by Sam Smith
Like all politicians Hambro Harrap used words for their effect rather than for their meaning. Referring often to the pioneering spirit, to the breaking of new ground, presenting his Senate audience with a loquacious mix of the familiar and the strange, he continued, as was his intention, to woo them.
“Viewed positively,” he said, “because of the Nautili this planet, if it is approached in the right spirit, could become a tourist attraction. Nor do I see it adversely affecting your recruitment of new settlers. If they are the kind of people I believe them to be, then I can see them readily rising to the challenge.”
In order not to frighten them too much with the new, Hambro drew their attention to other colonised planets whose inhabitants already co-existed peacefully with the Nautili in their seas. Here, however, he said, they would be at a distinct advantage in being able to talk to them. He also pointed out that the inhabitants of Happiness themselves already co-existed with several species of predatory carnivores in their wildernesses; and the Nautili weren’t known to eat people.
“As to the immediate future I intend personally overseeing the payment of compensation to those of you who have lost loved ones. While, here on the planet, I propose that we hold memorial services for the lost children, give what dignity we can to the indignity of death. I will also personally hasten along the redrawing of farm boundaries.”
Having thus pledged himself and, he hoped, placated the inhabitants’ fears, Hambro proceeded to address himself more to Awen’s cameras than to the Senate, more to history than to his contemporaries. Presenting himself as a man of vision he talked of the need for a meeting of intelligences, of the cross-fertilisation that could occur, of learning humbly from each other, of harmony in the universe, et cetera, et cetera. And, as usual, with men and women subject to such grand vanities, history will no doubt overlook him. While his contemporaries he merely mildly puzzled — what had this to do with them?
To round off his speech Hambro reverted to trying to enthuse the Happiness Senate with a sense of the opportunity offered them.
He failed.
When he released the orb the Spokesman thanked him for his address, invited questions from the Members. None called the orb to them. Hambro rose. The Senate Member for North One returned to her seat.
In the meeting that followed the Senate matter-of-factly decided that, as soon as it was ascertained that it was safe to leave the planet, a delegation be sent to two other Nautili colonised planets to see how they had coped with the presence of Nautili. The closest any came to a direct reference to Hambro’s speech was when the Senate Member for North Two said,
“We have lost sons, daughters. It’s asking a lot of us to simply accept their killers.”
Although those Senate Members might have fervently wished that the Nautili had not come to their planet, not one of them considered abandoning the planet. Their first loyalty was to their bits of land, be it in some cases only a few square meters of garden. And at least now they knew who had stolen their moon, who had destroyed their ships. And knowing was better than not knowing. The planet had been like someone with an undiagnosed illness: ignorance and imagination had been a recipe for fear. Now they knew exactly what they were up against they could grapple realistically with the problem.
Hambro had been shrewdly correct when he had likened the Nautili to the other predatory species who shared their planet. Planet dwellers are far less daunted by the idea of Nautili than are us Spacers. And those Senate Members, because it was a problem they had known they might be likely to face, another planetary hazard they had subconsciously accepted if not openly acknowledged, had already made it their business to know about Nautili. They also, occupying as they did the same living space, probably had more natural sympathy for the Nautili than do those of us who live in Space.
The remainder of that Extraordinary Meeting of the Happiness Senate was taken up with discussions on how to attract new settlers, whether they should emphasise or play down the presence of Nautili in their seas. Further than that they made no decisions, except to agree to await events. No public criticism of Hambro Harrap was voiced. Because, although Happiness’s Senate Members included farmers, traders, technicians and one scientist, while they sat in the Senate Chamber they were all first and foremost politicians; and those Senate Members, those politicians, had a vested interest in giving Hambro Harrap’s position all due respect. They knew that if they were to publicly mock his principally political reason for being there their own could prove as easily false. Hambro, therefore, won their tacit acquiescence, if not their open approval.
In the vestibule after the meeting several Senate Members sought Hambro out to congratulate him on his address, on the mode, if not the content. A trader and a technician Senate Member stayed on to talk to him. Awen filmed them. Their conversation was genial. Hambro appeared to part from the two of them on terms of friendship.
On the return flight Hambro, though cool towards the Senate Member for South Five, whom he suspected of having spoiled his little surprise, was more outgoing to Awen. He grumbled to him about the loudness of the farmers’ voices and practised anecdotes for when he returned to the city.
“Suppose they get like that from shouting over the noise of their tractors.”
“Think you talked them round?” Awen asked him.
“They got the message. Because, when it comes to the nitty-gritty, they can’t leave here anyway until we’ve established contact with the Nautili. So they might as well start getting used to the idea.”
* * * * *
As they were passing over the orderly coffee plantation Awen’s bleeper started.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thrusting the plane door open Awen Mendawer scurried across the apron and up the ramp into the research ship.
“Listen to this.”‘ Tevor Cade greeted him.
The last of Tevor Cade’s city fund-raising smoothness had gone: Awen now beheld the archetypal dishevelled scientist.
