by Sam Smith
So, for the moment, let us not yet, beyond acknowledging their earnest endeavours, promote Jorge Arbatov and Tulla Yorke to legend. Because the contribution of every person thus far mentioned in this story is equally valid, even those whose efforts have appeared misguided and purely negative. Nor must we overlook the fact that most people’s contribution to this drama, if only as counterweights, are those of the institutions they represent.
It would be reasonably safe to say that other men or women, in their position, might well have acted the same as Munred Danporr, as Hambro Harrap, as Eldon Boone, even as Jorge Arbatov; because, although untypical of Service personnel, Jorge Arbatov was tolerated within that institution and can therefore be regarded as representing a certain aspect of it. Even, also, in the case of Hambro Harrap: another politician so clandestinely informed might have gone to the Executive; although, had that politician done so, events would probably not have turned out that much differently. No, only one person, and one alone, can be said to have made a contribution entirely and uniquely her own — Tulla Yorke.
Her happening to be on that particular station at that particular time is an exemplary demonstration of how one lone individual can affect the course of history.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sergeant Alger Deaver docked the police ship at the planetary police headquarters in Happiness’s capital. Two thousand kilometres away, at approximately the same time, Jorge Arbatov docked the hired freighter at the Spokesman’s farm.
The Spokesman met Jorge and Tulla at the foot of the ramp. In effecting the introductions Jorge gave Tulla the title of Professor. Jorge, though scornful of such titles himself, was not unaware of others’ veneration for them, nor was he above employing such titles to impress those he believed so foolishly impressionable. Tulla, however, snorted at the erroneous title, and the Spokesman grinned with her. The joke shared, an immediate fellowship established, Jorge smiling said,
“Your office?”
The third visit of the police ship had appraised the Spokesman of Jorge Arbatov’s taking over as Director, of his open record policy, and thus of Tulla Yorke’s interest in the disappearance of their moon. Although Jorge’s recorded opinions, implicit and explicit, of planetary inhabitants were not in the least flattering, his outspokenness made no attempt to hide from reality. After the tact and wishing-it-would-go-away thinking of Munred Danporr, after the self-deluding deviousness of Hambro Harrap, the Spokesman was therefore disposed to look kindly upon Jorge Arbatov and Tulla Yorke.
As they walked towards the low office building Jorge asked the Spokesman,
“I take it Hambro Harrap and Tevor Cade arrived safely?”
“They did.”
“You therefore know that there are Nautili here?”
“We do.”
“Have they made contact?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the Spokesman held the office door open for them.
Once all were seated the rotund Spokesman related to Jorge and Tulla what the Senate Member for South Five had yesterday told him — of the Nautili response, of their destruction of all but one of the buoys, of how this had happened before.
“On Ram, Elysia and Valask,” Tulla said.
“They are still at the research station?” Jorge asked the Spokesman.
“The cameraman and Tevor Cade, yes. Hambro Harrap borrowed a ship and left that same day. That is the afternoon before last.”
Jorge and Tulla had happened to be looking at one another. Tulla lowered her eyes.
“Damn fool,” Jorge said.
“You think they...” the Spokesman began.
“He might’ve made it,” Jorge dismissively shrugged. “I’ll have the police check when they return to XE2. Now,” he opened his case, “as from this moment a State of Emergency exists on this planet. On my authority.” He handed the Spokesman the filmstick, “This, I hope, will explain why.”
The film showed the expansion of the Nautili, described their criteria for habitable planets, predicted the dearth of planets the Nautili would encounter in eighty years time. Jorge’s dry voice had been used to explain the diagrams and charts, referring the viewer often, for further details, to page and number of the open records of all meetings held on XE2 concerning the Nautili. The film ended with the map of Happiness and the possible routes of the slime trail between the two seas, and with Tulla’s proposal to remove the mountains between the two seas to make it easier for the Nautili to lay their slime trail.
While the Spokesman was watching the film Tulla and Jorge flicked through the records of Happiness. On reading Hambro Harrap’s address to the Senate Jorge grunted but one word,
“Humbug.”
When the film finished the Spokesman scanned the records of the meetings on XE2. Jorge and Tulla watched him and waited. The Spokesman read most of the records with pursed lips, snorted contemptuously once, guffawed once. Finally he turned to Jorge and Tulla with a smile,
“Facts at last.”
“Largely conjecture,” Tulla hastened to tell him.
“But honest,” the Spokesman assured her.
Not only did the film’s lack of artistry bespeak sincerity, that sincerity was reinforced by his being allowed access to the reasoning whereby the decisions had been reached.
Even though the Spokesman may not have been enamoured by many of the views expressed in the Service records about planetary dwellers he, like most other of Happiness’s inhabitants, knew those derogatory views to exist, knew how to comport themselves in the face of such prejudice; and knowing that antagonism to exist they could make allowances for it in their own reckonings.
“We made the film so that you could show it to your Senate,” Jorge said. “Save us having to go over the same ground again and again. Of course I’ll be available to answer, if I can, any questions. But time is short.” The Spokesman held up his hand to halt Jorge.
