Happiness: A Planet (33 page)

Between them Alger and Drin had established a working partnership, arriving at it sooner than was normal because of their unusual circumstances: both had seen the other scared. Of course both had also had to adapt themselves to their partner’s personality; and, Drin being the younger and the subordinate, most of the allowances had been made by him, most of the accommodating had been done by him. So he had learnt not to take Alger’s grumbles too seriously, replied now with a noncommittal shrug.

As for Constable Drin Ligure.... that he should be a key part of this unique adventure excited his young imagination. On their brief return to XE2 he had dashed off to get what files he could on Nautili. Alger, however, had dourly refused to share his interest, stubbornly held to his scepticism,

“How do they know it’s them if they can’t see them?”

“But what else,” Drin had earnestly asked him, “could have happened to their moon and ships?”

“You’ll see,” was all that Alger would reply to that.

Immediately on docking at police headquarters in Happiness’s capital Alger again called the Director, badgered him for explicit instructions. The Director, who was staying at the Spokesman’s farm, wasn’t versed in police terminology. Face averted Drin smiled covertly at Alger’s increasing exasperation.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Alger threatened the console with his square fist, “do you want us to remain on the ship all of the time?”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I think it might be advisable to sleep there, but the rest of the time do as you please. So long as the local police know where to find you. Yes. That should be satisfactory.” Alger, though, wanted exact unambiguous instructions,

“So we have to sleep on the ship?”

“Yes.”

“And the rest of the time we can do as we like?”

“But don’t go too far. So long as you can be reached quickly should the need arise. Now, if you don’t mind...”

Shaking his head Alger turned to Drin, asked him what they were supposed to make of that,

“Are we on standby or aren’t we? And how long for? I bet you one thing for certain — we’ll run over into our leave again. Another thing for certain — I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. He didn’t say anything about not having a drink, did he? I’m going to find us a nice cosy bar.”

Alger asked police headquarters for directions to the nearest bar, told the desk to call him there should any orders arrive for him. The bar to which they were directed was the one that the off-duty planetary police officers frequented. And there Drin and Alger stayed, save when they returned to the ship to sleep, for the following three days.

The local police officers made them welcome, invited them into their conversations. At first the talk was almost exclusively concerned with the Nautili, about the newly completed road, about the two squads of police ships stationed at the farms to either side of it. Drin watched the local news for details of the road, asked the police on leave from the farms what was happening.

Alger, however, held to his contention that there might not be any Nautili; and Alger was a born barroom debater, soon had a disputatious semi-jocular argument flying about his head.

That first evening the name of Hambro Harrap was mentioned. The general opinion of the police officers was that he had been stupid to have even tried leaving.

“Politicians,” Alger interjected, “I’ve met a few. They’re not very sensible. Same as your lot here. ‘Collecting moons,’ one said. Collecting moons!”

With nothing new happening upon the road Alger sought other controversial topics. He denigrated, in turn, life on planets and the people who wanted to live on planets. The local police laughed at his deliberately outrageous assertions. Alger became a celebrity.

“If I had my way,” he tapped his fingernail on the bar, “I’d clear the whole lot of you off here, leave it to the Nautili if that’s what they want. And welcome to it. You lot here are more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Don’t say that when you outbid each other for our timber.”

“I’m not saying there aren’t things wrong with Space. Why every damn substation has to have its own newspaper beats me.”

Even the barman entered the fray. The bar served only planet-brewed liquor and planet-grown food.

“Can’t you honestly taste the difference?” he asked Alger, “Apart from it being all fresh it’s got trace elements in it. You don’t get them from platform compost.”

“Even your taste buds got imagination,” Alger dismissed the very idea. “And I got imagination too. The recycling in Space is basically the same as here. Only difference is volume; and here it’s out of control. Here you get animals shitting into your recycling. It’s only good manners that makes me eat and drink the damn stuff.”

“In Space you eat your own shit,” a police officer said.

“Least we know where that’s been.” And once more the bar filled with raucous laughter.

At first Drin chuckled with the other police officers at Alger’s often illogical claims, but by the third day he was bored with the inside of the barroom. Outside was a whole planet waiting to be explored. He asked Alger if he might go sightseeing; but, as he didn’t know exactly where he was going, and that was the attraction of it, Alger told him to stay in the bar. Drin tried asking the other young police officers about life on the planet, but they were more taken up with rebutting Alger’s provocative observations.

During those three days Alger had also started taking orders from some of the police officers for goods which, because of the planet’s present isolation, were in short supply on Happiness. One police technician gave Alger a two page list of machine parts. When Alger quibbled about the length of the list the technician raised his prices. Realising that this was not an official request, with a wink at Drin, Alger grouchily demurred until he got double the going rate.

On the third evening police headquarters phoned the bar, told Alger and Drin that they were both required immediately. They ran to their ship. When they arrived the Director told them that he was preparing a report on the events on Happiness.

“Yes?” Alger panted.

“In light of what we now know I want one of you to sympathetically interview Belid Keal again. Get the whole story out of her.”

“One of us?” Alger said.

“Yes.”

“Now? It’s evening here.”

“Tomorrow morning will be fine. Put it on record, then I can consult it at my leisure.”

“Do we take the ship?”

“No. Leave that at headquarters. One of you take a police plane. My orders. Goodbye.”

Alger looked to Drin with round-eyed amazement at the order.

“Split up a team?” he shook his head. “Split up a team? Oh well,” he slapped his hands on his knees and stood, “that’s the orders. But I’m telling you the sooner this is over the better. I’ve never heard the like. Split up a team.” So Alger continued for several more minutes. Finally he decided that Drin should be the one to go while he, the senior officer, remained with the ship.

