by Greg Bear
We passed through reporters human and arbeiter and Bithras answered for us, diplomatically, smiling broadly, we are glad to be back, we expect the most enjoyable talks with the governments of Earth, our partners in the development of Sol's backyard. He was good and I admired him. All was forgiven, almost forgotten. Beyond the reporters, in a private reception area, we met our guide, a beautiful, husky-voiced woman named Joanna Bancroft who was everything I was not, and yet I liked her. I could not believe I would ever dislike anyone who lived on this blessed world.
From the port we took an autocar sent by the House of Representatives. Bancroft accompanied us, asking our needs, giving our slates the updated schedules, providing Alice with a complimentary access to the Library of Congress. The car attached to a slaveway among ten thousand other linked cars, millipede trains, transport trucks. I listened attentively enough, but rain fell on the windows and trees glistened dark green beneath the somber gray. When a pause came, I asked if we could open the windows.
"Of course," Joanna said, smiling with lovely red lips and firm plump cheeks.
The autocar slid my window down.
I leaned my head into the breeze, took several plashes on face and eyes, stuck out my tongue and tasted the rain.
Joanna laughed. "Martians are wonderful," she said. "You make us appreciate what we who live here take for granted."
What we who live here.
The words cooled me. I glanced at Bithras and he lifted his eyebrows, one corner of his lips. I understood his unspoken message.
We did not own the Earth. We were guests, present by the complicated sufferance of great political entities, the true owners and managers of the Mother.
We were not home. We would never be home again, at any price, across any distance.
Joanna took us to the Capital Tower Comb, a sprawling green and white complex of twenty thousand homes and hotels and businesses designed to serve people from all over Earth — and, almost as an afterthought, space visitors as well. The comb covered two square kilometers on the site where the dreaded Pentagon had once stood, center of the formidable defenses of the old United States of America.
We had arranged for accommodation in the Presidential Suite of the Grand Hotel of the Potomac, low on the north wall of the Capital Tower, overlooking the river.
Joanna departed after making sure we were comfortable. Allen and I stood in the middle of the suite, unsure what to do next. Bithras paced and scowled. The suite still showed off its capabilities; rooms and beds and furniture squirmed through a parade of designs and decors, LitVids darted in front of our eyes — which would we choose, which special capital ed and entertainment presentations would we reserve? — and arbeiters presented themselves in two ranks of three, liveried in the high fashion found only on Earth — green velvet and black silk suits, tiny red hats, totally unlike arbeiters on Mars, which wore only their plastic and ceramic and metal skins.
We stumbled through our choices as quickly as possible, Allen and I doing most of the choosing. Bithras fell into a chair that had finally settled on twentieth-century Swedish.
"These people," he muttered, "if they and their damned rooms would only stand still."
"No hope," Allen said. He stared out the direct-view window overlooking the river. Beyond, the capital of the United States of the Western Hemisphere could be seen between combs scattered along the Virginia banks of the Potomac. Nothing in Washington DC proper was allowed to stand higher than the Capitol dome — that had been a law for centuries. I longed to walk through the Mall, the parks and ancient neighborhoods, under the trees I saw spreading their canopies like billowing green carpets.
"Still raining," I said in awe.
"'Sprinkling' is the term, I believe," Allen said. "We have to brush up on our weather."
"'Weather,'" I said profoundly, and Allen and I laughed.
Bithras stood and stretched his arms restlessly. "We have seven days before we testify to Congress. We have three days before our meetings with subcommittees and Senate and House members begin. That means two days of preparation and meetings with BM partners, and one day to see the sights. I am too anxious and upset to work today. Alice and I will stay here. You may do what you like."
Allen and I glanced at each other. "We'll walk," I said.
"Right," Allen said.
Bithras shook his head as if in pity. "Earth wears on me quickly," he said.
The skies had cleared by the time we cabbed into Washington DC. Allen and I had been rather aloof during our crossing, but now we behaved like brother and sister, sharing the wind, the clean crisp air, the sun on our faces: and then, glory of glory, the cherry trees in full blossom. The trees blossomed once every month, we were told, even in winter,- tourists expected that.
