by Guy Haley
“I will be.”
“You better had. How do you think the native got through the fence?”
“Anderson?” Dariusz was taken aback. “That is a serious accusation.”
“You don’t think it was an accident, do you? We’re all expendable. Every one of us. Only the Pointers matter to him. He’ll use the incident in the council to get what he wants...”
“You’re supposed to be loyal to him,” said Dariusz.
Corrigan leaned in close. “You think I put this uniform on because I love the Pointers? I fucking hate them, as much as you do, if not more. I’ve seen a lot more of them than you have. I signed up for this gig to get away from all that shit, I figured there’d be a slim chance things might change if we were a few trillion miles away from their gravy train. Well, things just might change, thanks to the crash. I’m not going to stand by and watch a fresh elite of super rich twats order another world about for their own pleasure, do you understand me?”
Dariusz’s English had developed beyond the Lingua, but Corrigan’s accent was radically different to Sand’s and Dariusz found it hard to follow. It wasn’t hard to understand his sentiment, however.
“If it comes to it, you can count on me. You get that? But let’s try not to. Now, I’m going. Be careful!”
With those words, Corrigan walked out the other end of the alleyway.
Six weeks later, Anderson made his move.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
This Other Son
“WE ARE SITTING ducks here. We all know it. When are we going to start listening to Anderson?”
“Councillor Amir, please...” said Kościelniak.
“Don’t try to placate me, Artur. Are you not listening? Captain Anderson is right. We need more weapons to defend ourselves from the natives.”
There were nineteen of them in the room, Yuri, Leonid, Anderson, Kościelniak and Dariusz among them. Sand, the twentieth member of the council, was absent, pleading urgent business with the construction of the colony’s ultralight aircraft. All present were heads of various projects in and around the base, or had been put forward by their fellows to represent their interests. The council was a cross between a government body and a corporate board of directors, and more argumentative than either.
There was an outbreak of conversation in the council room as various members spoke with each other or challenged Amir, or Anderson, who did not reply. Nineteen people make a lot of noise when agitated. Kościelniak held up his hand. “I believe Councillor Szczeciński has something to say.”
“We can’t divert resources from the fabricators,” said Dariusz quietly. “We need the farm up and running, or people are going to die. We’re on the brink of starvation.” Leipnitz, the Head Agriculturalist, murmured in agreement.
“And you think the efforts in sanitation, or schooling, or health, or any one of the other things we need to enact are not going to suffer?” said Amir. “Defence is our primary need.”
“The natives are not dangerous,” said Jolanta Leppek, Chief Medical Officer.
“Didn’t you see what that one did when it got into the compound?” countered Danowicz, Chief of Military Logistics, a broad, florid man, much prone to thumping the table, chief supporter of the unlikely alliance between Amir and Anderson. “Do you not remember the fate of the patrol?”
“A systems failure,” said Ewa Brzezinska, Colony Psychologist. “They do not pass the fence. They leave our equipment alone. We keep the fence in good order, we keep them out. We can coexist.”
Julian Moore, exobiologist and Chief Science Officer, cleared his throat. “It is the comms mast. They are attracted to it. Their biology is tricky to unravel, fascinating stuff, and the sample we have is quite badly damaged. Many of the creatures we have encountered have a form of natural radar, we think. It’s very weak, as you might expect – or should I say, very sensitive. Our systems are interfering with it.”
“You weren’t sure of that last week,” said Amir.
“I am sure of it now,” said Moore coolly.
“That is immaterial...” said Danowicz.
“We need to look to our own operations. That’s where the solution lies,” said Moore. “Not in gunning them down. This is not 19th-century America, gentlemen. We should behave better here. What kind of a start is it to found a new home on the blood of others?”
