Francis waited a moment, as if expecting her to elaborate. When she did not, he said: “This seems a remarkably perverse claim. I would have thought that to establish a thriving city and a fertile hinterland capable of supporting almost a quarter of a million people in under thirty cycles is evidence of a remarkable vitality in our society.”
Eilan brushed a fly from her cheek. She was a woman well past her sixtieth season, her dark skin deeply wrinkled, her wiry ash-coloured hair parted severely at the centre of her head and drawn back into a knot at the base of her neck. Although she looked old and time-worn, she seemed to possess an inner reserve of strength which manifested itself as an apparent nonchalance: her posture was slovenly, but her eyes were intent.
“I am talking about the quality of life, not its abundance,” she said. “I do not deny that in purely expansionary terms we have accomplished wonders, and I do not belittle those achievements. But we have also seen a corresponding increase in poverty and social injustice, as anyone who lives here on the South Bank will verify, A society can only truly grow if its physical development is accompanied by political reform to deal with changing conditions. We intend to introduce such reforms should we gain office.”
“Exactly what do you propose?”
“At the core of the problem is the fact that we retain a colonial mentality. We are reliant upon outside aid—the M’threnni—to support us. Thus the average individual is given no great opportunity or incentive to contribute to the well-being of the colony because the feeling is prevalent that we are being ‘looked after’. Our first objective, then, would be to dispense with M’threnni aid and take on the responsibility for our own destinies.”
“So your principal objection to the aliens is that their aid tends to militate against self-development?”
“Precisely. As long as we continue to exist in a state of dependence on the aliens there will be no impetus to self-improvement.”
This, I thought, was a complete reversal of the common attitude. Most people saw the M’threnni presence as essential to the continued development of the colony. Still, Eilan had a point. I knew from my studies that our social and political systems had hardly evolved at all since the foundation of the city.
Francis appeared unimpressed. “Your opponents would claim that your dislike of the M’threnni is really rooted in resentment of the fact that their aid is so limited,” he said.
“Our opponents are entitled to misinterpret our pronouncements any way they wish. It is a common political ploy.”
“Others maintain that simple xenophobia prompts you to seek their departure.”
“Again, that is their prerogative.”
Francis nodded his head reflectively. Eilan had lost none of her initial composure in the face of his hostility and scepticism. It was clear she would not be goaded.
“What are your own feelings towards the M’threnni?” he asked, changing tack.
“Personally, I do not fear or hate them because I do not feel that they have ever posed an overt threat to our society. But neither have they shown any sign that they wish to aid us directly. Their position is an extremely ambiguous one, and, as such, is a focus for resentment and hostility. This is a further reason why I feel that our colony would ultimately benefit if they left Gaia.”
“You want to chop off the hand that feeds us, as it were? Isn’t that an incredibly churlish attitude? The aliens have provided us with essential supplies and have asked nothing in return except that we respect their privacy.”
“To pursue your analogy,” Eilan said, “how would you feel about someone who fed you but would not save you from drowning or give you medicine if you were sick? Would you expect the survivors of the South Bank floods to feel grateful towards the aliens?”
Francis did not reply. Like me, he had been a volunteer with the salvage teams after the floods and he knew only too well how much resentment and even hatred towards the aliens had sprung up on the South Bank.
“The M’threnni aid us in their own terms,” Eilan said. “Terms which are unknown to us. True, we should be grateful for their help in stabilizing the colony in its early days, but does this mean that we should ignore the fact that they will let human beings die rather than emerge from their tower? Should we—”
“Despite your earlier remarks,” Francis interrupted, “you do seem to be arguing for more direct aid from the M’threnni.”
“I’m arguing quite the reverse. There are good reasons to be positively afraid of any direct M’threnni intervention in our affairs.”
“What reasons?”
“Because their culture is so inordinately advanced compared to ours, and because it is an alien culture at that. No doubt the City Senate are hoping that one day the M’threnni will emerge from their tower and bestow upon us a cornucopia of alien wisdom. I believe that if this did happen, the results would be disastrous for our society.”
“In what way?”
“There are many examples in Earth history of an advanced civilization encountering a more primitive one and proceeding to pass on the ‘benefits’ of its culture. There are two possible outcomes. Either the primitive society is overwhelmed by the impact and withers into extinction, or it loses its ethnic identity by degrees until it becomes indistinguishable from the dominant civilization. What makes our situation even more precarious in the event of direct M’threnni involvement in our affairs is that we would be involved not just in a cross-cultural transference, but an inter-species one, too. It would mark the beginning of the alienization of our society.”
Francis looked at her with frank disbelief, but again I felt her point was valid. The history of Earth was littered with examples to support her case: the destruction of the Incas by the Spaniards, the subjugation of the Red Indians by European migrants to North America, the dwindling of the Australian aboriginal population following the arrival of settlers from Britain—there were numerous precedents.
“This is not just idle speculation,” Eilan was saying. “You have only to look at the Voices to see the way in which M’threnni culture could affect human beings. Does this prospect appeal to you?”