“First,” he said, “I’d like to say that I am pleased that a State of Emergency has been declared. If for no other reason than it removes the responsibility from me. We also all know now exactly where we stand. Let me also say that I am inclined to trust you. Neither of you have come here to cash in on our misfortune. If I have your permission I propose broadcasting this film to the whole planet.”
“Good idea,” Jorge said.
“Concerning the film, there’s one thing I don’t understand. I can see many reasons for the Nautili isolating our planet, but I still don’t understand exactly why they had to remove our moon.”
“To control their environment,” Tulla answered him. “Remove a variable. Make it more stable. As we’ve talked for years of controlling planetary weather.”
“That,” the Spokesman smiled, “I can understand. There’s just one other question I want to ask now. How do we know that the Nautili won’t think, as I think you suggested, that we’re cutting a canal through those mountains and deliberately spoiling this planet for them? In which case they might attack us.”
“We don’t,” Jorge said. “But I will have all available police planes standing by in case of attack. At,” he forestalled Tulla’s objection, “a discreet distance.”
“But,” the Spokesman said, “you said a moment ago that you were sending your police ship back. And we have only planes here.”
“Which are armed. And Nautili have little manoeuvrability within this atmosphere. Those planes should prove sufficient should we be attacked.”
“What if they attack the townships?”
“Logically they should attack us where they think we’re damaging them most.”
‘‘Nautili have been known to take reprisals.”
“It’s a risk your people will have to take.”
The Spokesman made a face at that, but accepted it,
“You will requisition the equipment you need here?”
“Under the powers granted me by the State of Emergency.”
“Who will bear the cost?”
“The Department. Not this planet.”
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“Hambro Harrap mentioned the possibility of compensation. For those killed?”
“Sorry,” Jorge shook his head. “That’s a policy issue not a Service consideration. You will have to make representations to the City Senate.”
The spokesman nodded as if such was the answer he had expected.
“Right,” he rubbed his plump hands together, “I’ll transmit the film now to all Senate Members. I will also tell them that I intend to fully co-operate with you. I will also fully explain the possible risks.”
“I expected nothing less,” Jorge beamed at him.
“Even though a State of Emergency now exists, even though the Senate no longer has any executive powers, a Senate Meeting will still have to be called. As a safety outlet if nothing more. That will take three days. I will probably, however, get an informal consensus beforehand; and I can, therefore, start requisitioning whatever you need now.”
“Thank you. But right now we have to visit Tevor Cade. If he has managed to talk with the Nautili, then all of this will be unnecessary.”
“You’ll have to use my plane,” the Spokesman led them to the door, “There’s only a small apron there. Wilderness. Tevor Cade’s ship already takes up most of it. My wife will take you.”
Chapter Thirty
The Spokesman’s wife, quaint term, was as portly and amiable as himself. As she piloted the plane she pointed out to her two passengers places of interest below. Places of interest that is to her: she told them to whom each farm belonged, gave them a potted history of the family.
“That’s the Keal place. Best apples on Happiness. It’s the altitude. You’ll have heard of Belid Keal. She’s their young daughter. Pleasant girl. But shy. The Lucky One they call her now.”
When they passed from the land out over the blue sea Tulla asked the Spokesman’s wife if she had seen anything of the Nautili.
“Hide nor hair. If it wasn’t for the moon not being there, and the ships gone missing, wouldn’t know any different.”
With nothing but the wrinkled sea below, with no commentary to give her passengers, the Spokesman’s wife said to Tulla,
“Don’t suppose planet life would suit you?”
“Actually I don’t think I’d mind it. It’s pretty. And friendly. But for an astrophysicist it’s hardly the place to be.”
The Spokesman’s wife was a talkative woman; for something to talk about she quizzed Tulla about her work, what it involved, where her home was.
“Oh, here and there,” Tulla said. “You know how it is.”
“I forgot,” the Spokesman’s wife said.
They came in sight of the green and brown coast.
“Wilderness,” the Spokesman’s wife unnecessarily informed them; and with nothing to remark upon save what a clever man the Senate Member for South Five was, and how lucky they were to have him in the Happiness Senate, the small plane descended to the river estuary. Awen Mendawer was waiting for them on the apron.
Since Hambro Harrap’s departure Awen had been daily visiting the amphibious apes, filming them from the hide and from behind trees on the other side of the river. Tevor Cade had bleeped Awen and the Senate Member to warn them of the Director’s arrival on Happiness. Awen and the Senate Member had been back from the jungle but twenty minutes when the Spokesman’s plane landed. The Senate Member was in one of the cabins on the phone.
Awen filmed Jorge and Tulla as they emerged from the plane. Jorge and Tulla ignored him. Awen filmed them, one tall and thin, one tall and broad, as they crossed the apron to the research ship, and, filming them, he followed them inside. Tevor Cade removed his headphones and rose to meet them.
“You have been in contact with the Nautili?” Jorge tersely greeted him.