“We’ve heard all this before!” said Amir. “Changing the frequency hasn’t worked, as you suggested. Setting up decoy emitters gets the decoys destroyed, at a cost in valuable man hours and resources. Your sentiments, worthy as they are, are dangerous, and your theories are worthless. They do not like our comms? Fine, let’s increase their activity, create a wall of electromagnetic noise to keep them back. The crabhawks do not approach us, we must have passed their tolerance. The natives will have a level they find unbearable too. We should find it.”
“I disagree. These are sentient creatures –”
“Possibly sentient!” insisted Danowicz.
“Sentient,” said Moore. “Besides, the signal has not kept them away as it has the other lifeforms. There is no guarantee that there will not be unintended consequences of putting up a radar fence. And what of the interference with our own communications?”
“I think we’ve seen just how much you understand the situation, thank you, Mr Moore.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” said Moore. “I’ve as much right – more right, in fact...”
Yuri looked up from the table, where he’d been sketching things only he could see with his thumbnail. “No insults, please gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s keep this civil.”
“What do you know, Pointer’s son?” said Danowicz.
“Enough to keep a civil tongue.” Yuri pushed his chair back. The room was too hot, another cobbled-together space made of recycled cargo containers. Tempers were frayed. They were all hungry. His brother was preoccupied with something, so Yuri took the role of chairman. He thought he’d be bored by all this, but it was better than sitting around. He had been forced to acknowledge that things needed to be done. Ironic, he thought, how his indolence melted away in the face of peril.
“Food, it seems, is the primary concern here.” He glanced at the list of food initiatives on the tablet in front of him. “Councillor Doctor Karpel. How are we with the pantrope machine?”
Karpel, Chief of Medical Sciences, looked grim. “Not good. We are still unpicking the data from the genebanks. It is slow work, and it is beginning to look like the virus has wiped more than we feared. Without full access to the Syscore and proper sequencing machines, we’re having to fall back on older techniques, and my team just aren’t schooled in those. It’ll take time for us to establish our method. We have the basic patterning for retroviral delivery systems, but it is the changes we must make to our own physiology...” He shrugged.
“We are working on it,” added Moore. “But it will take time.”
“Without a fully operational genetics lab, typing the creatures will take years,” said Karpel. “Their genetic bases are broadly similar to ours, but not entirely. We haven’t even begun to pinpoint the coding for their digestive and energy cycles. Then we must transpose that to our own genetic makeup to allow the human body to generate energy from the alien material. If we are lucky, it will be a case of adding a few enzymes to the digestive system, perhaps a little additional coding structure to our mitochondria. But if they have no citric acid cycle, or nothing close to it... Well, in the worst case, it cannot be done.”
“Changing ourselves is easier than changing the world,” said Konrad Urbanek, the representative of the electronics team.
“Precisely. If we are going to live here, we have to become of this world, not apart from it,” said Karpel.
Yuri had heard this before. The council was in the habit of treading the same ground over and over again. Frustration at the lack of progress had them weave a comfort blanket of repetition. “Very well. Councillor Loewen, how’s the bioreactor going?”
“No good news here, either. We’ve managed to render some useful products from the sandclams, we’re getting close to something like acetates, but we are also finding it hard to adjust the subtler elements of biochemistry. We’ve similar problems to the genetics team. We’re a long way from changing the sugars into something a Terran organism can make use of. Fuel, plastics, water: all that we can provide, and with a little adjustment to the fabricators, we’re close to giving us a wider source of feedstocks. Base chemistry is not much of a problem, and we are having success with ancient practices. Look back to the past – we’re pioneers, I say, so we shall be pioneers. We’re making leather from the hides, and the shells are tough. They have some remarkable –”
Councillor Jankowitz scoffed ruefully. “Are we to fall to so low a technological base?”
“We might do yet,” said Loewen. “We have to make use of the resources we have to hand. We can’t rely on the fabricators. I need more energy –”
“Everybody needs more energy!” snapped Iwona Bruśka who, being responsible for the energy network, always erupted when anyone complained about the lack of energy. “We are working on it.”
