Necessity (5 page)

I sat down in the chair. “Quiet,” I said, much too quietly. Crocus echoed me loudly, and everyone fell silent and stared at me. “I call this emergency session of the Council of Worlds to order,” I said. “Members of the Council and senators may remain. Others should leave.”

A handful of people left. Everyone else sat down, higgledy-piggledy where they were, like stories of the earliest days of the Council eighty years ago when Sokrates had been here and regularly violated procedure. Some of the benches had been replaced since then, but many of them were the same. I found that both comforting and intimidating. Crocus rolled over and settled himself in the section where benches had been removed to make a space for Workers, and humans in wheelchairs.

“Who has the details of what has happened?” I asked.

Klymene, one of the Children, and the oldest person still serving on the Council, stood up. She was bony and wrinkled, and looked as if she were made of old tanned leather. Her hair was no more than a straggle of thin white strands stretched over her scalp. She had the log of our communication with the ship, and summarized it for us in her thin elderly voice. “They don't speak Greek or Latin. We started off using Amarathi, and were at the point of asking Arete to help when Sixty-One worked out that they were speaking a variant of English, which it could mostly understand. So after a brief delay we were able to communicate with them that way. They are humans, not from Earth but from a planet called—” she squinted at the printout, holding it farther away from her eyes, “Marhaba, but they have been to Earth. They asked permission to land and wanted to know who we were. According to the plan, we told them the name of the planet and that our cities were founded seventy years ago. They have also been in communication with the Saeli ship in orbit.”

“Where's Aroo?” I asked, realizing for the first time as I looked for her that none of our Saeli senators or councillors were present.

“Not here. But the meeting isn't due to begin for an hour and a half. We all came here now because we heard the news. The Saeli don't think that way,” Dad said.

“It would be good to make some decisions quickly, and we need information. Can somebody find Aroo and bring her back here?” I asked. I looked around for people who Aroo was likely to pay attention to, and noticed Parmenion sitting near Crocus. “Parmenion?” He had been consul three years ago, a quiet man in his forties, an excellent lyre-player and composer.

He nodded, accepting the errand, and rolled his chair out.

“Meanwhile,” I said, looking out over the room, at my friends and allies and political rivals, “we have a plan for this situation. It's been in place since Maia and Klio were consuls. Unless there's some really good reason not to follow it, that's what we ought to be doing, not running around in circles trying to make new decisions in advance of information.”

“We have been following the plan so far,” Klymene said. She hadn't moved. Though she was frail with age, she still stood straight-backed. It was easy to imagine her leading troops in the art raids long ago.

I nodded, and she went back to her seat, squeezing in on the end of a bench next to Dad, who moved up to make room.

“The plan is that we find out as much as we can about them, and when they ask about us we tell them the truth as an origin myth, expecting that they won't believe it,” I said. “Maia wrote that this was what Zeus wanted.”

“I can confirm that,” Dad said. He had actually been on Mount Olympus and talked to Zeus at the time of the Relocation. “Porphyry said it, and Zeus seemed to agree.”

“So what happens if they do believe it?” Diotima asked. “What happens if they use carbon dating?”

“Carbon dating will show nothing to surprise anyone, as the atoms have not existed through all the time between,” Crocus said. “But that's an extremely interesting philosophical question. Would it change everything for humanity if we gave them all proof that the gods exist and care, and interfere with our lives?”

“Ikaros said, and Zeus didn't disagree, that it was better for us to discover things for ourselves. But all of us on Plato know, unavoidably, and we certainly haven't hidden it from our alien allies,” Dad said.

“It's not the sort of thing that's usually a problem in everyday life,” Halius said. He was the youngest person present, a representative from Marissa, very enthusiastic. He was fair-skinned and blond, and he always reminded me of a spring lamb, dashing off in all directions, shaking his tail with enthusiasm. “And it doesn't stop people debating about religion. There are people born since the Relocation who don't believe in it. And there are Ikarians in Amazonia who'll argue with Porphyry to his face that they understand what he is and what that means better than he does.”

