Of a Note in a Cosmic Song; Part Four

by Nōnen Títi

  “I just thought it would be good to keep people alert to hygiene, since they may believe that story about the septic tank.”

  “So you lie?”

  “I wasn’t lying. Just making sure people don’t think the wrong things.”

  “And you decide what the right thing for them to think is?”

  Wolt fiddled with his fingers.

  “At least have the decency to answer me.”

  “I talked with Roilan, that’s all.”

  “So Roilan decides what the right way to think is?”

  “I know what you’re saying, Benjamar, but I–”

  “If you know what I’m saying, you go and rewrite that article right now. I have told you this before: You either accurately report the facts or you report the opinions of both sides equally. If you can’t do that, I’ll have your bulletin cancelled for good.”

  Wolt stood up abruptly, his eyes showing anger. “Information is a right for people, Benjamar.”

  “Information, yes; the truth. If you can’t write the truth then it isn’t information. Did you ask an expert about the dangers of the position of the septic tank or did you take Roilan’s word for it? Experts like Irma, Frimon, or Tini? They could have told you.”

  Wolt reached for the door. Maybe not as easily impressed by Benjamar as he used to be, but he still wanted to get out.

  Benjamar stopped him. “I need you to think about the power you have a bit harder, Wolt. People still have a habit of believing that which is written. Implying that ill will rather than an accident caused the disease will breed anger and fear. The only way this colony is going to survive is with peace and trust. You understand me?”

  He waited for Wolt to say yes before letting him leave.

  The way he was going lately, Benjamar was not so much a judge as a supervisor, jumping back and forth to stop conflicts from getting out of hand, reprimanding and advising. Not all took that gladly, yet Wolt would think it over. That was enough for now.

  With Nini no longer there for his own perspective, Benjamar had found a valuable replacement in Yako. To find Yako he had to only go where he used to go for Nini. Yako had little formal education; he’d been expelled from Learners at age twelve, after two years of life coaches, tests, and medications for not conforming to the standards. The diagnosis was similar to that which Skawag had been faced with at that age – Hypersensitivity to emotions and prone to distraction, making him susceptible to a criminal mind. The difference was that Yako never had a high-ranking father to influence the system; his parents had been accused of being unfit and Yako had become a userchild. Due to his behavioural record he had been unable to get a job, not even as a worker, and was, thus, considered a burden to the state, with which his fate to become a user had been sealed, though he was never charged with any offence. He had learned all he knew from his own studies and observations and it had been his choice to come on the kabin.

  “What it came down to is that I didn’t fit in, not because there was something wrong with me, but because there was something wrong with the expectation that all people have to be exact copies of each other,” Yako explained. “Learners instils in children’s minds the toxic belief that uniformity is an expression of equal rights. Toxic because it festers in their minds so that, by the time they’re adults, they infect the next generation voluntarily, like a virus spreads cell by cell, with each explosion infecting hundreds more. Conformity is equated with smart so that those with the best grades are likely to become obedient to the ruling power, for good or for bad. Consequently, in a society that considers science infallible, the so-called experts express the view of the state, using psychology to enforce the norm. The whole idea of bad genes and users was designed to allow the forced sterilization of large amounts of people to help population reduction. The goal is always political, but by using a jury of conformists who readily accept the medical claims and the promise of reform, the judge is not recognized as the executioner, while being guaranteed their support. No offence, Benjamar, but trials were held to keep people believing that justice was done, while the outcome was predetermined by a public opinion forged through science funded by the state.”

  Although he could not possibly agree with that, Benjamar took no offence. He appreciated Yako’s different ideas. Ever since Daili’s confession he had been forced to review the assumptions that supported his own beliefs, and Yako’s insights often helped put things in perspective. For one thing, he didn’t get his opinions from the people around him; he could think for himself.

  “Do you believe we can keep Roilan and Frimon out of each other’s hair for the sake of peace?” Benjamar now asked him.

  “Sometimes I get the distinct feeling it isn’t so much that people can’t come to an agreement, but a much more instinctive need for being on top, no matter what the issue. I’m not saying Roilan and Frimon are like that, but many of their supporters are,” Yako answered.

  “In which case it doesn’t matter whose side they’re on, nor if they lie or cheat,” Marya added.

  “So how do we get around that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Yako said. “It looks like it’s always been like that from when people still battled each other man-to-man. Civilization certainly didn’t cure it – all that did was advance the technology so that innocent people also get hurt.”

  “Then don’t call it civilization,” Jema told him. “A civilization would be a place where people act in a civilized manner toward each other.”

  She was sitting on the far end of the room next to Marya, her hair neatly cut at her shoulders, in contrast to that of the other two. Benjamar enjoyed the presence of these three people for their thoughts, but it was a lot easier to answer Yako than it was Jema. There was nothing basically wrong with what she said, but it was the way she said it.

  “So what do you think about these new rules the people voted on while you were away? Will they work?” he asked.

  Yako expressed his surprise that so many had voted yes to the fair-is-fair system, which was kind of radical. He’d expected more moderate voices. “I think that the problem was the yes-or-no only vote. There was no in between.”