As Hambro Harrap hurriedly entered the ship Tevor excitedly ran a hand over an array of switches. The dancing screens were transformed into a cacophony of burbles and bleeps, hoots and warbles, shrieks and wails. Tevor Cade spread wide his arms and, turning, basked in the noise. Hambro advanced on Tevor hand outstretched,
“Congratulations Doctor.”
As they clasped hands Hambro adroitly turned Tevor towards Awen’s camera. Awen dutifully recorded the beaming jubilant pair, moved his camera off them to the jittering screens.
Hambro slapped Tevor on the shoulder,
“Vindicated Doctor.” He released Tevor’s hand, “How soon before we know what they’re saying to us?”
“Depends...” Tevor stood grinning at the largesse of noise, “Six weeks?”
“Six weeks!?” Hambro ceased smiling.
“I hope to have a simplified version, of possibly two sentences, within a week. By the time we’ve translated the rest, though, the entire meaning of those first two sentences could be completely altered.”
Tevor, revelling in the cacophony, was unaware of Hambro’s increasing dismay.
“Before we start talking to them in their language,” Tevor said, “we have to be absolutely certain of what we’re saying. And that could be a year away.” He was looking forward to the challenge.
“That won’t do at all,” Hambro had paled, stood glowering at the patterns flitting over the screens. Tevor, surprised by his reaction, anxiously studied him.
At that moment the Senate Member for South Five came smiling into the ship,
“That’s what I call a response.”
“On every single buoy.” Tevor Cade’s jubilation instantly returned, “And a different response on every buoy.”
“Can you take me now?” Hambro asked the Senate Member.
“If you’re ready,” the Senate Member affably said to Hambro, said to Tevor, “See you later.” And with a wave of his hand he left.
“Where’re you going?” Awen dodged in front of Hambro.
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“Home.” Hambro stepped around Awen, “Tell them that we’re communicating with the Nautili here.”
“We’ve got a response. That’s all,” Tevor worriedly told him.
Both Tevor and Awen were regarding Hambro’s haste with curiosity. Neither could understand it. Both the newsman and the scientist, however, were accustomed to waiting. The politician was not. Hambro indicated the noise,
“They’re talking to us aren’t they?”
“It’s a response,” Tevor said. “In itself this is nothing new.” But Hambro was by now at the door.
“Hold on!” Awen called after him, “I’ll get my gear.”
“No time to waste!” Hambro shouted.
Hambro had made up his mind to leave, wasn’t now going to allow himself to be delayed or dissuaded. His pace quickened as he heard Awen come running down the ramp after him.
“Look,” Awen caught up with him on the apron, grabbed a fold of his sleeve, “there’s nothing more for me to film here. Just two minutes and I’ll be ready.”
“Sorry,” Hambro tugged his sleeve free, pressed on towards the plane. Its idling engines stirred the foliage beyond the apron.
“You’d better see the story through to the end,” Hambro told Awen who had hurried after him. “Be here to record their first words to humanity. If you’ve got any film I can take with me...” They were at the plane.
“If I don’t go, neither does my film.”
“Suit yourself.” Hambro closed the plane door behind him.
The Senate Member for South Five saw Hambro safely seated, immediately lifted off for the capital. As the plane turned Hambro glanced morosely down at Awen on the apron, watched him turn abruptly towards Tevor Cade’s ship.
Hambro didn’t look out at the planet again, lost himself in his own thoughts.
So far as Hambro was concerned the entire trip had been a failure. Now he was concerned solely to rescue what political capital he could from the venture. Hence his ready abandonment of Awen Mendawer: Awen’s film could show him in a favourable or in a wholly unfavourable light, as a man of action or as a posturing interfering fool — depending on the outcome. For the moment, though, the universe would have to depend solely on Hambro’s interpretation of events on Happiness.
Service, he knew, would be slow to lift the restrictions on travel to and from Happiness. By the time those restrictions were lifted the Doctor would probably have some translations to substantiate Hambro’s claims; and Hambro would have his version first in the public mind.
The Senate Member for South Five, calling over his shoulder, said that they were about thirty minutes from their destination.
“Are you sure,” he asked Hambro, “that it is safe for you to leave here now?”
“They’re talking to us, aren’t they?” Hambro replied. The Senate Member pulled a doubtful face and concentrated on his piloting.
To be free of these provincial sceptics, Hambro thought, to be back in the city among civilised people who acknowledged his worth. From that insubordinate Director on XE2 to this sneering Senate Member of an under-populated planet, the whole trip had been thoroughly unenjoyable. Added to which the planet’s gravity had made him feel lethargic and melancholic, clumsy and graceless. It had been an effort even to rouse himself from his bed. And the sight of Awen Mendawer and Tevor Cade going busily about their business had only depressed him the more.
Hambro also decided that he didn’t like the planet’s hard light, nor its all-pervasive dust, nor its discordant noises, nor its disorderly vegetation; and most assuredly of all he did not like the planet’s settlers.
Since leaving the city he had found not one person he could trust, owned the distasteful feeling that he, Hambro Harrap, had been used from the very beginning. First by Anton Singh for a story, then by Tevor Cade for his money... he hadn’t forgiven ‘The Doctor’ for disassociating himself from him during that abominable interview with XE2’s antique Director. Indeed almost every person he had met, from the sceptical Spokesman to Awen Mendawer’s professionally ingrained cynicism, had seemed to have a low opinion of him. But who were they? Hambro asked himself. Nobodies, came the answer from his ego.
