Revolt on Alpha C

by Robert Silverberg

  The captain nodded. “All right, take him out and let him go. Harrison, come with me. I want the background of this whole affair, from the beginning.” They left. The others, who had witnessed the discussion with some amazement, straggled slowly out of the hall, conscious that something big was brewing and also aware that as long as the captain remained in conference they were free.

  Harl began to walk out quickly. Larry caught his sleeve.

  “Wait a minute, Harl. Let’s go upstairs—I want to look at that book of yours.”

  Harl’s face reflected surprise. But he shook his head.

  “Some other time, Larry. I want to find that fellow Browne. I want to talk to him.”

  And he dashed out, leaving Larry standing by himself.

  CHAPTER 8

  HEITOR CAME UP behind Larry as he stood there, and nudged him out of his reverie.

  “Hey, Larry. What say we take advantage of our free time to explore the town?”

  “Good enough,” Larry said. He and Heitor headed out into the street.

  They were in a business district, apparently; the street in front of them was a long line of shops.

  “What did you think of Browne?” Heitor asked as they crossed to one of the shops.

  “I don’t know, Heitor. What he says seems to make sense, but I’m sure if we looked at Earth’s side of the matter too—”

  “Yes. I wish I knew why Earth has to treat its colonies like that,” Heitor said.

  They entered the first store. It seemed to specialize in carvings from dinosaur bones. The proprietor, an elderly but still powerful-looking man, came out to meet them.

  “Welcome! I’m honored to have Earth visitors!” His accent was strange; the vowels were blurred, in a way, so it was somewhat difficult to understand him. What he seemed to be saying was, “Wilcam! Ay’m hanared ta hove Eerth vesetars!” This dialect, Larry knew, was the result of decades of isolation, during which time the pronunciation of the colonists had wandered further and further away from that of Earth.

  Larry picked up an exquisite carving of some native animal. “Is this all you sell?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Bone carving is our most important local art, and most of the artists in Chicago Colony use my shop as their outlet.”

  “Look at this one,” Heitor said, holding up a four-inch representation of an odd-looking beast with a curling tail. “Real cute.

  “You wouldn’t think so if you saw him in the flesh,” the old man said. “He’s about eighty feet high and thirty feet long, and he eats young chaps like you for afternoon snacks.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Wouldn’t help if I told you. The names vary from settlement to settlement, and you Earthmen have your own names for them as well. I can’t even pronounce your name for it,” he said.

  “How much do you want for this one?” said Heitor.

  “Normally, about three solars. But you probably don’t have any local currency anyway, and I prefer to trade.”

  “Trade?”

  “Yes,” the storekeeper said. “Suppose we swap even-up—the statue for that book under your arm. We have so few books here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Heitor said. “This is one of my textbooks.” He opened the book and showed its contents. “I need it to study from—it’s very important.”

  Larry smiled. He had come to like Heitor much more in the past few days than ever before, probably because his frequent arguments with Harl had taken some of the ease out of his friendship with him. And this was so much like Heitor, who clung to his textbooks at all times and would rather part with a finger than an astrogation text.

  The old man sighed. “Well, in that case I guess we can’t swap. Look here—suppose you just take this as a gift from me. From Chicago Colony.”

  “Why—thank you.” Heitor picked up the little statuette and stroked the polished ivory.

  Larry looked admiringly at the object, wondering how he could find one as pretty. It would look good on his desk at home, he thought.

  Home. It was the first time in days that he had even let the word enter his mind. Home was Earth, far across the sea of space. The distance was so vast it was meaningless. Twenty-five million million miles away.

  They turned to leave, staring at the eight-foot statue of a dragonlike animal that stood near the entrance. Larry opened the door, then turned around.

  “Say, old man. Is that meeting tonight open to Earthmen too? I think I’d like to come.”

  The storekeeper smiled slowly. “It won’t concern you at all, lads. Better forget about it.”

  Another store was selling some strange-looking vegetables. The shopkeeper there gave Larry a small, round, red fruit which looked something like an Earth apple. He tasted it. It was bitter, tangy, strange.