Danowicz harrumphed. “All this is taking a long time, and we do not have time. Those... things. They will get through the fence. They are inimical to human life.”
“We don’t know that. We’re trespassing on their territory. There’s the radar issue. Indeed, they may just be curious,” said Moore.
“Tell that to the men of Captain Anderson’s patrol,” said Amir.
“We attacked them first. We’ve provoked something we have limited ability to harm: one of those things can take a dozen unarmed people to pieces. Surely we’d better pursue more peaceful avenues?” said Loewen.
Danowicz conceded the point. “Of course. But we cannot communicate with them either. We don’t even know how they see the world. How can we begin to talk to them? Are they even intelligent?”
“They are intelligent,” said Anderson. He’d been appointed a councillor, against his wishes, and spoke rarely in the meetings. “Like animals. Instinctual, but tactical, methodical. We have the superior technology, they the superior biology. Our advantage is disappearing.”
“And we should follow your proposal?” asked Danowicz. This was not truly a question, but an invitation for Anderson to lay out his plans once again.
“Yes. More rations for my men. Institution of a militia that all are to serve on, in rotation. The production of more powerful weapons. Diversion of energy to the fences. Construction of better defences.”
“These things will slow all our efforts,” said Karpel. “We are dipping below subsistence level.”
“I will not agree to it. The colony will not agree to it,” said Brzezinska.
“They will,” said Anderson. “Because they are scared.”
“It seems we have little choice,” said Leonid.
“Trust the Pointer to agree!” said Loewen.
“I do not agree,” said Yuri mildly. “And I am a Pointer.”
“I have nothing against our fragile democracy. I suggested it!” said Leonid. He sounded stressed. His face was harrowed. He looked at the table.
What’s eating at him? thought Yuri.
“This is not Earth. The days of my kind are done. I merely state my opinion, drawn from the facts as I see them,” said Leonid, more calmly.
“You seek to subvert it,” said Karpel.
“Please,” Leonid said, almost pleadingly. “I urge you to see the facts as I see them. Anderson is correct.”
“My brother set this council up, he supports Anderson, I do not. I am sure your opinions are as split as ours,” said Yuri. “We’re in the same boat as you. Why can you not see that?”
“Anderson is correct to an extent,” said Dariusz. “Building these things will buy us more time. But do we have that time? Our food stocks...”
“They are low,” said Jankowitz, the quartermaster.
“We’re going to have to incorporate the borehole and farms into the perimeter eventually. Assuming the natives are intelligent, if they discover that that’s our weak spot, they’ll come here and rip it up while we fume at them from the walls. They’ve left the airfield alone, the outlying facilities. It’s us they’re interested in. How long is it before they change their approach?” said Leonid.
“If we drilled closer in, we’d still have the issue of having to defend the crops,” said Karpel.
“A watchtower? Extend the fence?” said Yuri.
“Councillor Danowicz, as outspoken as he is, pointed out how well isolated facilities fare,” said Jankowitz.
“Don’t we risk alerting the natives as to how important our efforts in the fields are if we start fortifying them?” said Moore.
“If they’re intelligent,” said Danowicz. “We need to exterminate them before they exterminate us.”
“There are hard times...”
“We should not provoke...”
“We are better than the Pointers...!”
A clamour of suggestions sprang up. Voices were raised all around the table. The quiet, hot air of the room was alive with shouting.
Yuri held up his hands. “Gentlemen, ladies, please. Please!” he shouted. “Let us vote on it. That is what this council is for, is it not? Yes?” He raised his eyebrows at them and smiled. They fell silent, and he clasped his hands together. “Thank you. All those in favour of continuing the plan as already agreed, raise your hands.” Those in favour did so. “All those in favour of Anderson’s suggestion to switch to a war footing, raise your hands.” Yuri looked around the room. “We continue on as before.”
