“What will you call him?” I asked.
“Island,” she said.
Inwardly, I winced.
Late that evening Eilan was contacted by Nathan and the following morning she met with the Senate. It transpired that she had been offered, and had accepted, a provisional seat on the governing body, to be confirmed when the new constitution was officially ratified. As a political entity, the League no longer existed, but Eilan had emerged as something of a folk-hero following Helmine’s disgrace. Her return to the mainland had been announced in that morning’s Chronicle, coupled with the news that she would be invited to join the Senate—a conspicuous public relations exercise by Nathan. Although there was less of an ideological rift between Eilan and the Senate now that the M’threnni problem had been resolved by the aliens’ voluntary departure from Gaia, she had insisted that a substantial portion of the city’s capital budget for next season be earmarked for development on the South Bank as a condition of her acceptance of the Senate post. She told me that Nathan and the others had agreed with a minimum of fuss; they were more concerned with presenting a united front to the imminent arrivals from Earth.
It promised to be a busy time for Eilan. In addition to her new responsibilities on the Senate, she was also advising the team of specialists who were investigating the Voices, having at last made public her own findings with the dying Voice. The doctors were unable to instigate an immediate programme of brain phase monitoring on the Voices as there was a temporary injunction on the use of the headpieces following the outcry against Helmine’s abuses. However, Eilan’s work, coupled with my own subjective impressions of the M’threnni-Voice relationship, at least provided some formal basis for the development of appropriate therapeutic techniques. It was possible, we reasoned, that the core of M’threnni thought-patterns in each Voice’s brain had somehow short-circuited the rest of the cerebral cortex, just as an electric shock may induce temporary amnesia. The most fruitful approach might simply be to expose the Voices to as many stimuli as possible in the hope that they might help break down whatever alien-induced traumata had caused their mental seizures.
It was not going to be easy, however. When I visited Annia that afternoon I took along with me her old gasglobe in the hope that it might stir some response in her. I put it into her hands, but she did not look at it or react to its faint warmth. I conducted a halting monologue for about ten minutes, with equally negative results. I leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek, but still she remained inert.
I went to see Eilan and asked her if it would be possible to take Annia out into the city for a few hours each day. She considered, then told me that she would broach the subject with Jacobsen.
The next day I arrived at the hospital to find a small crowd of saffron-robed people sitting on the grass outside Junith’s room. There were about twenty of them, all members of The Children of the Divine Light, one of the eccentric South Bank sects. They were staring towards the window of Junith’s room with reverent expressions on their faces. I saw that Junith was sitting at the window, her child in her arms.
“What do they want?” I asked her when I reached her room.
“They believe that my child is the fulfilment of a prophecy.”
I remembered the prophecy. The mainspring of the Children’s doctrine was the belief that the goddess Capella would one day visit Gaia in human form to purge the planet of its sins—a singularly unoriginal religious notion. The prophecy had been made by one of their founders who, while witnessing a rare dual transit of the two minor suns across, the face of each of the major components (thus creating the effect of “pupils” embedded in Capella’s “eyes”—an auspicious time for prophecy), had had a “vision” of a girl child tom from the body of a woman who was destined to become the saviour of Gaia. No matter that Junith’s child was a boy: was it not the miracle birth? Junith’s son was their Messiah; prophecies could always be modified after the fact. Judging by the way in which Junith was displaying the child for their benefit, it seemed as if she was quite happy with this chosen role.
Annia was still unresponsive to my attentions, but Eilan had persuaded Jacobsen to allow me to take her for a short ride under his supervision. We drove northwards on the highway, passing the Institute with its black crystal. Annia did not even glance at it. On the way back, however, a floater passing by in the opposite direction reflected a dazzle of sunlight into our eyes, and Annia turned her head away. She continued to stare through the side window and for a few minutes it seemed as if she was actually registering what was passing by. Jacobsen said nothing, but I knew that he had been impressed for he later gave me permission to take Annia out (under Wendi’s supervision) for up to two hours each afternoon.
That evening, just after dusk, Eilan and I went over to Round Island to inspect the terminus. The investigators at the tower had tried every measure short of using explosives to attempt to gain access to it, but without success. The entrance portal, whose location I remembered well, could not even be seen; there was just the smooth, unblemished ivory exterior, diamond-hard, heat-resistant, and inert to the variety of acids and other corrosives which had been sprayed on it.
There had been some nervous speculation that the aliens had first expelled the Voices, then sealed themselves in the tower. But no; the M’threnni were gone, I was convinced. The faint breeze which had been blowing when we had crossed Round Island Bridge blew equally strongly inside the terminus; there was no muting of the elements as before. Round Island had once been an alien outpost, its entire environment strange; now it was just a collection of exotic artifacts, as exposed to the external world as the humblest rock.
Eilan and I stared up at the darkening sky, where the incoming ship from Earth now outshone all the stars. Its light was faintly bluish. Eilan told me that the Senate had decided earlier that day to make Round Island the landing point for any descent craft. It was a decision, I reflected, with all sorts of symbolic undertones.
