by Sam Smith
“They did the same on Elysia,” Tevor said in a disconsolate monotone, “Left just the one buoy. And from that they transmit a five minute message on the hour every hour. Has become a local phenomena. Damn!” He slapped the console, “I thought that this time... I was hoping... it seemed reasonable to suppose that this time it might be different.”
Finally all but one buoy had disappeared from the screen. The remaining buoy was in midstream.
“There’s our one buoy,” Tevor said.
“You think he made it?’ Awen meant Hambro. Tevor shrugged,
“It was his idea to come along. His idea to leave. Be it on his own head.”
“Shouldn’t we warn him?”
“Go ahead,” Tevor indifferently told him.
Awen had difficulty finding the number for the docks. When, finally, someone did answer the phone, Hambro had just left. He had been tracked as far as the ionosphere.
“Only as far as the ionosphere?” Awen repeated for Tevor’s benefit.
“Yes,” the technician at the docks said. “Why?” The new having been with him for several weeks now, the technician had come to accept it as the norm, hadn’t thought to question its implications, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Awen replaced the phone.
Both Awen and Tevor sat in silence, neither wanting to speak lest it seem as if they were trying to blame the other or to exculpate themself. Finally Awen lifted a camera to his face and said,
“So what now? What do you do first?”
Tevor bestirred himself, switched off all the recorders save for the one on the remaining buoy.
“First,” he said, “I’ll try and translate each tape separately using the alphabets that I transmitted to them. If that doesn’t work I’ll run all the tapes through a translator, try to find common phrases, make sense of it that way.”
“There’s still hope then?” Awen tried to cheer him.
“Indeed there is,” Tevor faintly smiled. “I’d just hoped for something markedly different.”
Fifty five minutes after the first buoy had been destroyed the Nautili transmitted a message on the one remaining buoy. To the indiscriminate ear it consisted of a series of bleeps and burbles similar to that which Tevor Cade had transmitted to them. Nothing save mote-laden water was visible on the buoy’s camera. The only apparent difference in this transmission was the pattern the Nautili employed. It comprised a ten second continuous sound followed by a five second silence, then another ten second phrase. In all twenty five phrases on the hour every hour.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two days after the meeting on XE2, on the day that Hambro Harrap, Tevor Cade and Awen Mendawer landed on Happiness, Jorge Arbatov succeeded in hiring a passing freighter as a temporary replacement for the Departmental ship that had been lost along with Munred Danporr.
Nero Porsnin insisted on recording his objection to this unprecedented use of Departmental funds. The normal course of action, he informed Jorge, was to request from Supply a replacement ship; and that request Nero himself had submitted before Jorge had arrived on XE2. In due time a replacement ship would be sent them.
“In the meantime,” Jorge said, “we have no ship.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Nero said, and persisted in making his protest official.
Jorge did not discourage Nero. In fact the reverse — he seemed pleased by Nero’s stubborn independence of thought. He did, however, point out that no Service rule expressly forbade a temporary Director from seeking a temporary replacement for a lost ship, adding that the disbursement of Department funds was ultimately at the Director’s discretion, be he temporary or otherwise.
For his part Nero was satisfied with his protest and thereafter co-operated in fitting out the ship with Service machines.
Four days after the meeting on XE2, on the day that Awen Mendawer filmed the amphibious apes, Jorge Arbatov and Nero Porsnin huddled together in the library to study the newly arrived records from Ben. After seven hours no realistic plan for treating with the Nautili had occurred to either of them. Jorge Arbatov decided that the time had come for Tulla Yorke to inform them of her intentions.
That evening Tulla Yorke, Jorge Arbatov and Nero Porsnin congregated in Jorge’s office; and for once Tulla Yorke seemed unflustered, had come prepared to calmly, patiently and confidently argue the merits of her proposals. She first asked permission to use Jorge’s console. Then, opening her case, she selected various files, slotted them home, tapped buttons, watched the screens. When she was satisfied she turned to the two seated men.
“I believe,” she said, “that if we want to convince the Nautili of our trust, we have but one real option. And we have twelve days on the planet in which to make our preparations. Now,” she tapped buttons, “on every planet the Nautili have colonised they have, so far as we have been able to observe, approximately 82 days after their arrival, laid an overland trail of caustic slime — a corrosive gel of a concentrated saline base — from one ocean to another.”
On the screens were relief photographs of silver slime trails — some over ochre deserts, some around grey mountainsides, some through green valleys.
“Each slime trail is 40 centimetres thick, thirty five meters wide. The trail is lain always between the inland saline sea and the nearest ocean, takes always the path of least resistance.”
Tulla increased the elevation on the photographs.
“The longest trail on record,” she indicated a screen, “is 1,587 kilometres. The shortest,” she drew their attention to another screen, “is 58 kilometres. As you will notice all of these routes could have been much shorter. But another characteristic of these trails is that nowhere do they go over 1,500 meters above sea level. They also avoid any inland water courses, streams and suchlike between the two seas. Here, for instance, they could have taken a route which would have been only 87 kilometres between the two seas. But, because of this swamp in the middle here, they laid their trail here,” she pointed to a mountainous area. “Because of the twists and turns to keep below 1,500 meters, that trail is 994 kilometres long. Nor do any of their trails go over any ice. As here. Now, if we...”