  Walking on Alpha C IV was almost difficult. Each step was a small battle; after ten or twelve steps, the cadets began to breathe a little harder. The air was rich and mysterious.

  There was no sign in the settlement of the wild jungle which was rampant just outside the walls. The heavy vegetation was under control, and just a few weird trees with scaly bark served as reminders of the wild forest which lay without the walls.

  Larry thought it was almost possible to feel as if he were back on Earth when he forgot about the gravity. But one glance into the clear blue sky dispelled any such thoughts.

  The sun Alpha Centauri hung high and beat hot and yellow overhead. It seemed just a bit larger and hotter than the sun of Earth. But—in one comer of the sky hung pale Beta Centauri, the companion sun, a small circle of light. And over at the other side, down near the horizon, was the tiny red ball of Proxima Centauri, the other nearby star.

  The sunlight was yellow, as on Earth. But mingling with it was the ghostly beam from Beta C and the trickle of crimson from Proxima. The overall effect was one of almost overpowering strangeness.

  The cadets sat down on a bench, thankfully, since they were tired from fighting the heavier gravity of Alpha C IV. After a moment or two, Larry looked up to see Jon Browne standing nearby.

  His face turned red and hot. He knew he was in the presence of a sworn enemy of the planet he held most dear—but he was unable to dislike him as he knew he should. Browne was a quite unferocious-looking, pleasant-faced young fellow.

  “I don’t think we were introduced,” Browne said, opening the conversation in the abrupt way characteristic of the colonists. “But I think you saw me this morning. My name is Browne—with an ‘e’ at the end.” He smiled. Jon Browne.”

  “We saw you this morning,” Larry said.

  “Yes,” Heitor agreed.

  “Are you coming to the meeting tonight? It’s open to you Earthmen, you know. But maybe you don’t want to. I fear you’ve heard all there is to hear already, when I spoke with your captain.”

  “We’d like to come,” Larry said. “At least, I would.”

  “So would I,” Heitor said. “You know, I recall a song about someone with the same name as you. It’s an old Earth song.”

  Larry nodded in recollection. It was a song O’Hare had taught him one night.

  “It’s some sort of political song,” Heitor said. “It begins, ‘John Brown’s body lies a-moulderin’ in the grave—’ ”

  “An ancestor of mine, maybe?” said Jon Brownie.

  “Maybe.”

  It developed that Browne was a second-generation colonist; his father had come from Earth about 2320, and he himself had been born on Alpha C IV.

  “I have some free time now,” he said. “Would you two like to climb the wall with me? It means some exercise, but if we’re lucky you’ll get a good view of our jungle. I understand you saw one of our ’saurs this morning nosing around your ship. What did you think of it?”

  Larry drew in his breath. Finally he said, simply, “It’s big.”

  Browne laughed. “You saw one of the biggest of all this morning. The scientists call it by a name half as long as the animal itself, but the co
lonists here call it twotails because the neck is so long it seems like a tail.” He waved his arms to illustrate.

  “Well, anyone joining me for a climb?”

  “I’m game,” said Larry. “How about you, Heitor?”

  Heitor shook his head. “I’m beat. You two go climb your wall; I’m going to rest awhile and then head back to quarters to see what’s going on. Anyway, I have some studying to do.”

  “O.K.,” Larry said. He and Browne got up and walked off toward the wall.

  Browne was likable enough, Larry decided. He made up his mind he would ignore the fact that he was going for a walk with the revolutionary leader. Jon Browne would be just another colonist to him.

  “How much do you know about our planet, Larry?” What? Oh—well, that there are four settlements, called London Colony, Bombay Colony, Henrikstown, and Chicago Colony. That there are about five thousand humans on the whole planet, with about half of them in London Colony.”

  “Not quite half, Larry. Two thousand is more like it, and a thousand in each of the others.”

  They walked on for a while, till they approached the wall.

  “How old is the colony?” Larry asked.

