regions had only block votes in city elections, their influence was still strong and prospective mayoral candidates always sought commune approval since the Mayor of Helixport was the de facto ruler of Gaia and needed a harmonious relationship with the regions in order to be able to work effectively.
Delegates representing various communes began to visit Eilan and her followers at their headquarters on the South Bank, and the Helixport Chronicle covered a League rally in Union Plaza. I coul
d glean little of the League’s motivations from the report. Their platform seemed based on a mixture of resentment towards the long-standing rule of the Senate and an ill-disguised xenophobia towards the aliens. But Eilan was not amongst the speakers at the rally, and when I heard that a holoscope team from the Institute had interviewed her and that the interview was to be broadcast in the main viewing theatre the following day, I resolved to attend the screening. There had to be more to the League than bombast and prejudice. I tried to persuade Wendi to accompany me, but she had no interest whatsoever in politics, so I went alone. The theatre was filled to capacity a good ten minutes before the screening began.
Eilan and her interviewer confronted one another across a small table in a dimly-lit private room. The interviewer was a young sociology student named Francis who was well known on campus for the acerbity of his opinions. Tall and fair-skinned, he was crouched predatorily in his seat, in stark contrast to Eilan, a squat, crumpled figure of negroid origins. She looked as if she had just been woken from a nap.
Francis squared the notes in his lap and said: “This is the first time that an official candidate for the mayorship has been opposed. Could you explain briefly what brought you to make such a radical decision?”
Eilan raised herself a little in her seat. She wore a shapeless fawn woollen dress, long-sleeved and high-necked. It was Winter-wear, but she did not seem to be suffering from the heat.
“We believe,” she said, “that we have made no significant social or technological progress since the foundation of the colony. Our continued dependence on alien resources has stultified human initiative, resulting in a society which is materialistic and essentially stagnant. We feel that the City Senate embody this attitude of complacency, whereas we propose to introduce reforms which will hopefully bring our colony to life.”
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