Francis considered for a moment, then said: “Could you not be suggesting a more plausible motive for the aliens’ aloofness? Could it not be that they recognize the possibility of culture shock and that is why they maintain their policy of non-interference?”
“It’s quite possible. And, if so, it negates the hope that one day they will increase their aid.”
“So, then,” Francis said, pouncing, “there is no real reason to fear them, is there? If they intend to remain aloof from our society, your last point is invalidated.”
“But they do not exactly maintain a posture of complete aloofness, do they? It is an open secret that periodically they leave the tower to seek out new Voices. Little is known of these trips, but I would suggest to you that there must be an element of coercion involved when a M’threnni selects a Voice. Have you ever met anyone who would gladly commit themselves to a life inside the tower?”
This was something that had occurred to me during the Alien Studies seminars. Despite Jon’s assurances, I found it difficult to believe that the M’threnni took only willing subjects. Even people who were generally sympathetic to the aliens baulked at the thought of spending a lifetime as a Voice.
“This is my ultimate objection to the aliens,” Eilan said. “They may be concerned about the well-being of the colony as an entity, but they show a complete disregard for individual human beings. Our society is founded on democratic principles. We believe that all people have equal rights and privileges. The M’threnni flaunt this principle. They do as they please. They are allowed to do as they please. In order to build an egalitarian society, one cannot allow elite groups to exist within yet apart from the whole, be they humans or aliens. That, finally, is why the M’threnni must be made to leave Gaia.”
There was a pause. Francis seemed to have lost a little of his early assertiveness and assurance. He lea
fed through his notes, then said: “Assuming that the League is victorious in the elections, how do you propose to engineer the M’threnni’s departure,from Gaia?”
Eilan eyed him meditatively, “I think,” she said after a moment, “that we will be in a position to present to the people of Gaia direct evidence that the M’threnni presence here is positively undesirable. I am not prepared to say any more than that at this juncture.”
Francis pressed her, but she refused to elaborate. Finally he moved the discussion on to a consideration of the League’s proposed reforms. Eilan continued to respond courteously and candidly to Francis’s often disingenuous questions, and by the end of the interview it was clear that Francis had failed in his objective of provoking her into some ill-considered remark or of uncovering some seedy aspect of the League’s programme. Eilan had reasoned, concerted arguments to back her opinions, and she had the expository gift of combining clarity with brevity. She was not some greedy outsider, hungry for power; if anything, her arguments were too intellectual to have a mass appeal. But the League had other orators who used a more emotive approach to win their audience over, I was thoroughly impressed. From being a mere repository of the disillusioned, the League had emerged as a cogent political force.
When the lights came on at the end of the screening, there were none of the curt dismissals of the League which had abounded prior to the interview. A few people remarked that Eilan’s cryptic comment about presenting direct evidence of the M’threnni’s undesirable presence was no more than a piece of election propaganda, but there was no doubt that most of the audience had been impressed by her forthrightness and apparent integrity. She was not simply the mouthpiece for a band of rabble-rousers, but a shrewd and committed radical. And the possibility that she did have something up her sleeve made things all that more interesting.
As the elections drew near, there were increasing signs that the League would gamer sufficient support to oust the Senate. But it was not to be. On the night of the 16th, three dream parlours in the city centre were fire-bombed and League slogans daubed over their wails (despite their popularity, the belief was widespread that the parlours were M’threnni inventions). Retaliation was swift and uncompromising. The League was declared a subversive, illegal organization and the Civil Militia moved in, arresting Eilan and one or two other prominent members of the party, and shutting down their headquarters. This action proved decisive, for the League, always a loose confederation of opinion rather than a concerted ideological movement, had little internal strength; bereft of its leaders, its adherents melted away.
The day before the election, it was announced that Nathan (still unpopular for his pro-M’threnni speech) had decided to stand down as mayoral candidate in favour of Helmine, who had been unanimously endorsed by the Senate to serve an unprecedented second term. She promised to uphold the traditions which had seen Gaia prosper and to “maintain law and order”. Two days later, Helmine began her second term of office, elected without opposition.
Spring passed, and the political life of Gaia reverted to its staid, placid norm. Wendi and I graduated from the Institute at the end of the season, both of us gaining class I certificates in our respective subjects. We looked forward to secure and lucrative careers.
Wendi obtained a post at the psychiatric faculty of Helix-port General Hospital, while I, after a customary period of indecision, finally began work in the Information Services department of Central Government, the deciding factor in my choice being the promise of subsidized accommodation in a villa on a select estate when I attained adulthood. In the meantime, Wendi and I took up temporary residence in a hostel, and I spent the first six months of my working life undergoing training in the basement of Central Government Complex, that great monument to the Civil Service which rises in megalithic splendour about the approach to Round Island Bridge. I worked on data storage, cataloguing and indexing reports, and updating old statistics. The work was monotonous and undemanding, but it was only a transitory post, and quite well paid for that.