Jorge held up his hand to halt her,
“Do we know the exact purpose of these trails?”
“No. Plenty of hypotheses, but no real data. No-one has ever actually seen a trail being laid nor being used. Which, incidentally, makes me suspect that they may have been able to block our scanners for some time. Though, it must be said, these mountainous areas between the seas are often covered with low cloud, our view of them is therefore often naturally obscured. Also, assuming, as is generally accepted, that the Nautili are averse to daylight, they probably lay and use these trails at night. And the Nautili being probably cold-blooded creatures, we cannot therefore detect their movements through infra-red scans.”
“Most sources,” Nero authoritatively aired his so-recently acquired knowledge, “believe that the trails are used for the moving of heavy marine machinery.”
“Not a view I wholly favour. But then I don’t know why their planets should always have an inland sea. Possibly they do use those inland seas as factories, isolate them as we do to avoid pollution. And some theories say that the trails are made by giant molluscs in the Nautili’s employ. Yet other theories maintain that the Nautili are themselves the descendants of molluscs. But it is all conjecture; and what we have to look at is ascertainable facts. Now, if we look at Happiness,” more buttons tapped, “and in particular at the inland sea there, we see again that a narrow mountain range lies between the inland sea and the ocean.”
“But why should they cross there? Why not,” Jorge rose stooping from his chair, pointed further North to the land masses that separated the inland sea from the other oceans, “across here? Very few mountains here.”
“No,” Tulla shook her head, “they always cross the apparently narrowest strip of land between the two seas. Look at their longest route.” She called back one of the
other photo-reliefs, “Here, from space, it appears that only 81 kilometres separates the two seas. However, because of these mountains their trail was 1,587 kilometres long. Whereas down here a straight line, which within their own parameters they could have achieved, would have taken them only 765 kilometres. No, it is safe to say that they will attempt to lay their trail somewhere here.”
Jorge had frowning resumed his seat. Tulla came back to the photo-reliefs of Happiness,
“At its narrowest point here the mountain summits are all over 1,500 meters above sea level. And at either end here, where the land begins to widen, there are large areas of marsh. These two patches of bright green. I have calculated, therefore, seven possible routes that their slime trail will take.”
Tulla called up a relief map of the mountains. At the tap of a button a dotted line wound its way around the mountains between the two seas.
“That is their shortest route. 693 kilometres. This,” another dotted line wriggled around the mountains, “is their longest route, 2,433 kilometres. And these are their other alternatives.” Five more dotted lines serpentined between the two seas.
The two men studied the dotted lines, looked to the photographs, back to the map.
“Which one do you think they’ll use?” Jorge asked Tulla.
“Depends which sea they start from. If it’s from the inland sea, then I should guess any one of these four — they have the lowest starting point that side. Their shortest route from that side is 836 kilometres. If from this side, then one of these three.”
“Which side do you think they’ll start from?”
“At an educated guess — from the inland sea. The trails are often lower on that side than on the other. It’s logical therefore to assume that coming from the sea they’d choose the lowest point in view from the sea. But that’s our logic.”
“Is that region inhabited?” Nero asked.
“No, a wilderness area. The closest farms are here and here,” Tulla pointed to beyond the marshy areas on either side of the mountain range.
“Is the trail influenced by the latitude?” Jorge asked.
“Only insofar that it is never that close to the seasonal spread of the ice caps. One trail, here,” she pointed to another screen, “is directly on the equator. Here on Happiness we’re eleven degrees North.”
“Where’s the research station the others went to?”
“Down here,” Tulla called up a larger projection, “Six degrees south.” She proceeded to point out the channel where Tevor Cade had probably placed his buoys.
“If he’s been successful,” she said, “it will make my proposals academic. However, should he, as I suspect he will, fail, then this is what I propose as proof to the Nautili that we wish to actively co-operate with them. I propose that we remove these mountains here. That will create a straight path between the seas only 49 kilometres long. Their shortest yet.”
The two men gave this their silent consideration.
“We know,” Tulla said, “that the Nautili can move moons, can move even whole planets. We don’t know how, but we do know that they can. We also know that they are incapable of operating on the land surface of a planet. We are very capable of operating on the land surfaces of planets. They can move moons and planets, but not mountains. We can move mountains, but not planets. This is how we will prove our worth to them.”
“How,” Nero asked her, “do you propose removing those mountains?”
“Farmers down there have earth moving equipment. We’ll blast the mountains, remove the rubble to these marshes. Shouldn’t take us more than three or four days.”
“This is a wilderness area,” Nero said, “By what authority will you undertake to so drastically interfere in it?”
“If,” Jorge said, “I believe it to be desirable, I will declare a State of Emergency down there. By that authority it will be done.”
“And who will pay for it?” Nero asked him.
“For any emergency works, deemed to be necessary, this Department will underwrite all costs.”
“In that case I must register my protest. The funding of...”