Chapter Twelve
The ship from. Earth entered planetary orbit two days later. Attempts to communicate with the craft had met with an ominous silence up to that time, but soon after it attained orbit a radio message was received:
“Greetings from Earth. We are pleased to find a settlement on your planet. Our ship embarked upon this voyage with the express hope of finding a thriving colony. We congratulate you on your success. We propose to launch a lander in two hours’ time, and we await your landing instructions.”
The message seemed oddly stilted, possessed of an excessive formality which was a little difficult to understand. We had assumed that the people from Earth would be delighted to find human life on Gaia; but the terseness and stolidity of their greeting suggested that they did not regard it as a particularly momentous event. Perhaps, I thought, they had made contact with other colonies established during the first phase of interstellar exploration; in addition to the Auriga, six other ships had been launched towards stars known to have orbiting Earth-type planets, four of them closer to Sol than Capella. Their current mission might be just one in a series of reconciliations.
The radio controller gave the landing instructions, then sat back to await a reply. A few minutes later, it came:
“Acknowledged and understood. Estimated time of landing one hour forty-six minutes hence.” The ship’s radio went dead.
The Senate members, who were gathered in the control centre of the shuttle terminus for the occasion, looked at one another with bemusement. Was there to be no further dialogue before landing, no introductions, no exchange of information? An awkward silence ensued.
“We had better get moving,” someone said at last. “There’s not much time.”
I had gained an invitation to the control centre at Eilan’s express request. She had also insisted that I was to be present amongst the welcoming party on Round Island. Since our return from the Antipodean Isles, I had been helping her with a variety of work, effectively acting as her personal secretary-cum-confidant.
While she was fully committed to the Senate, I think she wanted someone around her whom she knew she could trust, someone of proven loyalty.
The descent craft was due to land on Round Island at nine hours, the midpoint of zenith. The welcoming committee—which consisted of the City Senate and numerous senior commune members from the High and Low Valleys and the Plains—gathered on Round Island a half-hour before. The banks of the Tamus had been thronged with people as we had crossed the bridge in a stately motorcade flanked by militia floaters. Nathan began to organize us into a triangular array with himself at the apex and Eilan and a representative from each of the three outlying districts in the second rank. There were twenty-nine of us in all, and I, as the only unofficial member of the party, stood at the end of the fourth, rear line next to Julia, the youngest Senate member. I had scanned all the faces, but saw no one from Silver Spring. Well, then, I thought, I would be their ambassador.
We stood with our backs to the arched entranceway. Work on the tower had been temporarily abandoned and it lay unattended on the opposite side of the terminus. A large red cross had been painted on the centre of the obsidian landing-area.
It was an extremely hot day. There was not a breath of wind, and the twin suns, basking in a cloudless sky, shed their vernal heat with an unremitting intensity. Several of the older members had brought along parasols, but these had been discarded under Nathan’s orders for reasons of protocol. Hats were not allowed either. We simply had to stand there and bear it.
After what seemed like an age of waiting, an excited murmur from the crowds on the shore carried to us. Someone in the row in front of me pointed skywards. I looked up, and there it was: a black dot in the blueness.
We watched in silence as it fell, rapidly growing larger and finally acquiring a distinct shape. It was a solid trapezium, a squat, lopped pyramid. The sound of its engines carried to us: a low thrumming like the purring of a cat, A series of slit-like portholes could be seen along one flank and below them some designs in yellow which did not appear to be numbers or letters.
The ship eclipsed the suns, casting a dark, fleeting, shadow over our expectant faces. We clapped our hands over our ears as the now-loud bleating of its engines assailed us. Landing-pads like inverted golf-tees extruded from each corner of the craft as it dropped diagonally towards the red cross. It was travelling too fast, I thought; but even as I did so, the pitch of its engines heightened and it decelerated rapidly until it was hovering like an insect over the landing point. Then the purring died away and it settled gently over the red cross.
It was a small craft, about the same size as a trawlerfoil. The yellow designs on its flank looked vaguely familiar, but I could not place them. Its fluted windows were in shadow, so that its interior could not be seen. Although no weaponry was evident, it was ominously military in appearance, like a metallic bunker.
A ladder dropped from the underbelly of the craft and a moment later a man dressed in black stepped out. Two others, wearing mid-blue uniforms, followed him. They paused to stare at the tower, then emerged from the shadows and began walking towards us.
The man in black was of Caucasian origin, fair-haired and ruddy-skinned. But his companions were sallower, dark of hair, and their eyes bore the epicanthic fold characteristic of the Mongoloid race. They were orientals, and the yellow designs on the craft were Chinese characters.
“Welcome to Gaia,” Nathan said, stepping forward to greet them.
The men in blue smiled and bowed their heads. The man in black said: “Thank you. On behalf of the crew of the Da Jwang, we greet you.”