The last day of third month was Wendi’s maturation day. She visited her commune and returned with her lineage card. Her surname was Carver and her distaff ancestry was traceable back to a prominent feminist politician of the late twentieth century. She was now a full citizen of Gaia, with the right to vote in elections, to apply for parentage, to full protection (and liability) under Gaian law. For a while she gently teased me with her new status, calling me “young man” and tugging at the lobe of my ear to reveal my birth number (hers having been erased during the ceremony). And then it was seventh month, and my own ceremony loomed.
It was not essential to return to one’s area of origin for the ceremony, but the elders of Silver Spring contacted me by lettertape, inviting me to return. A full cycle had passed since I had left the commune, and my anger towards them had abated somewhat. Besides, I wanted to see my home again. I notified them of my acceptance.
On the eve of the 8th I boarded the dusk shuttle for the High Valleys. I had a first-class seat at the front of the craft. When the steward came down the aisle to check that each passenger was securely strapped in before take-off, I saw that it was not Naree, but a young man only a little older than myself, I thought perhaps she had been transferred to another flight, but when I questioned him, he told me that she had retired two seasons previously.
“Retired?” I said. “She always claimed she’d keep going until she dropped.”
He shrugged. “She broke a leg and it never healed properly. She was pensioned off. The old ones never know when to give up.”
He moved on, and I was left to reflect that another link with my past had been severed.
Caril was waiting at the terminus when I debarked. She kissed me lightly on the forehead and led me up the mountainside. I knew that it was not normal custom for the warden of a junior dorm to greet a visitor from the city, even if that visitor was a former resident of the commune. That the elders had foregone protocol to take account of my dislike of ceremony was evidence that they were treating my visit with some delicacy. We talked freely as we climbed the steep pathway to the adult dorms; it was as if only a month had passed since I had seen her last.
“The elders will greet you in the morning,” she told me as we entered the small dorm reserved for visitors. “A drink before you retire?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
We sat in the parlour, sipping nectarine tea, I told Caril about my life at the Institute, about my new job, about my hopes for the future. She, in turn, brought me up to date with events at the commune (little had changed since my departure) and informed me that there was a girl in her second season at junior dorm who showed every sign of surpassing my scholastic attainments.
“She has a brilliant intuitive grasp of concepts,” Caril told me. “Unfortunately, she’s also extremely lazy, and there’s a possibility that she’ll waste her gifts. Aptitude is not enough; it must be combined with application.”
I smiled. “You sound like Erik.”
She laughed, “I’ve been working with him for too long; those maxims of his have begun to stick. But it’s true, nonetheless. As in your case, David. You always knuckled down to your work.”
“In the schoolroom, perhaps. But not in the fields.”
It has her turn to smile. “You always were a poor farmer. But then you might never have left Silver Spring if you hadn’t been. Have you missed the commune at all?”
“To be candid, no. I suppose I’m grateful to everyone for giving me the opportunity to further my education at the Institute, but my only real ties here were severed when Annia died and Jax ran away.”
Caril took a sip of tea. “Yes, that was a sad affair. Did you ever hear of Jax?”
I shook my head.
“The elders scoured the valleys for him, but without success. We finally decided that he had run away to Helixport.”
“Probably. But if he did, he never got in touch with me.”
“It’s always a shame w
hen we lose track of old friends.”
“Are Annia’s remains preserved?”
“Yes. You’d like to see them?”
It was clear she knew I would, I nodded, and she said: “We’ll visit the crypt tomorrow, after your ceremony.”
I was awoken at dawn the following day by a gentle tapping on the door, A young woman entered, carrying my breakfast on a tray. Her face was vaguely familiar and it turned out that she had been in her first season at junior dorm when I had been in my last. We had never known one another, however, and she seemed pleased that I had remembered her.
Diane—for that was her name—left, and I attended to my breakfast. It was the custom to spend the morning alone in a room on the day of one’s maturation ceremony—supposedly so that one could reflect on the import of the occasion—but I had grown unused to solitude, so after I had eaten I slipped out of my room and went walking, up the mountainside to the old haunts of my childhood.
On the crest of the ridge above the Communications Centre, I turned and looked down the valley. It was filled with the gold-browns of Summer and the crouched white figures of the harvesters, just as it had been when I had left for the city. The cycle continued remorselessly, and the thought was at once comforting and vexing. I realized at that moment that I would never return permanently to the valleys as I had often vaguely imagined I would. Although they would always be my spiritual home, one cannot live amongst dreams, and the reality was that they could never provide me with the elusive sense of fulfilment which I sought.
I followed the stream westwards, climbing all the while. The sparse brown soil of the fields had long surrendered to rocky outcrops of cream and buff stone, and the valley sides narrowed and steepened in lesser imitation of the true mountains further west. The stream which fed our valley was now no more than the width of an outstretched arm: but it cut its way through the bedrock with uncompromising swiftness, and when I removed my sweat-laden shirt and ducked my head into the water, its rushing chill tugged the air from my lungs with exhilarating speed. I lay down on a flat rock and let the suns warm me again. By the time I had retraced my path to the commune, it was an hour before zenith, the appointed time of my ceremony.
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