Terra (10 page)

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You are also aware of the FaZoon’s aversion to telepathic communication?

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Of course, Preceptor.

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Now don’t worry, I’m not asking you to converse with the FaZoon. Just recite a formal greeting, after which you’ll hand over to the other delegate who will do all the actual talking, do you understand?

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Yes, Preceptor.

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Good. Well, if that’s settled,
he cast a glance at Lbbp as if daring him to object,
we’ll introduce you to the, er, grown-up half of the delegation.
Shm touched an illuminated pad on his desk. The door to the reading room swished open and a tall Fnrrn in green robes entered.

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Hello again, Terra,
said Vstj, and he looked about as happy to see her as she was to see him.

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Lbbp!
said Vstj, forcing a smile.
It’s been a very long time.

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Yes, it has,
said Lbbp, trying to force a smile and not quite succeeding.
How’s life in the accounts division?

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Oh, it’s all pretty intense stuff,
said Vstj, still smiling, just about.
You know, trying to decide which departments to fund . . . and which ones not to . . .

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Of course, I forgot that you two know each other,
said Shm.

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Yes, very well!
grimaced Vstj.

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Very well indeed . . .
grimaced Lbbp.

Vstj turned to Terra. -
And so, the fascinating history of Terra the Rrth child takes yet another thrilling twist. Who’d have thought that, at just, what is it, eight orbits?

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That’s right,
said Terra.

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. . . just eight orbits old, she would find herself addressing alien dignitaries, sharing the honour with someone who’d spent whole years of his life preparing for just that responsibility . . .

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Have you?
said Lbbp with genuine curiosity.

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You may recall from our days as students, Lbbp, that I had a natural aptitude for language.

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I remember you talking a lot, certainly.

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Indeed. Since then, I have immersed myself in study of the FaZoon tongue, mastering it – if I do say so myself – to a higher degree than any Fnrrn before me. I have made it my personal goal to take communication between Fnrrn and FaZoon to a new level. So you can imagine how pleased I was,
said Vstj, his rictus grin starting to look a bit painful now,
to discover that there was someone in this very Preceptorate who, without even having to try, has even better FaZoon diction than my own!

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Yes, yes we can,
said Lbbp,
we can really imagine that.

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Well, that’s marvellous,
squeaked Vstj,
I’ll see you on the big day then. Preceptor . . .
and with a last bow, he was gone. Shm watched him leave. Lbbp watched Shm watching Vstj leave. Shm noticed Lbbp watching him watching Vstj leave.

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What?
asked Shm innocently.

O
f course, when one is growing up in such an academically oriented society as Mlml, a simple thing like being selected to perform interplanetary diplomatic functions is never allowed to interfere with one’s classwork.

Immediately after being dismissed from the Preceptor’s reading room, Terra found herself taking notes in the Practical Science laboratory.

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So, once Tnk discovered the existence of grav-matter it was a question of harnessing its power in a safe and controllable way,
said Pshkf, the practical science lector. He had in front of him a containment field generator and a silver phial.

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Now, watch this . . .

Pshkf switched the containment field generator on and poured a drop of silver liquid onto the plate at its centre.

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Is that . . .?
asked Fthfth

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It is indeed. Purest quality grav-matter, fresh from the mines of Shth-Shnn. Now if we bombard the grav-matter with energy waves at just the right frequency . . .

Next to the field generator stood a small bronze-coloured device; a crystal-tipped cylinder mounted on a flexible stand. Pshkf touched the base of the stand and the crystal began to pulse and glow. The droplet of grav-matter swirled as if stirred by an invisible spoon.

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Here comes the good part,
smiled Pshkf. He slapped his hand down on the desk; the droplet rippled, bounced and then rose above the plate, hovering, a perfect rotating sphere of liquid.

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There. Neutral mass. And before you ask, no, you can’t have a go.

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Why not?
said Fthfth crossly.

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Okay, who knows why not?
Pshkf addressed the class.
What would happen if I got the frequency of the bombardment wrong?