Tevor Cade distractedly told them exactly what had happened — the Nautili’s saturation response, all bar one of the buoys being destroyed, the Nautili’s hourly transmissions on that one remaining buoy.
“They appear to have permanently anchored it,” he said. “The motor’s no longer running and it’s not drifting.”
He then told them of the similarities with the research conducted on Elysia.
“What do you make of it?” Jorge asked him.
“I honestly don’t know,” Tevor ran a hand through his ungroomed hair. “What they’re transmitting to me now is no alphabet. Every character is different. Six hundred expressions every day. All different. All that I can think is that it has to be some kind of lexicon.” His hands turned one over the other as he sought words to further explain himself.
Tulla beheld a man engrossed in his work, humbled by his ignorance: gone was the smooth city fund-raiser who confidently knew all the answers.
“What of their mass transmissions to you?” she asked to help him over his block.
“That’s just it. Not one of the characters they’ve transmitted to me singly corresponds with any of those used in the mass response. In that they used the characters from the alphabets that I transmitted to them. From all of the alphabets, all mixed together. My only deduction so far is that they must have used all those different alphabets as one big lexicon. I’ve run some preliminary checks, and so far as I can see it looks like, right back to Dag Olvess, they’ve been using from the alphabets transmitted to them what most closely resembles their own words. If words are what they use. It’s the only way at the moment I can make any sense of it. If I can somehow find the rosetta key, make those alphabets correspond with what they’re transmitting to me now, then maybe we’ll know what they’re saying.”
“Have you,” Jorge asked him, “transmitted anything on your one buoy?”
“Don’t see the point.” Tevor frowned at him, “Until I know what I’m saying to them.”
“He’s right,” Tulla said. “We don’t want any misunderstandings before we start.”
“Start?”
Anxious and uncomprehending Tevor looked from Tulla to Jorge.
Jorge explained that they were going to attempt to make it easier for the Nautili to lay their slime trail by removing some of the mountains,
“We’ve made a film giving the detailed reasons.”
“I’ve just been watching it,” The Senate Member for South Five and the Spokesman’s wife had come into the ship. “The Spokesman also asked me to tell you,” the Senate Member said, “that an engineer has volunteered to cut the road and that some of the equipment is already on its way.”
His message delivered, the Senate Member for South Five advanced on Tulla hand outstretched, introduced himself, asked her,
“You’re a a Nautili buff too?”
“Not at all,” Tulla laughed. “I’m an astrophysicist. This...” she gestured at the planet, at Tevor, at Jorge, “is an aberration.”
“Behold,” the Senate Member for South Five said to Awen’s camera, “another narrow specialist.”
During this exchange Jorge had been rubbing the top of his bald head in mild perplexity. That the inhabitants should have responded so quickly, and apparently so willingly, had surprised him. Planetary inhabitants are supposed to be arch-reactionaries: Jorge had expected to have to bulldoze his way through their bucolic phlegm. What he hadn’t allowed for was their reaction to his prevaricating predecessors, Munred Danporr and Hambro Harrap. After them Jorge’s openness and lack of condescension had come as a welcome change.
Other than that, Jorge’s approach was psychologically more acceptable to the people of Happiness, in that it asked them to actively contribute to the solving of, what was to them, their problem. No more were they the hapless bystanders on their own planet. Such, though, had not occurred to Jorge.
“You can look at the film later,” Jorge told Tevor, “For the moment I want you to press on with deciphering their transmissions. Would a record of what they’ve so far transmitted on Elysia help?”
“If one’s been kept. Yes. It would certainly be a help. For comparison if nothing else.”
Jorge made some calculations,
“Elysia’
s a round trip of 56 days. I’ll send a request back with the police ship. Now I want you to keep listening. Especially for any dramatic change in their transmissions. If they don’t like what we’re doing they may try to warn us off. Please be vigilant.”
Jorge turned to go. Awen, a camera not at his face, caught him by the arm.
“Did Hambro Harrap get back safely?”
“We don’t know yet,” Jorge told him. Awen held onto his thin arm,
“Any chance of me getting a lift back on the police ship?”
“Police ships do not carry passengers.”
“These are exceptional circumstances.”
“Quite. There’s a State of Emergency extant here. In a State of Emergency no-one leaves the area so defined without express permission. You, especially you, are not going to receive that permission.”
Jorge removed his arm from Awen’s grip and left the ship.
Tulla, the Senate Member and the Spokesman’s wife followed Jorge down the ramp.
“Poor man,” Tulla referred back to Tevor. “It must have all seemed so very straightforward to him.” The Senate Member laughed,
“You of all people should know better than that. Here, as in space, the straightest route isn’t always the shortest.”
They reached Jorge beside the Spokesman’s plane. Awen, lugging his two black cases, cameras banging about his body, came hurrying after them.
“Can I come with you?” he asked Jorge.
“Not my plane,” Jorge said, and turning from him folded himself through the door. Awen looked helplessly to the Spokesman’s wife, who in turn looked to the Senate Member, who, with a wink at Awen, nodded. Tulla and the Spokesman’s wife helped Awen with his cases.