"It isn't natural, you know," Allen said. "They used to blossom only in the spring."
"I know," I said peevishly. "I don't care."
"Trees blossom on Mars," he said chidingly. "Why should we marvel at these?"
"Because there is no tree on all of Mars that sits under an open sky and raises its branches to the sun," I said.
The sun warmed our bare arms and faces, the wind blew gentle and cool, and the temperature varied from moment to moment, I could not shake the feeling, damn all politics, all vagaries of birth, that I loved Earth, and Earth loved me.
The day was beautiful. I felt beautiful. Allen and I flirted, but not seriously. We drank coffee in a sidewalk cafe, ate an early lunch, walked to the Washington Monument and climbed the long stairs (I ignored shooting pains in my legs), descended, walked more. Strolling the length of the reflecting pool, we paused to look at transform joggers whizzing past like greyhounds.
We studied projected history lessons and climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, then stood before the giant statue of Abraham Lincoln. I studied his sad, weary face and gnarled hands, and unexpectedly I felt my eyes moisten, reading the words which flanked him, inspired by the civil war over which he presided and which ultimately killed him. People eat their leaders, I thought. The king must die.
Allen had a different perspective. "He was forcing allegiance on the American South," he said. "He's politically more Terrie than I care for."
"Mars doesn't keep slaves," I reminded him.
"Don't mind me," he said. "I've always rooted for the underdogs."
We then retreated along the reflecting pool and watched the sun go down.
"What would Lincoln think of red rabbits?" Allen asked.
"What would Lincoln think of the union now?" I countered.
Despite some maladjustments in my bichemistry — we were definitely overdoing it — I was giddy with the weather, the architecture all out in the open, the history.
We returned to the comb to have dinner with Bithras in the hotel's main restaurant. The food was even better than it had been aboard Tuamotu. Much of it was fresh, not nano, and I searched for, and thought I found, the difference in flavor. "It tastes like dirt, I think," I told Bithras and Allen over the white linen tablecloth and silver candlesticks.
"Musty," Allen agreed. "Not too long since it was alive."
Bithras coughed. "Enough," he said.
Allen and I smiled at each other conspiratorially. "We shouldn't act provincial," Allen said.
"I'll act the way I feel," Bithras said, but he was not angry, simply stating a fact. "The wine is good, though." He lifted his glass. "To red rabbits out of their element."
We toasted ourselves.
On the way back to the suite, outside the lift, Bithras looped his arm through mine and pressed me close. Allen saw this and quickly did the same with my other arm. I felt for a moment as if I were being pressed between two overanxious dogs at stud, then I saw what Allen was up to.
Bithras drew his lips into a firm line and let go of my arm. Allen let go immediately after and I gave him a grateful glance.
Bithras behaved as if nothing had happened. And, indeed, nothing had happened. The evening had been too pleasant to be
lieve otherwise.
"I've been here for twenty-seven years," Miriam Jaffrey told us as she invited us into her apartment. "My husband went Eloi ten years ago, and I think, though I do not know for sure, that he is on Mars ... So here I am, a Martian on Earth, and he's a Terrie up there." Bithras and Allen took seats at her invitation in the broad living room. The windows looked across the sprawl of old Virginia combs and even older skyscrapers. We were on the south side of the Capital Tower Comb, opposite from our hotel.
"I'm always snooping out red rabbits," she said, sitting beside Bithras. They appeared to be about the same age. "It's lovely to hear what's changed and what's the same. Not that I plan on going back ... I'm too used to Earth now. I'm a Terrie, I'm afraid."
"We're enjoying ourselves immensely," Allen said.
Miriam beamed. Her long black hair hung over square thin shoulders revealed by a flowing green cotton dress. "I'm most pleased you could take time out from your busy schedule."
"Our pleasure," Bithras said. He squirmed his butt into the couch, fighting the self-adjusting cushions. "Now, are we secure?"