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If you set the frequency too low, nothing would happen. Too high and the grav-matter would invert, the containment field would collapse and you’d create a tiny black hole which would attract objects equal to its own mass before cancelling itself out.

Everyone stared at Pktk. That was the most words anyone had ever heard him say in one go. He looked back at them.

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What? I like GravTech.

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Good boy. Then there’s something coming up which I think you’ll enjoy. He’s right, children, mess this up,
he pointed to the spinning grav-matter particle,
and everything in this room gets crushed into a little dot of super-dense matter. That’s why,
he said, casting a glance towards Fthfth,
you can’t have a go. Anyway,
Pshkf went on, addressing the whole class,
you all get to play with GravTech on a daily basis. It’s exactly the same principle behind your little gravity bubbles. And it’s the same principle applied on a much bigger scale which gives us this . . .

He led the class to the middle of the lab, where a gleaming metal ovoid, over a metre in length, sat on one of the workbenches.

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This, my friends,
he gave a special little nod to Pktk,
is the infralight drive from an thirty-first era Rrsk-sh-Frrrg Starchaser, and in my learned opinion a finer piece of engineering you will not find.

Pktk was in awe. -
Where did you find it?

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In a recycling yard, if you can believe that. They had no idea what it was. I’m restoring it, and the Lyceum have been kind enough to let me use their equipment if I let you lot look at it, so there it is.

Pktk examined the beautiful simplicity of the infralight drive’s design as Pshkf enthused on. -
I know everyone goes on about Tnk and his thesis, but if you ask me Kltnt was the real hero. He found a way to use Tnk’s theories to open up the whole of space. This thing, when it’s running, generates such a perfect void in the cohesion field that anything within that void exists as matter and energy at the same time. Total masslessness. Then all you need to do is give yourself a decent poke in the rear end with the neutrino shunt – not included – and you’re off across the galaxy . . .

A sudden pinging noise was heard over the Lyceum’s announcement system, then a familiar voice:

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Right, so what do I – oh, it’s on, is it, erm . . . Attention please, would Terra . . . is that all? Just Terra? Doesn’t she have a full name? No, no, I don’t suppose she would, now I come to – Ahem. Would Terra please report – no, not report, this isn’t the army, what’s the word? Would Terra please . . . proceed? Proceed, is that it? Oh forget it. Terra, it’s me, Vstj, I’m in the Leisure Hub, could you come here please. Useless device, I don’t know why I didn’t just . . .

After a moment’s pause, Terra said
– I, er . . . I think I’d better go to the Leisure Hub.

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Yes, I think you better had,
smiled Pshkf.

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Hello?

The Leisure Hub appeared to be deserted.

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Hello . . .?
said Terra again.

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You know, young Terra . . .

Terra jumped. Vstj had been sitting in the back row of seats. She’d expected to find him on the stage. Vstj went on, -
. . . we have quite a lot in common, you and I . . .

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We do?

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Hmm. Everybody thinks I’m stupid too.

Terra had genuinely no idea how to respond to this; fortunately Vstj wasn’t finished.

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I know what they all say about me, you know. Oh, Vstj, only got the job because his family bought the Preceptorate a new holographic library, owes it all to his family, be nothing without his family . . . Well, you know what, little Terra?

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What?

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Frankly, if my family had bought me the Chancellorship of the whole country, it would barely make up for the orbits I spent growing up with the miserable fzfts. Still,
he went on, striding towards the stage,
at least my lot didn’t dump me in a burning vehicle and leave me to be carted off by aliens. One mustn’t complain.

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I don’t think . . . the vehicle wasn’t actually on fire, I . . . Compositor Vstj, are you feeling all right?

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Yes,
said Vstj, hopping up onto the stage with a strange glint in his eye,
I’m feeling absolutely DANDY. Now, young Terra,
he said, pacing up and down the stage,
tomorrow night, you and I will stand on the steps of the Forum in front of the whole population of Hrrng, and address envoys from the wisest and oldest race in the universe. I will be there as the culmination of a lifetime of study and preparation, you will be there because of your freakishly massive larynx. It is funny how things turn out, isn’t it. Slate, please . . .

