Starfarers (47 page)

“Sops, while you scientists have your fun and games. Sops. Or the damned stupid virtuals, no better. I spit them out!” he roared. “I say we go home before we lose more lives!”

“We won’t.”

“Do you know that? Are you a witch, to know that? And we
will
lose lives, years out of our lives, thrown away, waiting for what? Nothing worth the cost. I say go home.”

She braced herself, the red head high. “And I say stay.”

He lifted a fist. She stood where she was. His arm dropped. He snarled, turned on his heel, and stamped out.

She remained there a few minutes before seeking her private quarters.

At parade
rest before his people in the common room, Nansen saw them seated apart, Sundaram, Yu, and Dayan on the right, Brent, Cleland, and Ruszek on the left. Mokoena and Zeyd were side by side in the middle, as if to bridge what lay between.

Talk had been ragged until Yu now said, “Jean Kilbirnie should not have died for nothing.”

“I am sorry,” Nansen told her, and meant it, “but that is out of order. We stipulated beforehand that there shall be no emotional declarations at this meeting.”

Brent leaned forward. “Then what is there to say?” he flung back. “Are you a man or a robot?”

“We cannot let certain things, such as hostility, go free,” Nansen replied to the assembly. “They feed on themselves. If discipline, morale, and common purpose deteriorate, the black hole may quite possibly kill us. The meeting will confine itself to rational arguments.”

“We’ve heard them,” Ruszek growled. “They were old before we left Tahir. What’s crazy is to keep going over them.”

“And the rational thing to do is consider our feelings,” Brent advanced “Most of us can’t take much more. If we don’t leave soon, that’s what will destroy us as a crew.”

“No,” Zeyd put in. “I disagree. I prefer an early return. But regardless of what the decision is, we should have the brains and backbone to carry it through.”

“Or don’t you believe you have them, Al?” gibed Dayan.

Our half hour together seemed to calm her
, Nansen thought.
But something has her on edge again.

“That will do,” he reproved. “If the meeting cannot proceed in orderly fashion, I will adjourn it.”

“What was the point of calling it?” Brent demanded.

“To clarify our thinking.”

“W-we know where we stand.” Cleland’s voice firmed. “Captain, I call for a vote.”

“This is not a voting matter,” Nansen said.

“Please,” Sundaram ventured. “With respect, the articles of the expedition can be interpreted as meaning that after five years at the original destination, which are past, policy decisions will be made democratically.”

Nansen looked into the brown countenance. “You want to stay, don’t you?” he asked.

“With all my heart. But I am trying to be fair. Logical, as you requested.”

Nansen smiled a trifle. “You would.” Louder: “A vote is futile in any event. Counting myself, we have five who want to stay,”
plus Jean, were she here
, “four who want to go.”

“Y-you’re forgetting the Tahirians,” Cleland said. “Ivan, Peter, Leo—make seven. Emil is for you, I admit. But still, it’s seven against six.”

“Simon is neutral,” Brent added. He spoke truth, they knew. Scientific curiosity was seldom a strong Tahirian motivation, at least in the one Tahirian culture still in existence. Simon had served ens race and clan by enlisting, with the personal sacrifice that that entailed. Whatever came of it, en would be an alpha at home. “Seven to six, Nansen.”

“We will not count ballots,” the captain stated. “Voting is not a Tahirian concept.”

“What?” Cleland yelled. “They’re not free, thinking beings?”

“They are. But they never signed our articles. They agreed to take part in our expedition for its duration, which they knew was unpredictable. It was a human idea, this is a human ship, and humans will decide.”

Nansen raised a hand to quell protests. “The poll stands at five to four, if anyone insists on a poll. Logic and equity are the real considerations. Everyone accepted—some of us reluctantly, but we accepted—that this new journey was for the purpose of carrying out research on the black hole and making contact with the intelligences. We have barely commenced. Our whole aim, our pledge to our race, who gave much to send us, has been to try to find meaning in the universe. We may be on the verge of doing so. If we cannot stay
loyal to that promise, how can we cope with space, or with an Earth that will be alien to us?