  “Which goes to show that elections don’t work,” Jema said.

  “They do work if properly executed,” Benjamar replied, although he should have known better.

  “They do not, exactly because of what Yako said earlier. People long to fight and come out the winner, which causes either continuous changes of power or long-term repression, depending on the system. Vote for leaders and you create deception, vote for ideas and you invite tunnel-vision, but in the end the outcome is not relevant since the puppeteers don’t listen to the puppets anyway.”

  She looked at him, her eyes willing him to repeat that otacy could work so she could throw some more black and white statements at him.

  “I think we’re expecting too much. We are new to this; we’ll have to learn what works,” Marya told her.

  “Which is why a person with wisdom and experience should be in charge, not some ego-centric know-it-all,” Jema said.

  “You’re still talking from your personal anger. That is just as ego-centric,” Benjamar retorted. “Try and put it in general terms.”

  She blushed, giving away that she’d not talked about this with Yako and Marya. Then, maybe to prevent them from asking, she tried to rephrase: “What I mean is that it makes no difference if you have elections about opinions or people. The thing is that as long as they all believe they’re equals they will disagree and try to push their own point by any means necessary. What this colony needs is someone in charge, someone who knows what he’s doing.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Ever since people became civilized have they been fighting for equality. A statement like that on DJar would get you accused of being sexist, racist, both kunist and buyist at the same time, and dictatorial,” Marya told her.

  “Which is exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Who decides which person
knows what he’s doing?” Benjamar asked Jema. “Roilan believes he knows. Frimon believes it. Tigor certainly did, but he ended up in prison.”

  “Because they all put themselves forward. A leader is born, not elected, and most people are followers who will do what they’re told. Oh yeah, they believe they have a personal opinion and a voice, but that’s the veil of deception most don’t even notice.”

  “Like being compelled to vote?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t they all go because of his threat? Even after having been informed. They obeyed in the name of otacy.”

  “Or they’d have ended up like you.”

  “Exactly, because elections don’t by definition guarantee otacy or equality. It’s a veil.”

  “Ended up like you, how?” Marya asked.

  Jema told her it was nothing, but by now Yako and Marya had a right to know, so Benjamar informed them.

  “How did you know Roilan would do it anyway, and when?” Marya asked him.

  “I guess I’ve had a lifetime to observe people and events. People make mistakes. That doesn’t make them bad people.”

  Yako agreed that Roilan had no bad intentions; he was merely young and not very sensitive to others. “It’s easy to decide that someone is good or bad so you can go out and fight the bad guy, which brings us straight back to the need to win again,” he told Jema.

  Benjamar valued him for exactly that kind of insight and his ability to put it into words.

  “I wasn’t trying to win. I was only trying to prevent a guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing from taking power.”

  “And of course you know!” Benjamar said.

  Alerted by his warning, she backed down. “No, I don’t, but I am not intending to run the town; I don’t put myself forward. What I do know is that this isn’t working and I don’t believe we should keep going after something that has proven not to work. We have this chance to start over – why make the same mistakes as before?”

  “So let me know when you have the answer, and until then, try not to kick so hard against everybody else,” Benjamar told her.

  He’d heard enough for one day and left them with the intention of talking to Frimon. He ended up there at the wrong time and was forced to listen to a Society speech. Quite a few familiar faces of people he wouldn’t have thought would subscribe to this were present.

  After the meeting he invited Frimon to walk with him and asked the same question he’d asked Irma. “Why didn’t you alert people to the location of the tank before the work was finished?”

  “They wouldn’t have listened anyway. I was afraid they’d start accusing me of deliberately endangering the town again,” Frimon answered.

  “Which is exactly what they’re doing now. So why mention it after?”

  “In all honesty? I was hoping to prove that Roilan didn’t know it all. That people would start to doubt him, but I was wrong.”

  “Yes, you were. I don’t agree with everything Roilan says either, but he’s a young man. I expected more of you than to get caught up in this show of power once more.”

  Frimon stood still, looked at Benjamar, and then shook his head slowly. “You were wrong too.”

  There was no need to explain the danger that could have been prevented or how much extra resources and work replacing the tank would cost. Frimon had understood, so Benjamar left him and went home. He didn’t confront Roilan yet. For all the good it would do, he had no desire for another lengthy discussion. He was tired of talking. Maybe he should sign up for that new settlement as well.

  THE SMELL OF POLITICS

  It was during Harmon’s visit at the end of the second moon of Station Seven that Benjamar concluded that he would really like to move to that new place. Here he ended up as arbitrator between people, forever dealing with complaints or ideals. There was, of course, no guarantee that it would be different over there, but with Nini he’d always found peace.

  Benjamar had made it very clear that his ruling about Tigor had been the very last one he would do as a judge, which was his initial reaction to this latest request.

  “Please, Benjamar. Otherwise they’ll appoint a judge by pulling a name out of a box. You are the only person who can do this in a fair way.”