"Very," Miriam said, drawing herself up and suddenly quite serious.
"Good. We need to talk freely. Casseia, Allen: Miriam is not just a social gadfly, she is the best-informed Martian on Earth about things Washingtonian."
Miriam batted her eyelashes modestly.
"She follows the tradition of a long line of hostesses in this capital, who meet and greet, and know all, and she has been invaluable to Majumdar BM in the past."
"Thank you, Bithras," she said.
Bithras produced his slate from a shirt pouch and placed it before her. "We brought a copy of Alice with us. She's resting in our hotel room now."
"She's proof against the latest?" Miriam asked.
"We think she is. We refused an opportunity to let customs sweep her."
"Good. She's Terrie-made, of course, so she's always a little suspect."
"I trust Alice. She was examined by our finest and found true to her design."
"All right," said Miriam, but in a tone that betrayed she still had doubts. "Still, you should know that all thinkers are a little too sweet and innocent to understand Earth, at least those thinkers allowed to be exported — to emigrate."
"Yes, that is so," Bithras agreed. "She will only advise, however, not rule."
I listened to all this in a state of shock. "You're a spy?" I asked innocently.
"Stars, no!" Miriam laughed and slapped her thigh. She struck a pose, hand on knee, shoulder thrown back, tossing her hair. "Though I could be, don't you think?"
"We'll meet later today with representatives from Cailetet and Sandoval," Bithras said.
"Cailetet's been very skittish lately," Miriam said. "Buying up notes and extensions from other BMs, minimizing their exposure in the open Triple Market."
"I don't expect to get any answers from them," Bithras said, "but I show the flag, so to speak. We are willing to keep talking."
Miriam said she thought that would be useful. "Though I warn you, I've never seen Cailetet so spooked."
"I'd like to know more about these members of the space affairs committee." Bithras handed her the slate. Names danced before her eyes, along with political icons and identifiers for family and social groups.
Miriam scrolled the list thoughtfully. "Good people. Sharp, above the bang."
I surreptitiously looked up "above the bang" on my slate. It read: 1: CALM, UNFLAPPABLE; 2: UNIMPRESSED BY HIGH OFFICE.
"They're dedicated and haven't missed a trick since I've been here," Miriam said. "Elected officials on Earth are a breed apart, as Bithras is doubtless aware."
"Yes, we have been dealing with a few of our own. District governors . . . "
"The difference is that Earth's elected officials are therapied," Miriam said. "All except for John Mendoza, here. Senate minority leader. Mendoza is a Mormon. Terries didn't put up a warm reception for Dauble, but Mendoza's party co-hosted a reception for her with Deseret Space. Deseret Space gave her shelter for a few weeks. Debriefed her about Mars, I imagine."
"At least they have no designs on Mars," Bithras said.
"No, but Mendoza will ask you why you aren't willing to allocate more Martian-controlled Belt resource shares to Earth, and why you refuse to join the Sol Resource Management group. Deseret Space has formed some bridges with Green Idaho. Green Idaho is finally casting its eyes on space-related business. They're both firming up state ties with GEWA, circumventing the U.S."
Bithras annotated the transcript of Miriam's remarks, then looked up and said, "We need to know about Cuba, Hispaniola, New Mexico, and California."
"All on your list," Miriam said, brow creased, tapping the slate with a long fingernail. I noticed a vid playing on the fingernail and wondered what it was. "Let me tell you what I know. My library will feed you ..."
We listened and shared slate data for the next two hours. When we finished, Bithras switched on his charm, and Miriam seemed receptive. I was relieved.
The meetings with Cailetet and Sandoval, held in our suite, were cordial and totally unproductive. The associate syndic for Cailetet Earth hinted they might not support our unification proposals, that Cailetet Mars might have agreed to the proposals without Triple-wide authority.
After, Bithras was agitated. Almost unconsciously, he stayed close to me, kept gently jostling me. Allen watched with some concern. I ignored it.
Apparently, Miriam was not enough for him. And the pressure was building.