“If we continue the work, we can depart at any time: when we have learned enough, or when it does really seem foolhardy to linger. But once we turn back, then psychologically and morally—for we do have our Tahirian shipmates to consider—that is irrevocable.

“Pending such a change in circumstances, we will keep station here. I expect that everyone will work in good faith for our mission and for the general well-being.

“The meeting is ended.”

He strode out. His listeners sat wordless. After a while they began to stare at each other.

Cleland could
not stay seated for long at a time. In his quarters, where things lay chaotically strewn and every display screen was dark, he poured whiskey for Brent and himself, and wandered around in front of his guest, talking in fragments. The engineer waited the spell out.

Finally he could say from his chair: “Yes, you and I know, Tim. The others don’t. They’re afraid to face the fact. Even Lajos—I think he and Dayan have quarreled over this, and I’ve tried him, hinted, but he hangs back. Probably he hasn’t yet shed his old dog-grateful attitude toward Nansen. So setting things right has to start with us two. We know.”

The low-pitched intensity caught at Cleland. He halted and looked into eyes that smoldered up at him. “What do you mean?” he asked thinly.

“We’re dealing with a madman.”

Cleland’s hand clenched around his tumbler. “A monster, at least. Doesn’t give a curse—about Jean—Did he ever in his life shed a tear?”

“A madman, I say. Maybe not by clinical tests, but for all practical purposes, like Mao Zedong in his later years. Lost in his fever dream of a scientific triumph. As if anything anybody could find here can ever matter to humankind, the way the knowledge and power we can bring will. He’ll gamble
those, and us, to chase his fantasy—down into the black hole.”

“He … he did say … we can always leave if it—it’s not working out—”

“He lied.” Brent gestured. “Sit down and listen.” Jerkily, Cleland obeyed. “You know he lied. When will he admit it? After how many more deaths?”

“But what can we
do
?”

“That’s what you and I have got to talk about. And later with Ivan, Peter, and Leo.”

“What do you mean?” Cleland begged again.

Brent’s voice tolled. “Law, from when men first put to sea, and our ship’s articles, and plain common sense, all say there is a right and duty to override a master whose insanity endangers his command.”

Cleland gasped. “Mutiny?”

“I don’t believe a board of inquiry, or whatever we’ll meet when we come home to Earth, will regard it that way. I think we’ll be exonerated, because we had no choice, and heroes, because of what we saved—brought back for humankind.”

“B-but—”

Brent’s manner grew downright practical. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. It can be done. And without loss of life.”

“Just the two of us? Come on, Al!”

“Once it’s done, the others will accept. They’ll soon see how right we are. But no, not just you and I. Also our Tahirian allies.”

Cleland shook his head, as if it had taken a blow. “I think—the whole idea of violence—it’d appall them.”

“I tell you, we don’t need violence, if we organize the operation and do it right. Nobody has to get hurt.”

“Emil wouldn’t go along,” Cleland protested. “Nor Simon, especially if—if en gets fascinated.”

Brent nodded. “That is a problem, yes. Not only recruiting our Tahirians, but keeping it from those two. That body language of theirs makes secrecy unnatural to them.” He formed a taut grin. “However, people, including Tahirians, can learn things that never were in their nature. What else is
civilization? And this, it’ll add to the surprise, come the day. I have some ideas about how. I imagine you’ll have some good ones, too, Tim.”

“I don’t know—really—”

“My God!” Brent exploded. “Nansen sent Jean to her death, and you don’t want to see justice done?”

Emil looked
shyly around. Humans and Tahirians seldom visited each other’s quarters, and en had never been in Cleland’s cabin before. The permanent pictures—his mother, the planetologist who had been his mentor, the camp at Valles Marineris on Mars, where he did his first real work—and the screenings—currently a female nude and an abstract pattern—were as foreign to en as the chairs or the bottle of cognac or the laundry tossed into a corner.

“(I daresay you and I feel equally restless, frustrated, unfulfilled,)” Cleland said, approximately, through his parleur.

“(You have your illusions to occupy your mind,)” the guest replied. “(That is not a Tahirian invention. I wish it were, or that your equipment for it were usable by us.)”

“(It soon becomes unsatisfying. Reality is best, and remembered reality second best. That is why I invited you here. I thought we might enjoy talking about what we have experienced, screening images, sharing memories.)”

