15 Terra Nova Such a reminder of Earth was an unfortunate name for the settlement, and no one admitted responsibility. But it was slightly more glamorous than ‘base camp’, and was quickly accepted. The complex of prefabricated huts had shot up with astonishing speed – literally overnight. It was Tarna’s first demonstration of Earthpersons – or rather Earth robots – in action, and the villagers were hugely impressed. Even Brant, who had always considered that robots were more trouble than they were worth, except for hazardous or monotonous work, began to have second thoughts. There was one elegant general-purpose mobile constructor that operated with such blinding speed that it was often impossible to follow its movements. Wherever it went, it was followed by an admiring crowd of small Lassans. When they got in its way, it politely stopped whatever it was doing until the coast was clear. Brant decided that this was exactly the kind of assistant he needed; perhaps there was some way he could persuade the visitors… By the end of a week, Terra Nova was a fully functioning microcosm of the great ship orbiting beyond the atmosphere. There was plain but comfortable accommodation for a hundred crewmembers, with all the life-support systems they needed – as well as library, gymnasium, swimming pool, and theatre. The Lassans approved of these facilities, and hastened to make full use of them. As a result, the population of Terra Nova was usually at least double the nominal one hundred. Most of the guests – whether invited or not – were anxious to help and determined to make their visitors’ stay as comfortable as possible. Such friendliness, though very welcome and much appreciated, was often embarrassing. The Lassans were insatiably inquisitive, and the concept of privacy was almost unknown to them. A ‘Please Do Not Disturb’ sign was often regarded as a personal challenge, which led to interesting complications… ‘You’re all senior officers and highly intelligent adults,’ Captain Bey had said at the last staff conference aboard ship. ‘So it shouldn’t be necessary to tell you this. Try not to get involved in any – ah – entanglements until we know exactly how the Lassans think about such matters. They appear very easygoing, but that could be deceptive. Don’t you agree, Dr Kaldor?’ ‘I can’t pretend, Captain, to be an authority on Lassan mores after so short a period of study. But there are some interesting historical parallels, when the old sailing-ships on Earth put to port after long sea voyages – I expect many of you have seen that classic video antique, Mutiny on the Bounty.’ ‘I trust, Dr Kaldor, that you’re not comparing me to Captain Cook – I mean Bligh.’ ‘It wouldn’t be an insult; the real Bligh was a brilliant seaman, and most unfairly maligned. At this stage, all we need are common sense, good manners – and, as you indicated, caution.’ Had Kaldor looked in his direction, Loren wondered, when he made that remark? Surely it was not already so obvious … After all, his official duties put him in contact with Brant Falconer a dozen times a day. There was no way he could avoid meeting Mirissa – even if he wished to. They had never yet been alone together, and had still exchanged no more than a few words of polite conversation. But already, there was no need to say anything more.
16 Party Games ‘It’s called a baby,’ Mirissa said, ‘and despite appearances, one day it will grow up into a perfectly normal human being.’ She was smiling, yet there was moisture in her eyes. It had never occurred to her, until she noticed Loren’s fascination, that there were probably more children in the little village of Tarna than there had been on the entire planet Earth during the final decades of virtually zero birthrate. ‘Is it … yours?’ he asked quietly. ‘Well, first of all it’s not an it; it’s a he. Brant’s nephew Lester – we’re looking after him while his parents are on North Island.’ ‘He’s beautiful. Can I hold him?’ As if on cue, Lester started to wail. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ laughed Mirissa, scooping him up hastily and heading towards the nearest bathroom. ‘I recognize the signals. Let Brant or Kumar show you round while we’re waiting for the other guests.’ The Lassans loved parties and missed no opportunity for arranging them. The arrival of Magellan was, quite literally, the chance of a lifetime – indeed, of many lifetimes. If they had been rash enough to accept all the invitations they received, the visitors would have spent every waking moment staggering from one official or unofficial reception to another. None too soon, the captain had issued one of his infrequent but implacable directives – ‘Bey thunderbolts’, or simply ‘Beybolts’, as they were wryly called – rationing his officers to a maximum of one party per five days. There were some who considered that, in view of the time it often took to recover from Lassan hospitality, this was much too generous. The Leonidas residence, currently occupied by Mirissa, Kumar, and Brant, was a large ring-shaped building that had been the family’s home for six generations. One storey high – there were few upper floors in Tarna – it enclosed a grass-covered patio about thirty metres across. At the very centre was a small pond, complete with a tiny island accessible by a picturesque wooden bridge. And on the island was a solitary palm-tree, which did not seem to be in the best of health. ‘They have to keep replacing it,’ Brant said apologetically. ‘Some Terran plants do very well here – others just fade away despite all the chemical boosters we give them. It’s the same problem with the fish we’ve tried to introduce. Freshwater farms work fine, of course, but we don’t have space for them. It’s frustrating to think that there’s a million times as much ocean, if only we could use it properly.’ In Loren’s private opinion, Brant Falconer was something of a bore when he started talking about the sea. He had to admit, however, that it was a safer subject of conversation than Mirissa, who had now managed to get rid of Lester and was greeting the new guests as they arrived. Could he ever have dreamed, Loren asked himself, that he would find himself in a situation like this? He had been in love before, but the memories – even the names – were mercifully blurred by the erasing programs they had all undergone before leaving the solar system. He would not even attempt to recapture them: why torment himself with images from a past that had been utterly destroyed? Even Kitani’s face was blurring, though he had seen her in the hibernaculum only a week ago. She was part of a future they had planned but might never share: Mirissa was here and now – full of life and laughter, not frozen in half a millennium of sleep. She had made him feel whole once more, joyful in the knowledge that the strain and exhaustion of the Last Days had not, after all, robbed him of his youth. Every time they were together, he felt the pressure that told him he was a man again; until it had been relieved, he would know little peace and would not even be able to perform his work efficiently. There had been times when he had seen Mirissa’s face superimposed on the Mangrove Bay plans and flow diagrams, and had been forced to give the computer a pause command, before they could continue their joint mental conversation. It was a peculiarly exquisite torture to spend a couple of hours within metres of her, able to exchange no more than polite trivialities. To Loren’s relief, Brant suddenly excused himself and hurried away. Loren quickly discovered the reason. ‘Commander Lorenson!’ Mayor Waldron said. ‘I hope Tarna’s been treating you well.’ Loren groaned inwardly. He knew that he was supposed to be polite to the mayor, but the social graces had never been his strong point. ‘Very well, thank you. I don’t believe you’ve met these gentlemen -‘ He called, much more loudly than was really necessary, across the patio to a group of colleagues who had just arrived. By good luck, they were all lieutenants; even off duty, rank had its privileges, and he never hesitated to use it. ‘Mayor Waldron, this is Lieutenant Fletcher – your first time down, isn’t it Owen? Lieutenant Werner Ng, Lieutenant Ranjit Winson, Lieutenant Karl Bosley …’ Just like the clannish Martians, he thought, always sticking together. Well, that made them a splendid target, and they were a personable group of young men. He did not believe that the mayor even noticed when he made his strategic withdrawal. Doreen Chang would have much preferred to talk to the captain, but he had made a high-velocity token appearance, downed one drink, apologized to his hosts, and departed. ‘Why won’t he let me interview him?’ she asked Kaldor, who had no such inhibitions and had already logged several days’ worth of audio and video time. ‘Captain Sirdar Bey,’ he answered, ‘is in a privileged position. Unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t have to explain – or to apologize.’ ‘I detect a note of mild sarcasm in your voice,’ the Thalassa Broadcasting Corporation’s star newsperson said. ‘It wasn’t intended. I admire the captain enormously, and even accept his opinion of me – with reservations, of course. Er – are you recording?’ ‘Not now. Too much background noise.’ ‘Lucky for you I’m such a trusting person since there’s no way I could tell if you were.’ ‘Definitely off the record, Moses. What does he think of you?’ ‘He’s glad to have my views, and my experience, but he doesn’t take me very seriously. I know exactly why. He once said, “Moses – you like power but not responsibility. I enjoy both.” It was a very shrewd statement; it sums up the difference between us.’ ‘How did you answer?’ ‘What could I say? It was perfectly true. The only time I got involved in practical politics was – well, not a disaster, but I never really enjoyed it.’ ‘The Kaldor Crusade?’ ‘Oh – you know about that. Silly name – it annoyed me. And that was another point of disagreement between the captain and myself. He thought – still thinks, I’m sure – the Directive ordering us to avoid all planets with life-potential is a lot of sentimental nonsense. Another quote from the good captain: “Law I understand. Metalaw is bal – er, balderdash”.’ ‘This is fascinating – one day you must let me record it.’ ‘Definitely not. What’s happening over there?’ Doreen Chang was a persistent lady, but she knew when to give up. ‘Oh, that’s Mirissa’s favourite gas-sculpture. Surely you had them on Earth.’ ‘Of course. And since we’re still off the record, I don’t think it’s art. But it’s amusing.’ The main lights had been switched off in one section of the patio, and about a dozen guests had gathered around what appeared to be a very large soap bubble, almost a metre in diameter. As Chang and Kaldor walked towards it, they could see the first swirls of colour forming inside, like the birth of a spiral nebula. ‘It’s called “Life”,’ Doreen said, ‘and it’s been in Mirissa’s family for two hundred years. But the gas is beginning to leak; I can remember when it was much brighter.’ Even so, it was impressive. The battery of electron guns and lasers in the base had been programmed by some patient, long-dead artist to generate a series of geometrical shapes that slowly evolved into organic structures. From the centre of the sphere, ever more complex forms appeared, expanded out of sight, and were replaced by others. In one witty sequence, single-celled creatures were shown climbing a spiral staircase, recognizable at once as a representation of the DNA molecule. With each step, something new was added; within a few minutes, the display had encompassed the four-billion-year odyssey from amoeba to Man. Then the artist tried to go beyond, and Kaldor lost him. The contortions of the fluorescent gas became too complex and too abstract. Perhaps if one saw the display a few more times, a pattern would emerge – ‘What happened to the sound?’ Doreen asked when the bubble’s maelstrom of seething colours abruptly winked out. ‘There used to be some very good music, especially at the end.’ ‘I was afraid someone would ask that question,’ Mirissa said with an apologetic smile. ‘We’re not certain whether the trouble is in the playback mechanism or the program itself.’ ‘Surely you have a backup!’ ‘Oh, yes, of course. But the spare module is somewhere in Kumar’s room, probably buried under bits of his canoe. Until you’ve seen his den, you won’t understand what entropy really means.’ ‘It’s not a canoe – it’s a kayak,’ protested Kumar, who had just arrived with a pretty local girl clinging to each arm. ‘And what’s entropy?’ One of the young Martians was foolish enough to attempt an explanation by pouring two drinks of different colours into the same glass. Before he could get very far, his voice was drowned by a blast of music from the gas-sculpture. ‘You see!’ Kumar shouted above the din, with obvious pride, ‘Brant can fix anything!’ Anything? thought Loren. I wonder … I wonder …