I suffered a small lapse of bichemistry the next morning, alone in my room: nausea, chills, my body breaking through the brace of controls to adjust itself in the way it deemed best. That lasted only an hour, and I felt much better after. The gravity seemed less imposed, more natural.
I looked down on the Potomac and the mall beyond. A crystalline day with high puffy clouds. Washington DC a tiny village, its monuments and ancient domed Capitol visible only as grains of rice in the general green and brown.
Intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic . . .
A fatuous grin spread across my face. I was a Martian, come to invade Earth.
Alice presented her report. We sat in the living room of our suite and scanned the highlights. Bithras dug deeper on several key points. "It's not encouraging," he said.
"The need for central control of all solar resources may be acute within fifteen Earth years," Alice said. "It is generally recognized that Earth needs a major endeavor to keep up its overall psychological and economic vigor, and that endeavor — that social focus — must be interstellar exploration on a grand scale."
Allen found that puzzling. "The whole Earth recognizes this? Everybody agrees?"
"Agreement is strong among those groups who make the crucial decisions about the Triple," Alice said. "Especially the executives of the major alliances."
"We'll be pressured to join in the endeavor, whether or not it directly benefits Mars," Bithras said.
"Such a conclusion is overdetermined by the evidence," Alice said.
Bithras leaned back on the couch. "Nothing we can't roll with." But he seemed troubled. "It's a bit obvious, don't you think?"
"Evidence for other conclusions is not clear," Alice said.
"It's what some of our fellow passengers were saying," I said.
"Cut and dried, though, isn't it?" Bithras said, biting his upper lip. He resembled a bulldog when he did that. "Tomorrow I'll open the proposals and share them with you. I need you to fully understand what we're allowed to say, and what we're allowed to give, at each stage of negotiation." He sat up. "From now, you are more than apprentices," he said. "You represent a Mars yet to be born. You are diplomats."
And we acted the part. We attended receptions and parties, hosted two of our own, visited the offices of major corporations and temp agencies, attended dinners arranged by Mars appreciation societies . . .
Miriam hosted our private reception in the hotel. I spent hours talking to explanetaries,
listening to their stories of old Mars, answering their questions as best I could about the new Mars. Did Mackenzie Frazier ever unite the Canadian BMs in Syrtis? Whatever became of the Prescott and Ware families in Hellas? My sister still lives on Mars, Mariner Valley South, but she never answers my letters — do you know why?
All too often, I could only smile and plead ignorance. There was no Pan-Martian family message center or database easily accessible from Earth. I took a note on my slate to have Majumdar set one up; good for PR. Ex-Martians on Earth could be valuable allies, I thought, and Miriam excepted, we didn't use them very often.
During a break at the reception, I asked Miriam how often Martian BMs approached her, directly from Mars. "About once a year," she said, smiling. I said that was deplorable, and she patted my shoulder. "We are such trusting and insular creatures," she said. "By the time you leave here, you'll know only too well what we're up against, and how far we have to go to get in the spin . . . "
I made a note on my slate that we should sign Miriam to Majumdar exclusively — but didn't that contradict the spirit of unity we were working so hard to demonstrate?
Visiting offices of members of Congress, I quickly noticed a remarkable lack of attention to Bithras's hints at what our proposals might be. Bithras fell into a dark and snappish mood at the end of a grueling day of office-hopping.
"They don't much care," he said, accepting a glass of wine from Allen as we rested in our suite. "That is very puzzling."
Mornings, ex net and LitVid interviews, conducted from a studio in the Capitol; afternoons, more interviews from a studio in the hotel; then lunches with major financiers who listened and smiled, but promised nothing, finally, dinners with congressional staffers, full of curiosity and enthusiasm, but who also revealed little and promised nothing.
Visits to schools in Washington and Virginia, usually over ed-nets from our hotel room ... A quick train journey to Pennsylvania to meet with Amish Friends of Sylvan Earth, who had finally accepted the use of computers, but not thinkers. Back to Washington ... A guided tour of the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.