“(Conversation between us is very limited.)”

Yes, Cleland thought, from a Tahirian viewpoint Cambiante was an impoverished language. Also from a human viewpoint. The richness of an evolutionary history was lacking, instincts, tastes, drives; and of one’s civilization, the countless factors both huge and subtle that had formed
one’s self; and of the other, the individual, appearance, ways, tones, gestures—how Jean cocked her head and glanced aside when something she heard roused a thought, the wide white grin, the archaic dialect she revived now and then, mainly for merriment’s sake, but in her it wasn’t an affectation—

“(However, this should at least be an interesting diversion,)” Emil continued. “(Yes, let us begin with recalling our mutual expedition to the pulsar.)” The small form folded legs and lay expectant on the carpet.

Cleland sat down there, too. He would have preferred a chair, but being at more or less the same level would make discourse easier and thus perhaps prolong it.

Inwardly he prepared himself for pain. He didn’t want to dwell on memories of being with Jean; and today they’d be retrieving views of her, and of her and him together, from the database. He did that only when he was alone and had had several drinks. But if this was how Emil chose to start, he must endure. En couldn’t read on his face or hear in his voice what it was costing him.

Simon was working with Sundaram, toward comprehension of the alien sendings and construction of return messages. They would doubtless be occupied for hours. Cleland’s part was to keep Emil busy, so that Brent could meet with the three Tahirians who wanted an end of all voyaging.

They had
not outfitted their common room like the humans’. For one thing, the wheel’s capacity being limited, it had to double as their gymnasium. Exercise machines of exotic design stood about, including a sort of long treadmill on which two persons could gallop for hours. Live turf from home, moist and springy, covered the deck, and shrubs grew in planters. Their odors mingled spicily with those that bodies gave off. Visual screenings decorated the bulkheads and provided entertainment on demand, but what they showed meant essentially nothing to humans, untrained in the artistic conventions and blind to many of the colors.

Standing before Ivan, Leo, and Peter, Brent told them: “(Our purpose is the same, to terminate this bad state of affairs, soon and decisively.)”

“(It is leading to fundamental new knowledge,)” said the biologist Peter.

Ens mates registered … disapproval? The three conferred, or argued, in their own language. Manes made wave patterns, fingers undulated sinuous, stances shifted, tones twittered and shrilled, smells gusted rank or sweet or sharp. Brent waited, sweating.

Ivan addressed him. “(The science is a minor consideration. We simply need to clarify our consensus,)” in the usual Tahirian style.

“(You need not depart forever,)” Brent reminded them. “(Your people live ten times nearer the black hole than mine do. Should they wish to, they can readily come back and resume the research.)”

“(That is still a long journey, a long time to be gone from society,)” Leo said.

Probably their dialogue in Cambiante was meant for an explanation to the man, reciting the obvious as so often before to make certain that it really was obvious. “(A stable society must think far ahead,)” Ivan declared. “(Best will it be if we return to Tahir immediately and you then proceed to your home. If our people are to assimilate basic new information, they should first further strengthen their institutions.)”

“I doubt they’ll ever elect to go after the new information, if we don’t bring them more than we have right now,” Brent muttered. “They’ll stay put forever. Your breed isn’t really venturesome.” On the parleur: “(Then we four agree, this expedition shall end in the near future.)”

“(How can we bring that about?)” puzzled Peter.

Leo’s mane quivered. Ens middle eyes glowed at Brent. “(You have a plan,)” en said. “(I have come to know you.)”

Brent nodded—from habit, though they had learned what it meant. “(I do. It requires your resolute help. You shall have to obey instructions without questioning or hesitation.)”

Ivan seemed to grow dubious. “(This is like something
out of the distant, primitive past)”—when Tahir, like Earth, spawned occasional abnormal cultures, incompatible with the innate nature of the species, and horror followed.

“(We will have need for forcefulness, yes,)” Brent admitted. “(And we must catch the opposition unprepared, as carnivores ambush prey.)”

“(Simon and Emil are of that opposition,)” Ivan said. A rustling sigh went among the three. Regret? Apprehension? When did their race last know serious conflict?