“Call them followers of the New Concordance, not Ikarians,” I said, wearily, in advance of the forest of hands raised by Ikarian senators. “You know that, Halius.”

Halius nodded in the direction of the Ikarians. “Apologies,” he said. Of course, everyone called them Ikarians all the time and they knew it. They believed in a strange syncretic version of Christianity which had been invented by Ikaros. After Ikaros became a god (or, according to them, an angel, though do not ask an Ikarian what the difference is unless you have a lot of spare time), they took this as proof of his theories. Older people say the New Concordance has changed a lot since Ikaros's apotheosis.

Dad was asking for permission to speak, and I granted it, relieved. “Even if some people do believe when they've seen the proof, it's likely that most people won't,” Dad said. “Athene said it could block off other paths to enlightenment. But it would only do that if everyone knew and believed it. And they wouldn't. They might read accounts of Phaedrus and the volcanoes, or the bodies of the Children disappearing at death, and so on, but they would think other people had been fooled. It's only a problem for people who actually come here and see incontrovertible evidence, and that will only be a few people. Nobody else would have proof.”

Androkles raised a hand to be recognized, and I nodded to him. He was a bearded man about my own age, from Sokratea. His son Xanthus was one of Alkippe's playmates.

“I haven't thought about this much before,” he began. “But why are we obeying the gods in this? Telling the truth, and proving it with rigorous philosophy and evidence, seems to me better than lying by misdirection. I'd like to hear from our own gods on this, from Pytheas and his children, to hear their arguments. There may be good reasons for it, but I want to hear them. I see no inherent reason why we should follow the dictates of Zeus merely because he issued them. We know the gods aren't inherently good. Or wise.”

“They could smite us with lightning or turn us into flies,” Diotima pointed out.

“That's a terrible reason to obey them, out of fear of their bad temper,” Androkles replied without hesitation.

“They do know more than we do,” Dad said. “They have an inherently wider perspective.”

“Good! Then let them come here and make their points,” Androkles said. “Let's hear the explanation for why we should keep the truth from wider humanity, and see whether we agree. And if they turn this Chamber into a buzzing cloud of flies, then we'll know they didn't have a good argument, like Athene at the Last Debate.”

“In Sokratea you might think it's better to be metamorphosed into an insect than lose an argument, but we don't all agree,” Dad said. There was a laugh.

“Have you finished?” I asked Androkles.

“I only want to say that the fact you have a plan formulated way back in the consulship of Maia and Klio that doesn't mean we should abjectly follow it without re-examination.”

And that was Sokratea all over. They spent so much time re-examining everything it was a wonder they ever got anything done at all.

“Why isn't Pytheas here?” Diotima asked.

“Pytheas died this afternoon,” I said. Most people had heard already, but there were a few gasps.

“What does that mean, for a god?” Halius asked.

Crocus raised his arm and I acknowledged him gratefully. “It means he's a proper god again, and has his powers back,” Crocus said. “We have often talked about it.”

“But he's the only person serving in the Senate with any experience of other human cultures,” Diotima said, frowning. “Was, I mean. Do you think this coincidence of events is significant?”

“Who can tell?” Crocus asked.

Makalla spoke up from close beside him. “All of us Children have some childhood experience of other human cultures,” she said. “I don't know what use it might be.”

“Perhaps we should set up a committee to extract knowledge of variant human cultures from the remaining Children,” I said.

“It's probably too late,” Androkles said. “There are so few of them left and they are all old; and besides, they have spent the majority of their lives in Platonic cultures. That was Plato's whole reason for starting with ten-year-olds. Also, a committee would take too long to get the information. The new humans are here now. We should have done it years ago if we had wanted to.”

