Balant: A Beginning

by Sam Smith

  Dag, Malamud and I were equally determined that the inhabitants, all the inhabitants of Balant, should receive reparation from our civilisation for the wrongs done them by our civilisation. You may disclaim our civilisation's responsibility, say that that was the work of criminals. But I would argue, as I did in my deposition, that those criminals were created by our civilisation. We are all of us culpable. It is our responsibility, therefore, to make redress to the victims of those crimes.

  I would also cite here, as precedent for our interference, that shameful crime of our ancestors, a crime from which today we all benefit. For did not our ancestors, in their arrogance, use one planet as a laboratory? Did they not deliberately introduce debilitating viruses onto that planet and let the primitive inhabitants produce the antibodies? And did we not, for two whole generations, fail to question the morality of what we were inflicting on those hapless inhabitants? And when we did acknowledge our crime, did we not, in reparation, admit all the inhabitants of that planet into space? Dag, Malamud and I intended no less than that for the hapless people of Balant.

  To that end I scanned the mountain range for mineral deposits; and, finding some not two kilometres from the settlement, I hovered over the site while Dag and Malamud blasted away with the ship's guns. When I returned on foot and assayed the lumps of rocks, I decided that they would have ore enough until the Emissary arrived.

  Back in the settlement I sited my ad hoc machines near the musician’s house, as he seemed the most capable of understanding them. While I was doing that the other work continued apace. Assisted by a team of valets and minders, along with their band of young acolytes, Dag and Malamud soon constructed the water wheel and the tower The pipe connecting the two they ingeniously made out of hollowed logs joined end to end. The day that it was tested took on the atmosphere of a holiday in the settlement. When the water splashed into the tower a cheer rose from the populace; and the children, singing, stripped for a shower.

  Our work was complete. The following day we made our farewells. Despite our many blandishments Ronan had still not committed his people to Space, had promised only to listen to the Emissary. Nevertheless Malamud and I handed over our voice boxes to the young acolytes so that, together with the printed lexicons, they would be able to learn standard Space.

  Ronan and Yolande accompanied Dag, Malamud and I to the bottom of the ramp. Only Dag could now understand what was being said. Yolande, her eyes twinkling, reached up to tweak Malamud's beard. I did not need Dag to tell me what she had said, and I was pleased that she felt safe enough once more to be able to flirt, that at last they were beginning to recover from the abominable treatment they had received. And now that I was leaving them Ronan felt free to be able to tell me the reason for their initial amusement over my name: on Balant they had a species of fish called Pi.

  I was about to ascend the ramp when the musician came bursting through the assembled ranks of Balantians. He thrust into my hands his violin and bow. Shaking my head, I proffered the violin back to him. Weeping, he spoke. Dag translated thus,

  "I have music now that I never imagined could have existed. I will be the envy of all Balant. They will want to know the secrets of my knowledge. I will have violins thrown at me. Take it. For twice saving my life. Take it.”

  My eyes, and the eyes of my two companions, were moist as, finally, we climbed the ramp and turned to make our, hand over knuckle, salutations of farewell. When the people began to move away from the ship I hastened to the command room and, closing the ramp, I took us smartly up into space.

  Dag and Malamud joined me in the command room. We orbited Balant once, the three of us silently gazing down on that muddy green girdle. When the desert hove once more into view, I directed the ship onto its new course.

  We were homeward bound, each to his own idea of home.

  Conclusion

  I began with the avowed intention of writing only of my experiences upon Balant: I will not, therefore, recount here the misadventures of mistaken identity which befell us after we had left Balant. Suffice it to say that more than two years passed before I finally entered university. Then I did so as an unwilling celebrity. Though I am not decrying my fame, for it has proved most useful these intervening years in appealing for research funds.

  In the course of that research I have been to the surface of many more planets, have once even been into the sea of one planet. Among my colleagues I have acquired the reputation of being someone who concocts the most crazy schemes, and who then executes them with extreme caution.

  As to Dag — like me he took up his university studies a celebrity; and, like me, the majority of his later work has concentrated on the Nautili. Indeed we once mounted a joint expedition. Unfortunately, to the general public, Dag Olvess continues to be known more for his controversial paper on the existence and the nature of luck. An unwise publication, he now describes it.

  As to Malamud — much to my surprise he joined the police, has risen steadily these intervening years through the ranks. I must sadly report, however, that he has not lost his love of practical jokes. One night I found myself arrested by two of his cronies on a trumped up charge. I spent a very uncomfortable night in jail. Nor was I amused when, in the morning, Malamud released me. Although he, of course, thought it an hilarious jape, was not one whit contrite because my detention had caused me to miss an important meeting.

  Since that last meeting both Dag and Malamud have become fathers. Immediately upon our return Malamud regaled a succession of young women with tales of our adventures. Now the father of two children he seems content to police a supply station and to put on weight. While Dag shares the care of his one son with his fellow itinerant professor. While I, like my mother, have led a largely solitary existence. Although, unlike my mother, I have not been prey to any of the romantic impulses that may have led to my becoming a father.

  As to the people of Balant — they are in space now. Where our coaxing failed to persuade them an earthquake and a particularly vicious virus succeeded. They greeted the arrival of the Emissary with undisguised relief. Unlike the two ill-starred Emissaries to Carthi who have been murdered. More fools the Carthians; for the people of Balant have gladly submitted themselves to all of civilisation's advantageous laws and now have a thriving supply station on the edge of their old solar system.