  “Oh, about a hundred years—no, make it a hundred twenty-five. The first batch of settlers had trouble adjusting to the heavy gray, but it doesn’t bother us any more. Our chief food comes from those big beasts out there—that’s our chief problem, too. Until we get the ’saurs under control we can’t have a true planet-wide culture. But when we do we’ll have to substitute other sources of food. But we’ll manage; don’t worry.”

  At the base of the wall was a staircase cut into the stone and winding up to the top. They began to climb, Browne first, Larry behind.

  “Do the ’saurs wander around the clearing very much?” Larry asked, panting a little as he climbed the stairs.

  “Usually just early in the morning,” said Browne. “Those twotails are so timid that the city noises usually scare them away after dawn. You were lucky to see one.”

  “Timid, you say?”

  “That’s right. They just eat grass, and they have to spend almost all day eating because they have such small heads. In order for them to pack away enough food to fill that big body, they have to spend ten or twelve hours a day just eating.”

  Are all your ’saurs too scared to bother you?” Larry asked.

  Browne chuckled. “Hardly, friend. Some of them would hop over the wall and eat us alive if they could. Maybe we’ll see some of the dangerous kind while you’re here.”

  They reached the top of the wall. Larry looked down at the ground two hundred feet away, with a few tiny people walking back and forth on the distant streets below. Then he walked across the top of the wall and peered cautiously over the other side.

  The view was breathtaking. He saw a great green forest spreading away on all sides, wild, untamed, with strange leathery birds flapping above it. Directly below was the clearing in which the Carden stood, and not far away was the edge of the jungle. The nearest trees were almost as high as the wall.

  “What’s that?” Larry asked, pointing to one of the great birds which was hovering over a treetop.

  “It’s a wingfinger,” said Browne. “Sort of a flying reptile, with those wings stretched out on its fingers, which are eight or nine feet long. The scientists call them pterodactyls, and they’re just like a kind which once lived on Earth “Do they ever fly over the city?”

  “They used to,” said Browne. “For a while it was a serious problem—the wingfingers used to swoop low over the city, and there’s a legend that one of them once carried off a child—but we shoot them on sight, and they’ve learned their lesson by now. They’re afraid of us. They never come near the city.”

  The wingfinger was hovering over a treetop. Suddenly it’s long beak pounced on a branch and emerged with a wriggling snake held tight. Triumphantly it flew off to enjoy its meal.

  Larry shuddered. Browne said, “That’s the way it is in the jungle. The wingfingers are always lying in wait for the tree snakes, and they manage to catch enough to keep well fed. But now and then a wingfinger will swoop too low over a lake and get dragged down by a water reptile with long arms.”

  A large dinosaur with ferocious teeth appeared at the edge of the clearing. Larry turned to point it out to Browne, but the colonist was peering at his wristchron.

  “Getting late,” he said. “I have to get back and prepare for the meeting. Do you want to stay here by yourself?”

  The shadows of early afternoon were beginning to fall. Larry pictured himself on top of the wall at dusk, with the wingfingers humming by overhead. “No, thanks. I’ll go back down with you.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Will I see you at the meeting?”

  “Most likely,” Larry said. He followed Browne down the steps silently. Apparently these revolutionaries were pretty human people, Larry thought. He would have to get a look at that book of Harl’s when he got back.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE PLACE WAS in turmoil when he returned. There were colonists all over the building, some demanding to speak to Captain Reinhardt, some just trying to make their feelings heard to anyone who would listen. Larry reported in to the captain, who was sitting at the dinner table talking in a low voice to Harrison and two other colonists, but Reinhardt signaled to him that he did not want to be disturbed.

  Feeling that he was being left out of everything, Larry headed upstairs to his room. Heitor was in one corner, studying, and Harl was sprawled in the other, also reading. They looked up as he entered.

  “Hi,” said Harl. “O’Hare was in here looking for you before, but Heitor said you were out walking with Jon Browne. Did I hear straight?”

  That you did,” Larry said. “We’re invited to the town meeting tonight.”