Terra, struggling to follow Vstj’s line of discourse, handed her slate over. Vstj tapped on it and handed it back.

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There. That is the text of the greeting you will read out. DON’T practise it here, do it when you get home. Give that father of yours something else to beam with pride about.

Terra glanced at the slate. There was a block of text consisting of phonetically transcribed FaZoon words, and then the same text translated into Mlmln.

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Just the usual diplomatic guff about honoured guests, mutual understanding, peaceful co-operation, blah blah blah,
said Vstj, sitting down on the stage with his legs dangling off the front.
That is what it says, by the way. Feel free to have it checked. I wouldn’t be so mean as to trick you into saying, ‘FaZoon are ugly and they smell. Please vaporise me,’ or anything like that. That wouldn’t be funny at all . . .
said Vstj, gazing into the middle distance.

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I’m . . . going now,
said Terra.

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Yes, yes, off you go,
said Vstj without looking at her. Terra turned and headed for the exit. Vstj spoke again before she got there.

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Of course, you know what I’m supposed to be doing at the moment . . .? End of financial orbit budget reports,
said Vstj mournfully.
Can’t imagine why the Preceptor would want to divert my attention from that, can you? Still, nice to be kept busy, I suppose . . .

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Yes, yes, it is,
said Terra and hurried back to the Practical Science lab, where there were things she understood.

T
he night was unusually warm for the time of orbit. The climate control office had made sure of that.

In front of the Hrrng Forum – the seat of Mlml’s civilian government – there was a great open square, paved with gleaming white stone and surrounded by cobalt alloy statues of previous chancellors and eminent senators from eras gone by. A visitor to Hrrng might be impressed by these statues, until they visited the Preceptorate a short distance away, saw the considerably bigger (and noticeably rather less attached to the ground) statue of Tnk, and drew their own conclusions about Mlml’s cultural hierarchy. The government was in office, but rarely gave the impression of being in power.

On this occasion, although it was way past more or less everybody’s sleep-time, the Forum Square was packed. Fnrrns of all ages, from all corners of Mlml and beyond, stood and waited. Some held little glowing lanterns, in the six-pointed snowflake-like shape of the FaZoon’s starships (around the outside of the square, lantern vendors were doing a roaring trade).

There hadn’t been a FaZoon visitation for over twelve orbits, and since one never knew when – or indeed, if – the FaZoon would return, nobody wanted to miss this. Excited discussions had gone on among Terra’s friends about what possible gifts the FaZoon might bring this time. Some said it would be the secret of time travel (-
It better not be,
said Fthfth crossly,
that’d be my life’s ambition ruined
); others thought that the FaZoon might bless them with the power to see the future (-
That’d be the Extrapolator out of business then,
said Lbbp); some thought that this time the FaZoon would tell the Fnrrns the secret. Just, you know, The Secret.

At the edge of the square where the Forum building itself stood, there was a wide set of stone steps leading up from the square to the building’s grand front portal. At the top of these steps stood an odd-looking group: the Chancellor, in her black robes, two of her senior advisers, in red robes, Preceptor Shm, in his purple robes, Vstj, in his green robes, Lbbp, in his usual blue garment (feeling horribly self-consciously robeless), and, wearing a little purple robe made just for the occasion, Terra.

At the front of the crowd stood Fthfth, between her parents, the eminent scientist and the even more eminent surgeon, and Pktk, between his parents, who seemed to wear permanent expressions of worry and concern. It was hard to tell, pondered Terra, whether Pktk’s parents worried about him so much because he was, well, how he was, or whether he was how he was because they worried so much.

The moment had nearly arrived. The Preceptorate’s astronomers had calculated the exact point at which the FaZoon ship would enter the atmosphere. Shm really hoped they’d got it right.

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Look!
someone shouted. All eyes turned skyward. What appeared to be a new star was growing in size and brightness. It became more distinct, it had a discernible shape, like a six-pointed snowflake.