His accent was a little strange, but it was perfectly clear that English was his native language. Da Jwang; the words struck a chord in my memory. Of course; not Da Jwang, that was the phonetic version, but Ta Chaung. It was one of the hexagrams of the I Ching, the Chinese Oracle of Changes. Wendi, with her fascination for prophecy, had had a copy of the book, and we had consulted it when we had decided to apply for parentage. But I was unable to recall the meaning of the hexagram.
Nathan announced that this was a proud and momentous day for Gaia. After thirty cycles of isolation we had been reunited with the peoples of our ancestral planet. It was an historic occasion. He felt at once proud and humble that fare had chosen him to be the one to greet our visitors. He hoped that a permanent link would now be established with Earth and he looked forward to the beginning of a new era for both our planets.
Thankfully it was a brief speech.
The man in black nodded, then spoke to the other two. In Chinese. Clearly, he was translating Nathan’s speech. One of the orientals replied in the same tongue, then the fair-haired man spoke again in English:
“Your welcome is as warm as your suns. Our aims are in accord with yours. It is our purpose to forge an unbreakable bond between our two worlds. You have much beauty here. Your twisting white tower is a feast to the eyes.”
“We did not build it, I must confess,” Nathan said. “It was constructed by aliens.”
This revelation was hastily conveyed to the two Chinese, and they began talking excitedly amongst themselves. The man in black looked on, but said nothing.
I was disquieted. Something told me that Nathan had been precipitate in revealing the origin of the tower. There was something exclusive about the Chinese, something that went beyond their lack of understanding of our language. They seemed to huddle together like children exchanging secrets. It was strange that they did not speak English, for it had been the international language when our ancestors had departed Earth. And the United States had been the dominant nation. Had the Chinese now attained primacy?
One of the Chinese addressed the fair-haired man, and he turned again to Nathan. “This is very strange to us. Do the aliens live inside the tower?”
“They did until recently,” Nathan said. “I’m sorry to say that they fled with the approach of your starship.”
“But they communed with you until then?”
“They supplied us with materials necessary for our survival, but there was no direct contact. They remained secluded on this island, cut off from the rest of our city.”
Again the information was conveyed to the Chinese. They were both middle-aged men, strikingly alike to me in appearance, their faces evincing an unattractive suavity. Again they conferred, this time more briefly, before giving the fair-haired man the text of their response.
“My companions are intrigued by these aliens,” he said. “How long did they dwell here?”
It went on for several minutes, this gentle probing by the men from Earth. Finally, when Nathan was in the middle of explaining the M’threnni freighter operation, Eilan stepped forward and said: “Where are your women?”
The fair-haired man did not consult the Chinese. “There are just us three.”
“And none on board your mother-ship?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Why do you ask?”
“It’s nothing. Do you have a multinational crew?”
He stiffened slightly. “We have people on board from a number of different nations, I, myself, am from the same region of Earth as many of your ancestors: North America. My companions are citizens of the Pan-Asian Confederation.”
“And they financed this mission and built the starship?”
“That is correct. You are one of the mayor’s advisers?”
Eilan ignored the disparaging tone. “A colleague. Does your enterprise have multinational backing?”
“It has the backing of the Confederation, which represents two-thirds of the Earth’s population.”
“Including your homeland?”
“Yes.”
“What, then, is your status?”
“I am the official interpreter for this mission.” He looked at Nathan, obviously wanting to continue his conversation with him.
“And what is the status of your homeland within the Confederation?”
He stared at her for a moment, then said: “It is a self-governing protectorate.”
/> “I see,” Eilan replied. “Thank you.” She withdrew.
One of the Chinese addressed the fair-haired man, who spoke back, then listened again before turning to Nathan.
“Could we perhaps continue our conversation in a shaded place?” he said. “We are unused to the fierce heat of your suns.”
“Of course,” said Nathan, obviously pleased that some positive action was called for. He had seemed thoroughly perplexed by Eilan’s conversation with the interpreter.
Quickly, Nathan led our visitors along each rank. The two Chinese insisted on shaking hands with each person—a ritual which caused a little confusion because some of the delegates were unfamiliar with it. A permanent smile was fixed on their faces, and they nodded continuously as if their heads were attached to their necks by pivots. The interpreter wore a more solemn expression, and he did not offer his hand to anyone. Briefly, Nathan introduced everyone, giving their names and their official status—a purely formal gesture since the fairhaired man was not translating. When it came to my turn—and I was the last in line—Nathan merely said: “This is David, an aide of one of the Senate.” One hand, then another gripped mine, and two heads, with their identical smiles, bobbed up and down in front of me. And then Nathan was leading them off to the array of floaters parked outside on the bridge.
The three Earthmen sat with Nathan in his floater at the head of the motorcade. As we crossed the bridge, cheers erupted from the bank, and when we emerged from the underpass beneath the Complex, New Broadway was filled with hosts of flag-waving people. About half the flags were Gaian, the other half an equal mixture of Stars and Stripes and Union Jacks. Little did they know, I thought, that the hegemony of the English-speaking peoples had passed away, that the once dominant United States was now little more than a colony of some sprawling Asiatic empire. The two Chinese waved periodically to the crowd, smiling all the while. Smiles of irony? I wondered.
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