“Of course, many of us have written autobiographies, and many of the Masters did too, and they had spent a large part of their lives in other cultures. The knowledge is probably in the library if we need it,” Makalla said.

“But it isn't available immediately. And who can tell what kind of culture these new humans might have come from? The seventy years of the Republic have brought about huge changes. These people are hundreds of years separated from the latest human culture we knew anything about,” Androkles said. “Pytheas might have known, but he's gone. Perhaps Porphyry knows, but Porphyry is oracular at the best of times and never seems to want to say anything definite about anything.”

I recognized Crocus. “A committee on re-examination of the issues seems like a good idea. But we need to react without delay. Should we let the humans land?”

“We should follow the plan,” Martinus said. He was from Psyche, and usually one of the most difficult members of the Council, implacably opposed to almost everything I wanted. Now I was grateful to him.

“We should vote on whether to follow the plan,” I said. “And I endorse following it for the time being in the absence of a better specific immediate strategy.”

At that moment, Parmenion came back with Aroo. Aroo was a paler green than Hilfa, with pinker swirls on her skin. She wore a grey kiton with blue edging, fastened with her gold pin. “I apologize, nobody told me the time of the meeting was changed,” she said, going at once to her proper place, which Diotima yielded to her immediately, moving to the side.

“It wasn't changed, this is an emergency session,” I explained. Aroo blinked, which was especially noticeable on Saeli with their multicolored triple eyelid. “Are you aware that a human spaceship is in orbit?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said at once. The Saeli have been in contact with us for twenty years. They have a fascination with Plato, and have been closely allied with us. Lots of them live here, and many of them have, like Aroo, taken oaths of citizenship. I like them, and have put effort into studying them, especially recently, because of Hilfa. But sometimes they're infuriating.

“We know the human spaceship has been in contact with the Saeli ship in orbit,” I said.

“Yes,” Aroo said again, but this time to my relief she kept talking. “They seem highly surprised. They have not met Saeli before. The only language we have in common is Amarathi, which is slow and uncomfortable. We have asked to learn their language. They seem to be hesitating about allowing this.”

“I know an older form of their language, which they can comprehend. I will teach it to you according to our existing agreements about exchange of information,” Crocus said immediately.

Aroo's pink markings grew darker, which I suspect is a sign of approval. “Good,” she said.

“Perhaps you should offer a class,” I said. “Many of us might need to learn English now. Though probably we can't manage it at Aroo's speed.” A few people laughed. The Saeli skill at languages was legendary.

Aroo looked at me for permission to continue, and I waved my hand. “Communication was limited by language difficulties. They seem extremely interested in learning the location of our planets, for what they state are purposes of wholesome trade. They have also expressed interest in immediately purchasing fuel from us for their spaceship. We have not made any hasty decisions. And although the captain of our ship in orbit is an independent agent and not bound by me or by decisions made on Plato, he has agreed to take my advice for the time being, in consideration of existing agreements and negotiations soon to be concluded.” She meant the new trade agreement, of course.

“If they need fuel for their spaceship, does that mean they have run out?” Jasmine asked. Jasmine was a younger Worker, one of the ones brought to the Republic by Porphyry after the Relocation. “And does their spaceship work the same way yours does, so that you could sell them fuel, or would it be like putting a battery for a train into a Worker?”

“I believe their ship must use the same fuel,” Aroo said. “Excuse me, it is difficult to convey this in Greek. This fuel is not like electricity. We and the Amarathi know only one way to be drawn up to what you might call the second hypostasis and come back down again elsewhere, thus evading the necessary barriers of light. We do it by using a fuel that comes from the heart of exploding stars. This must be the same for the space humans, for this is the fuel they named, using the Amarathi term.”

“We don't need to go into either the physics or the metaphysics of that right now,” I said, cutting off all the people whose hands shot up to ask for clarification. “We'll simply accept for today's argument that you use the same fuel. Does your ship have enough of this fuel to spare that it can sell it to the space humans, if you decide to?”