Inner system, nearest Pell’s Star, was primarily cloudy Down-below, sole habited planet, first alien life and first alien sapience humanity had found. Those were the facts every kid learned in primer tapes.
Which hadn’t done either the Downers or humanity a whole lot of good, for what anybody could tell. The discovery of the Downers had spooked Earth’s earthbound religions and helped start the War, that was so—no great achievement for humanity, except the whole of space-faring humanity wasn’t under Earth’s thumb any longer.
Wasn’t Christian’s generation, personally. He didn’t see any particular value in the War. Or in Earth. Or in planets in general, except as places to anchor stations, from which one could do nice safe dives into hazard and get back to civilization. He didn’t personally plan to take a dive like that, but it was nice some could, and bring up refined flour and condensed fruit juice.
And as for the famous eetees, Downers and humans didn’t breathe the same oxy-ratio, humans didn’t tolerate the high CO2 on Downbelow and most of all didn’t tolerate the molds and fungi rife on the planet. Downers needed the CO2, one supposed, and had to wear breathing assists in human atmosphere. So Downers carved their large-eyed statues to watch the heavens no different than they ever had, as if they were looking for some other, better answer.
Downers worked on Pell Station, for reasons no one evidently understood, but most of all, one supposed, because Downers liked the idea of space. Downers worshipped their sun, they served a time on the station and went back again to their mating and their birthing and burrowing and whatever else they did—he’d been fascinated by them when he was a kid, knew every Downer stat there was, useless hobby, right up there with Earth’s dinosaurs and Cyteen’s platytheres. Humans lived on Pell Station, the sole Alliance Station, poised between the Beyond and Earth’s native space. Regularly, the science people descend to their carefully insulated environments, to pursue their carefully monitored projects, and, irregularly, and depending on the season, ordinary tourists could do a tour onplanet—which he’d been hot to do when he was a kid, but there was a waiting list longer than a ship’s docktime, and now he’d grown out of his interest in eetees, human or otherwise. You saw Downers on the station, skulking along near the maintenance area… little furred creatures with—one had to take it on faith—big dark eyes and pleasant faces behind the breathing masks.
Even so, you weren’t supposed to talk to them, trade with them, touch them or impede them ‘in any way whatsoever, under penalty of law and a substantial fine… ‘ Which was probably for everybody’s protection, humans as well as the eetees.
One wondered if, things being otherwise, he could trade the furry bastards a slightly used brother.
On off-shift, he paged through the current offerings in the Pell Station Guide, the vids, the books, the imports… rich list, from local produce to Earth imports.
Embassies: Earth and Union.
Financial Institutions… a long list.
Government offices… another list.
Institute for Foreign Studies, Pell Branch.
John Adams Pell University. Oxford University Special Extension: Earth Studies.
Angelo Konstantin Research Institute, tours available.
New Alexandrine Library, reproduction paper texts available.
Museums. Cultural exhibits. Local artifacts. Botanical gardens.
Religious Institutions… the list was a page long.
Restaurants, from fast food to cultural, ethnic, and scenic, entertainment live and otherwise.
Stores, Ship Suppliers, General, Special Listings.
Sleepovers, various classes.
Technical centers. Special training. Recreational courses.
Trade Organizations.
And so on, and so on, pages of ads for suppliers, outfitters, services, importers, exporters, manufacturers, associations, lawyers, specialist medical services, reproductive services… a trading ship was self-contained for almost any necessity: but the choices on a major station were legion.
Two hundred eighty-five restaurants. Name your ethnicity.
Sleepovers that made you think you were camping on Down-below surface. With virtual rainstorms.
Walk-through theater.
Venus Hotel. Adults-only tape links. Experience your partner. Luxury accommodations. Restaurant class A pass. 200c and up. On-premises security. Ship registration and age ID required. >
He Captured that address. . 1 It wouldn’t look as if he didn’t want to be found. And if, or when—Austin did come asking… He pushed another button, got the ship list back.
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