By the time they landed in Happiness’s capital city Hambro’s innate political optimism had revived. It was, therefore, with genuine pleasure that he clasped the trader Senate Member’s hand. Thanking him for the loan of his ship, Hambro assured him — out of the Senate Member for South Five’s hearing — that his friend would be readily forthcoming with those concessions.
“Are you sure it’s safe to leave?” the trader worried. “After all the restriction order is still in force.”
“Listen,” Hambro placed a confident arm around the trader’s shoulders, walked with him to the ship, “there’s an ancient law which says that when the talking starts the fighting stops. The talking has started; and if I don’t return now you’ll lose those concessions. I’ll have the ship back for you in six days with my friend’s reply. Before anyone else has left here. You do see that it all depends on my being the first?”
“Yes,” the trader Senate Member forced himself to smile. Because no-one, especially a Senate Member of an insignificant planet, was going to argue with a determined city Senate Member.
Strapped alone in the ship, Hambro gave vent to a great sigh of relief. He had intended, as a matter of professional courtesy, calling on XE2 and informing the Director there of their success on the planet; if for no other reason than to see for himself that aged Director eating humble pie. But, as that Director could not be relied on to react in a manner typical of Service personnel, Hambro asked himself what did he want with that disrespectful bald old fool. He also found himself yearning for home, to be back in his milieu. So he laid in a course for the city at maximum speed.
He smiled as the ship slowly followed the beacon path up out of the atmosphere. Now that he was free of the planet, now that he was indeed going home, he looked down on it with something akin to amusement — a game he had played there and which he might yet win. Awen had been right — it was a pretty place; and it might yet prove of use to him. In anticipation of his triumphant return to the city, for he had convinced himself now that he would make a triumph of it, he was still smiling when he entered the ionosphere. So wrapped was he in his own pleasant thoughts that he neither saw the dark shapes moving before the stars nor felt the sudden rock of the ship prior to its exploding about him
.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Awen had stood on the hot apron, had almost unconsciously filmed the plane’s departure, watching it gain height and then alter course towards the capital. His anger left with it — Awen was not given to brooding — and, wondering what he might be missing inside the research ship, he hastened back up the ramp.
The audio had been turned off. The screens were still dancing. Tevor moved back and forth along the console checking the equipment, occasionally — with an abstracted smile — affectionately touching various items. Awen filmed him, then sat facing the screens.
Nothing new was happening. Now he mulled over Hambro’s sudden departure, guessed why Hambro had left him behind: his film was evidence of the lack of real results. Knowing that, however, did not reconcile him to being marooned on the planet. Tevor had mentioned that the Director had given them five days: possibly Awen could hitch a ride back with whoever came to serve them notice. Though the likelihood of a rule enforcer thus bending the rules was not to be depended upon. Awen grimaced: his thoughts did not please him.
“Anything on the buoys’ cameras?” he stirred himself. Tevor Cade thumbed switches. The screens showed only speckled water.
“They didn’t show themselves on Elysia either,” Tevor said, returned the screens to the audio graphs.
“You mean that this, exactly this, has happened before?” In Awen’s tone was accusation and anger, the anger commensurate with the full realisation that this was not an original story.
“Pretty near.”
; “What did they say the last time?” Now Awen was sarcastic: his time was being wasted.
“That’s just it,” Tevor smiled. “The recordings got mangled. They weren’t prepared for such a response. Ended up making one recording for all the buoys. They’re still trying to disentangle it.”
“How much longer d’you reckon they’ll keep this up then, Doctor?”
“Who knows?”
“I take it you’re making more than one recording?”
“I came prepared.”
In silence they watched the ever changing patterns on the screens.
Tevor Cade, with what seemed a stiffening of resolve, turned to face Awen. Surreptitiously Awen keyed one of the cameras clipped to his chest. Tevor Cade’s embarrassment was plain.
“Now that he’s gone,” Tevor inclined his head in the retreating direction of Hambro Harrap, “would you mind not calling me Doctor? It is rather superfluous.”
“Sure Doctor,” Awen grinned. And so the title has stuck, has been passed on with humour and occasional scorn, to be greeted by a raised eyebrow and again passed on in ironical introduction.
With a grunt Tevor Cade joined with Awen in smiling at himself. Then both returned to, partly mesmerised, watching the squiggling patterns. One of the screens stopped. Awen was the first to notice it. By the time he drew Tevor’s attention to it the lines on another screen had flattened out into a single horizontal line.
“See if you can catch a glimpse of them on the cameras,” Awen leaning forward told him. “Might catch them off guard.”
Tevor Cade paused in his tapping of buttons to flick a switch. The screen was blank.
“They’ve nobbled your camera,” Awen said.
Tevor dropped dispiritedly onto a chair, “No. They’re destroying the buoys.”
Tevor indicated the screen showing the curving lines of the buoys. Five were already missing, corresponding with the five blank screens. Awen and Tevor watched as one by one the other buoys disappeared.