  “Are you going?” Heitor asked.

  Unless Reinhardt needs us. But so far this trip it seems he needs us like a Martian sandstorm,” Larry said. “Except when there’s a floor to be scrubbed “Or a message to send,” Harl said. “But you’re not serious about going, are you?”

  “Sure,” Larry said. “Why not? I’m curious to see what happens. We’ve got history being made right in front of us, you know.”

  “True enough,” Harl said. “But if they vote to rebel the first thing they may do is lynch the nearest Earthmen, if Browne stirs them up enough

  Larry looked at Harl in amazement. “You’re kidding! I spent the afternoon with Browne, and he seems a perfectly fine fellow. I don’t think he’d do any such thing.”

  “Treason!” Harl exclaimed, in mock oratorical style. “I accuse you of treason, Cadet Stark! What do you mean by complimenting a rebel? Someone who is risking his life to overthrow the colonial rule of Earth? Isn’t he a vile creature, completely evil? That’s what you seemed to be saying up to now, and naturally I believed you.”

  Naturally,” Larry said, with a smile. Harl’s sarcasm was not lost on him. He sank into the nearest chair, considerably puzzled. What Harl was saying was right—he had thought of the revolutionaries as little more than criminals until meeting Browne and the other townspeople. Now he wasn’t sure what to think at all. Enemies were beginning to look like friends, friends like enemies. He remembered what his father had often told him: “Always remember, Larry. Earth knows what it’s doing. Don’t let anyone fool you.”

  But were they fooling him? Was Earth all-wise and the colonists doing something wild and rash, or were they merely honest people fighting for their rights and Earth the blind oppressor? He wondered.

  There was a knock on the door. Larry, glad of the interruption, leaped up to see who was there.

  It was O’Hare. Larry looked up at the face of the big man, who had been his first friend among the spacemen. Under his arm O’Hare was carrying the treasured electronic guitar which he had taught Larry to play. O’Hare handed the guitar to Larry, who took it gently and cradled it in his arms.

  “I think it’s about time I give this to you, Lar
ry,” O’Hare said. Larry noticed that his face seemed pale, making his flaming red hair all the brighter by contrast. His eyes were deeper, even more intense than usual, and he had a strange grim look on his face.

  “Why, Pat? I—” Larry looked at the instrument, then at O’Hare. It was an expensive, carefully built guitar with remarkable sound, and Larry knew it had been O’Hare’s companion on many a voyage.

  “It’s just that I think you ought to have it, that’s all,” O’Hare said, speaking somewhat quickly. “I have to go now, laddy. A friend of mine’s waiting for me. But I’ll be back soon enough to hear you play it. You’ve got the makings of a good man with a guitar, Larry. I’ve often thought it a pity that you’ll be a Patrolman instead of a tubemonkey. Such talents are wasted on the Patrol. But keep the guitar well, Larry. It’s served me well for many years now, and I’d hate to see it kept poorly. You know how to tune it.”

  “Yes, O’Hare.”

  “And it you have any trouble with it, well—bring it along and come to see me. So long, Larry.”

  He opened the door, and walked out quickly.

  “So long, Pat. And thanks,” Larry said to the closing door.

  “Strange,” Larry said. “Why’d he do that?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have room for it,” Heitor suggested.

  Larry shook his head. “He’d sooner make room for his guitar than for one of his legs. No, there must be some other reason.”

  “He’ll tell you soon enough, if he wants to,” Harl said. Let’s hear this fabulous instrument, anyway. I’ve heard some fine guitar-playing in my day—think you can match it?”

  “I’ll try,” Larry said. He made the connection, and. as the guitar warmed up, he tried some preliminary strums.

  A weird distorted noise came forth. Harl and Heitor dissolved in laughter.

  “Very good. Professor Stark!” Harl said. “Now play us your next selection!”

  Larry looked down at the guitar. He had never heard it so badly out of tune.

  He strummed it again, and the sound was even worse.

  “I think he dumped a sour job on you,” Harl said. “Or maybe he’s playing games.”