Headquarters arranged for a police plane that was going in the direction of the Keal farm to give Drin a lift. Drin was happy to go. So the next morning, while Alger — muttering about planetary madness — made his way to the bar, Drin took his seat behind the two police officers in their plane.

The two police officers were a man and woman team. The woman Sergeant didn’t say much. The younger Constable pointed out places of possible interest to Drin.

The Keal farm was an hour’s flight from the capital. After half an hour the Sergeant asked Drin if he’d like to pilot the plane. She had been in the bar when Alger had been scoffing at the notion that there was any expertise involved in piloting a mere plane. Out of loyalty to Alger Drin accepted the challenge.

He and the Constable exchanged seats. Drin found the control column familiar enough. Gravity was not. Nor was the sensation of speed, though paradoxically they were travelling at far slower speeds than he was used to in the ship. However, after a few sudden soarings, a stomach wrenching drop and a dizzying roll, he mastered the small craft, acquitted himself with honour and upheld the prestige of the Space police. The two police officers, though laughing at his initial falterings, were pleased with his prowess. At the Keal farm they parted on amicable terms. They were to collect him on their return in the evening.

Drin was left alone on the apron. The apron was surrounded by trees. Every single heart-shaped leaf on every single tree was still. So too was the house. What should he do if the Keals were not at home, he wondered. An animal at the rear of the house was making an aggressive noise. A face appeared briefly at an upstairs window. Drin realised that they had not yet risen. The different local times were new to his thinking. Reassuringly tapping the recorder at his breast, Drin straightened himself into Constable Ligure and strode at a measured pace over to the house.

As he mounted the wooden steps the door opened and Belid Keal’s father, hair awry from bed, greeted him. Drin apologised for waking him so early, confessed his confusion about local times. The farmer waved the apology aside, beckoned him into the house. Belid Keal and her mother were coming down the stairs. The mother was still in her night-clothes. She recognised Drin from his previous visit.

“Forget something?” she asked in all seriousness. Drin smiled, told them that in light of the near certainty that there were Nautili on the planet he had been sent to interview Belid again.

Drin thought that he had explained the purpose of his visit sympathetically, but Belid Keal cursed and hit the stair-rail.

“Dammit,” she said. Her father mildly reproached her.

“I was going to ride up Copper Hill today,” she told him. Her mother began to remonstrate with her over her lack of manners, but Drin said,

“That’s alright, I’ve got all day. I’ll come with you.”

Belid stared at him in surprise, glanced to her two parents.

“Can you ride?” she asked him. Drin, roused by his success with the police plane, said,

“I expect I can manage it.”

The three Keals looked to one another and laughed.

“On an animal?” Belid said.

Drin had thought she had meant one of the two-wheeled ground vehicles he had seen in the capital. Again he felt that the prestige of Spacers was being called into question. Pride had him answer,

“If you show me how.”

“You’re on,” Belid said. And with the whole family chattering around him he was ushered through into the kitchen.

Over their breakfast the Keals animatedly discussed which animal Drin should ride. Drin, bemused by their excited gabble, managed to learn that each animal had, like people, its own name. And he was surprised, too, how this day Belid Keal seemed a different girl. Her large round eyes were not, as on his previous visit, flicking this way and that with uncertainty and apprehension. This day she bubbled with well-being.

While she went running out to prepare the animals, her father leant Drin a pair of leggings, which Drin pulled on under his tunic. Then he joined Belid at the rear of the house by some low outbuildings.

The four-legged animals were taller than Drin, and seemed — to Drin — to regard his person with open sneers of contempt. On their backs were secured seats of a kind. Other smaller animals came sidling up to sniff Drin. Belid’s father instructed Drin how to steer the animal, how to make it go, how to make it stop. The animal had pieces of cord attached to its muzzle. Belid’s father assured Drin that this particular animal was very docile. To Drin it looked extremely wild. It also stank.

Finally, following Belid’s example, he climbed onto the beast, sat astride the animal’s back and took the two pieces of cord in his hands. The animal stamped one of its forefeet, sending a pneumatic shudder up through Drin’s backbone. Belid spoke to her animal and it moved off, with Belid’s dark curly hair bobbing to the rhythm of the animal’s pace. The farmer slapped Drin’s beast and it followed, with Drin clutching the seat and being bounced about on its wide back. This, thought Drin, is a highly dangerous mode of transport. Then he became aware of Belid riding alongside him and giving him instructions.

As they rode up a long green road between green trees under a blue sky Drin attempted to follow Belid’s instructions, managed to co-ordinate his movements to that of the beast’s. After an hour and several more green roads he believed that he had mastered the basic technique, began to relax and look about him.

Copper Hill lay ahead of them, named, Belid told him, after its colour and not any mineral that had been mined there. Because of a unique symbiotic system comprising lichen, lizards and termites, Belid informed him, the hill and its immediate environs were a designated wilderness in the very midst of the farm.

Their general conversation having thus begun Drin loosed upon her all his pent up curiosity about planetary life — questions which he hadn’t dared ask in the bar for fear, his being allied with Alger, the other patrons would crow over his ignorance. He asked Belid what the inhabitants of Happiness did with their time,

“I’ve heard about gardening.”

Belid said that almost everyone gardened, told him about the old crafts which had been resurrected — furniture makers, weavers, potters... That accounted for many of the strange fabrics and utensils Drin had seen. But it was more the lives of the people that interested him.