  Harmon sat opposite him, leaning forward as if ready to jump up and leave at the first sign of rejection. He looked like Markag now, in an odd sort of way. His hair was receding, still dark blond, but thin and shiny; an older, more worn look, as if the worries of the entire colony rested on his shoulders.

  “Okay, Harmon, tell me what this is about. I’m not promising, but I will listen.” Why was he doing this?

  “Frimon is being accused of physical abuse and they’re calling for him to be kicked out of town, and the whole Society with him.”

  It didn’t surprise Benjamar to hear this. The public opinion hadn’t been in Roilan’s favour lately. First the news had been made official that the septic tank would have to be relocated. On top of that, one of his new windmills had broken down before even being connected to the generator. Logic dictated it may have been caused by one of the sandstorms that plagued town from time to time, or by the fog which had been sitting around the dunes, but Roilan had been quick to blame Frimon. Two days ago, a team of technicians had proven that it was the fog after all. All these small battles over image and power sadly proved how right Yako and Jema were on this subject.

  “Who’s doing the accusing and who is doing the calling?” Benjamar asked.

  “The government. They want a trial,” Harmon answered.

  “What do they base their accusation on?”

  “Wolt reported it. I tried to stop him, but all he said was that he was helping me out of the mess I was in as well.”

  “What mess are you in?”

  “I’m not in a mess. He means the Society. Sinti talked to Wolt after she ran away.”

  “Ran away from what? By Bue, Harmon, come to the point.”

  Uncomfortable still, but more clearly, Harmon filled him in on the latest trouble involving Frimon. Why it was always the same people to get in trouble was something Benjamar had long given up trying to find out.

  Sinti was with the Society. Or, at least, she had joined after returning from the expedition. Of course, their standards on moral conduct were quite high and Sinti had openly admitted having had an abortion on SJilai, after which she’d been made to repent. From there she had run straight to Wolt, who had in turn spoken to Roilan, who consequently accused Frimon of abuse and wanted a public trial. “It isn’t as if nobody knew about the penance ritual before now,” Harmon finished.

  Against his own better judgment, Benjamar was going to be involved again. Somewhere far away he still represented justice and this whole story smelled of politics. It was obvious what would happen: The majority vote had decided against the beach games – something Roilan was only too aware of – and would now be on Sinti’s side. Even without representation and with Frimon being much better verbally equipped, Sinti would only have to turn on the taps and the whole population would fall for it.

  “I don’t know what I can do, Harmon. Ultimately, the people decide. All I can do is ensure that both sides are listened to.”

  “I know, but at least you’ll give us that chance.”

  “Why is it you come to me with this and not Frimon?”

  Harmon uttered a nervous laugh. “He would never ask for help, but Benjamar, you should know that they don’t want you to do the trial. Roilan is trying to make someone else do it, most likely Frantag.”

  “How is that?”

  “They think you may be on our side.”

  “Which, of course, is why you came to me as well?”

  Harmon looked down.

  “I consider that an insult. I’m on nobody’s side, keep that in mind. I’m certainly not in favour of any penance, regardless of how immoral anybody’s behaviour.”

  “I know that.”

  “When is that trial supposed to take place?”

  “In
two days. Roilan doesn’t believe in delaying it.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  Well, Roilan wasn’t alone in that government. Just because Benjamar had already withdrawn from it three times didn’t mean he couldn’t step in again.

  “There’s something else,” Harmon said when he was already halfway out the door.

  “What?”

  “Frimon refuses to acknowledge the trial and says he won’t come.”

  Benjamar pulled Harmon back inside by his arm and slammed the door shut, causing Harmon to start shaking as if he’d committed a crime himself.

  “I know I should have said that first, but then you wouldn’t have listened.”

  Sorry now for showing his anger, Benjamar picked up his coat. “I’m coming with you to see Frimon.”

  “But he doesn’t know I came to you.”

  “Then he’ll find out.”

  Of course, Frimon wasn’t happy with the news. He let Benjamar into his home and sent Harmon away. “I’m not going to be ridiculed by some show trial. If they want me out of town, fine. I don’t need you to make that official.”

  “If I can, I’ll prevent it from becoming a show trial. By refusing to come you admit to being wrong, and I don’t believe you feel that way.”

  “I appreciate you, Benjamar, I really do, but I won’t change my mind.”

  Benjamar had expected that much – Frimon was nothing if not stubborn. In silence they sat together, Benjamar in a seat made of a suspended mat between two small walls, which was more comfortable than any he’d sat in since leaving DJar.

  So he was compelled to hold another trial, a process driven by laws, the outcome uncertain until the end and usually producing one winner. Things had changed since DJar: The Thalo-Leyon hearing had been a disaster both in process as well as in outcome. Benjamar had tried to be fair, but without laws to go by, he’d found himself in doubt. This time he would have to decide by outcome more than process. There was a reason he had to do this, and not Frantag or anybody else. He had sailed a storm like this before and he’d lost a person. It would be a different storm and a different kabin, but Benjamar would make sure it was still the same captain sailing it.