“Your protest is recorded,” Jorge stopped him, looked to Tulla, “Isn’t this rather risky? Aren’t you assuming that the Nautili will know that what we’re doing is for their benefit? Might not they conclude, from the blasting, that we’re attacking them? Or possibly seeking to prevent their crossing? What, for instance, if they think we’re cutting a canal?”
“I didn’t say there weren’t any risks involved. But at some point we’ve got to start trusting one another. How else do we establish that trust?”
“We could,” Jorge said, “remove mountains for them on planets they have yet to colonise.”
But will they know,” Tulla rejoined, “that we were responsible for those routes? We have to be seen by them to be helping them. We have to prove our good intentions.”
“We could also,” Nero said, “await Tevor Cade’s results.”
“Of course we will check with him first.” Tulla, on hearing the beginnings of exasperation in her own voice, calmed herself, “I sincerely hope that this work isn’t necessary.”
“And if,” Nero said, “Tevor Cade has, as yet, no results, you’ll proceed anyway?”
“We must,” Tulla said. “Time is not on our side. If we miss this opportunity we may not have another. I cannot be certain of their time of arrival on Happiness. I have allowed seven days before the blocking of transmissions and the disappearance of the moon. Trails are laid 82 days after their arrival. That leaves us twelve days optimum. Two days to get there, ten days in which to do the work. Of course we could have much longer. Depends how long after the moon was removed that the seas became habitable for them. If, however, they began colonisation before the removal of the moon then we may have no time to spare whatsoever. Therefore, if you agree, I propose that we leave immediately after this meeting for Happiness.”
“We?” Nero said.
“I have no authority to order the removal of those mountains,” Tulla said. “One of you will have to accompany me.”
Jorge asked to be taken over the arguments again. Tulla returned to the map of Happiness, to the projected possible routes of the slime trails. Jorge sought clarification of several points. Tulla patiently reiterated her reasoning, her provisos. Jorge asked if there were any other means of contacting the Nautili. Tulla said,
“They operate in space as well as, if not better than, we do. They have now acquired the ability to make themselves undetectable by us. How can we lead them to fresh planets if we can’t see them? We have to build trust first. Then they might allow us to see them, to lead them.”
“And what,” Nero said, “if we make them this trail, and they use it, and we make them more trails on other planets, and they still do not co-operate? They could end up just using us, and laughing at us.”
“That conclusion, with all due respect,” Tulla smiled apologetically at Nero, “says more about you than it does about the Nautili. To be trusted we first have to trust. Look at our own species. It is accepted, it is axiomatic, that if you treat people like savage beasts then they will act like savage beasts. Treat them like irresponsible schoolchildren and they will act like irresponsible schoolchildren. But, and our civilisation is proof of it, treat people with trust and intelligence, and nine times out of ten they will return that trust and intelligence. We must treat with the Nautili on that same basis. This could be our one chance to see if we can truly co-exist.”
“Why this close to the city?”
“The universe is finite Nero. We’ve got to learn somewhere, one day.”
“But why now? Why here?” Nero in half-humorous self-mockery dropped his head into his hands, “Why me?”
Jorge asked Nero to check on the availability of earth-moving equipment on Happiness. Nero and Tulla swapped seats. From Nero’s figures Jorge estimated that they would have machines enough to do the job. He had been to planets before. On his first being posted a
s Director of Substation Liaison he had made it his business to visit the two planets within his Department, acquaint himself with his responsibilities. Nero, although his career too had at one time necessitated in his being a Director of Substation Liaison, had never set foot on a planet.
While questioning Tulla about other possible courses of action, Jorge asked her the name of the inland sea.
“The Teardrop Ocean,” Tulla told him.
“Struth!” Jorge said. Thus was recorded the only laughter at that meeting.
Finally Jorge conceded that, as they had no alternative plan, he and Tulla should proceed to Happiness accompanied by the police ship. Nero, for the record, methodically enumerated his protests. Jorge overrode them, told Nero to keep Inspector Eldon Boone abreast of all developments. On the police ship’s return with news of events on Happiness, that news too was to be dispatched immediately to Inspector Eldon Boone on Torc. Sergeant Alger Deaver and Constable Drin Ligure were told to hold themselves in readiness.
* * * * *
An hour later, when the two ships left XE2, Hambro Harrap was on his way to address the Happiness Senate.
In the police ship the two policemen, this being their fourth trip to the planet and used now to the journey, soon had their sleeping roster arranged, spent their mutual waking time grumbling quietly to one another. While, in the hired freighter, Tulla Yorke and Jorge Arbatov fed all of Tulla’s research into the Service machines, began their compilation of a film to explain their plans to the inhabitants of Happiness. Neither considered sleeping while the work was unfinished.
* * * * *
So, once again, out of a series of blunders, by mischance rather than merit, our civilisation fortuitously managed to find the right people at the right time. But were those two remarkable individuals the right people? Indeed have they ever, in our entire history, been the right people? That all such individuals did alter the course and shape of our civilisation there can be no doubt; and, because we live in the civilisation that they were instrumental in creating, we naturally regard them as heroes and heroines. Elevating them to heroic status, though, is to presuppose that civilisation is better for what they did. What if they hadn’t? Would civilisation be any the worse? Or would it be simply different? Imponderables.