Murmurs in support of both cases rippled around the room. Yuri sighed and sank back down into his chair. He was getting a headache. “Back to business, then. Next on the agenda, the irrigation project. Councillor Dariusz...”
“Not yet,” said Anderson. He stood and drew his pistol. The two doors into the room opened and ten of his men entered, all armed. “I have given you the opportunity to make the right decision, and you did not. Your poor judgment is endangering the lives of my patrons. You are all under arrest. This colony is now under the direct jurisdiction of Leonid Petrovitch.”
“Anderson?” Yuri half rose.
“Sit down, sir,” said Anderson. “I am to protect the interests of your house. Do not endanger them yourself.”
“Leonid?” said Yuri helplessly. “What’s going on?”
His brother stared back at him for a second. He seemed shrunken, defeated almost, but there was a hard look in his eyes. “I’m sorry. We’re never going to get anywhere arguing like this. We need a firmer hand.”
“Now you sound like our father.”
Leonid looked uncomfortable. “So be it. Maybe he was right all along.”
“Leonid, stop them!” shouted Yuri.
Leonid looked away.
The click of Anderson’s safety disengaging echoed. His gun turned to point at Yuri. “Sit down, sir.”
Yuri complied, his hands in the air. “This is a dreadful mistake.”
“All decisions will now be made by Mr Petrovitch. This experiment in democracy is over,” said Anderson. “Weapons production is to begin immediately.”
LEONID FOLLOWED ANDERSON around the base perimeter. A new air of urgency clung to the town: drills clattered, engines whined, reversing vehicles beeped, arc torches hissed. Under it all was the soft, harsh noise of shovels biting sand. Men and women worked under the eyes of Anderson’s black-clad men. They did not speak. At Anderson’s prompting, Leonid had declared a state of emergency. Rations had been cut, hours of work extended. Few of those working on Anderson’s walls and ditches looked at him as he walked past. Those that did fixed him with glares of hatred.
Leonid did not look directly at the workers. He kept them in his peripheral vision, blurred impressions. Shame and fear dogged him. What had he become?
Anderson pointed to the mesa face, where men on ropes worked drills into the rock
. “The fence is being restrung horizontally. That will stop the enemy coming up the cliff face, sir. With your permission, I would like to divert another twenty per cent of the colony’s generating capacity to the fence. A greater shock is a greater deterrent. Once we have developed a sufficient capacity, I would like to attempt a lethal charge.”
Leonid nodded. Key to Anderson’s plans was this ditch around the more vulnerable side of the mesas, where the scrub rose up and the colonists had carved their roads. Four metres deep, faced with metal from the containers. “Effective against the natives. The smooth surface is difficult for them to ascend,” Anderson explained. The ditch embraced the mesas in straight lines, each section meeting the next at a neatly cut angle. Machine gun emplacements jutted out of the ditch at these junctions: four in all, able to direct fire down the full length of the earthwork’s sections. With few earthmoving machines and no more under construction, as Anderson turned the fabricators to the manufacture of weapons, much of the work was being done by hand. Speed was prioritised over safety. There had been three deaths from heatstroke, three from accidents. The colonists were hungry. After two weeks of this, they were getting thinner. The more exhausted they became, the more accidents occurred. Fear ruled; fear of the natives, fear of Anderson.
Leonid and Anderson walked through the new outer gate taking shape fifty metres down the road from West Mesa’s original portal. The gun Anderson insisted he wear at all times dragged at his hip. It was hot today, even in Evening Country. The desert’s weather patterns were reasserting themselves after the rains.
Work on the farm had slowed. Dariusz’s team, missing Plock, still worked on the borehole and pipeline, but virtually all other projects had been halted.
A large enough contingent of the settlers feared the natives to make Anderson’s proposals palatable, but the way it had been done was not. When the food ran short, there would be trouble, Leonid was sure of it. Anderson expected a certain amount of population wastage. He would not hesitate to use force in the event of trouble.