  I recently met a sixteen year old fully fledged technician from that supply station. He told me that Dag, Malamud and I are celebrated in song there, although he was unable to remember the exact words. He also is a musician. Apparently the ex-Balantians believe that the playing and making of music is fundamental to civilisation. I feel that I must, unashamedly, own to responsibility for that.

  The responsibility for the present murderous nature of the people of Carthi is not mine. How we will ultimately pacify them I do not know. What I do know is that we must do all in our power to ensure that such does not happen again. To that end we must abolish crime.

  We pride ourselves that our civilisation is built on and is sustained by truth, by our acknowledgement of fact, by our refusal to deny any fact. Then let us admit that our civilisation does create criminals, and that those criminals nefariously thrive on the perimeter of our civilisation.

  There are those who argue that our civilisation's emphasis on commerce leads inexorably to crime, that our approbation of the quick profit must lead unavoidably to a complete lack of scruples. That may be so; but I do not propose to enter here into that contentious debate; nor, by saying that civilisation creates criminals, do I wish to provide scapegoats for crimes as yet uncommitted. What I would simply like to point out is that, within civilisation, the great majority of the people are law-abiding. It is on the edge of civilisation that the atrocities occur, and it is from the edges of civilisation that the corruption creeps back into civilisation.

  The evidence I returned with from Balant brought to book many in positions of authority. There must still be many more.

  I have felt crime's corruption
at work upon me, know too well that a crime committed in our presence makes accomplices of us all, that crime corrupts all who come into contact with it. So how to prevent this corruption creeping from the edges of civilisation into its very heart?

  In the course of my research I have been on the surface of planets which have moons and therefore tides. I have watched the ebb and flow of those tides; and I know now that as our civilisation expands, as it inevitably must, then on its perimeter, like the scum before a flooding tide, lawlessness will as inevitably exist. That that scum is the herald of civilisation is a fact of which every member of civilisation should be thoroughly ashamed.

  The police have the resources only to keep order within civilisation. Should we, however, equip them to go in advance of civilisation, then there exists the danger of the lawlessness there corrupting them too; for let us not forget that it is we who police the police. Consequently I believe that the means most likely to bring about an abatement of crime, to prevent such atrocities as related herein from recurring, is for Civilisation to expand as fast, if not faster, than the universe. That way we will not give the criminals a chance to become even transiently established.

  My mother views askance my public utterances on crime; and, I believe, she is a little disappointed in my not having taken up the offers made to me for a career in music. But we have met just the once in all these years; and then we were strangers to one another. Much has happened to change me; and my mother too has changed — at least in my eyes. She has left her outstation.

  She has decided that she cannot record her symphony until she has first recorded a piano concerto for which she needs a certain piano. She is now, at this moment of writing, scouring the universe in search of a piano known as the Horizontal Harp. So, if any reader should happen to know the whereabouts of such a piano...

  I have no such search to make. I have one excellent violin given me by the university orchestra as an in inducement to turn aside from my research. For, to the conductor's delight, and to my surprise, I was discovered to own virtuoso potential. Although I was flattered to accept that gift, I am afraid that I was already determined on my academic career; and, while I am proud to own and still play that violin, I have another that I treasure even more. It is without strings now, is besides far too frail to be played — a clumsy chord would probably destroy it — but that triangular based violin is beside me on the desk as I write. My one and only memento.

  And why, you may ask, these thirty odd years after my escape from Balant, do I now, in another galaxy, choose to write of my experiences on the planet Balant? The answer is simple.

  I was recently left alone on a tracking station to await a connection. To kill time I dialled up and down the tracking station's wavelengths in search of some music. On the mayday frequencies was a message from Dag Olvess, Malamud Bey and Pi Pandy, who were marooned on the planet Balant. The rescue services will of course automatically cancel any action to be taken on that signal. My memories, however, could not be so cancelled.

  Pi Pandy.

  Towards the unMaking of Heaven… Series Synopsis

  The whole series of 5 takes place within an intergalactic civilisation known variously as the Supreme Civilisation, or, more often, simply as Space.

  The first novel, Balant, has Dag Olvess, Malamud Bey and Pi Pandy marooned on the very edge of the known universe. Narrator is the priggish Pi Pandy. En route from his mother's substation to university in another galaxy, the ship he was travelling upon encountered a storm of cosmic proportions. The ship about to implode, he escaped in the ship's shuttle with two other young men, Malamud Bey and Dag Olvess. They end up on the planet, Balant, where they adapt to cave life. Finding an abandoned robot they repair the shuttle, investigate the planet, discover that they share it with some primitive savages and a marine intelligence, called Nautili, who are also capable of intergalactic travel. They protect the savages from the Nautili. The savages, and Pi, are then kidnapped by slave traders. Pi escapes with the slave traders ship, collects his friends and rescues the slaves.

  Thus the plot. Pi is also given to pondering on the meanings of civilisation, particularly on the rule of law. But, generally, it's an updated Boys' Own adventure.

  The second novel is called Happiness, which is the name of a planet, whose moon one day disappears.

  This story is told in the third person from the viewpoint of its many different characters - a young girl called Belid Keal, a bureaucratic Head of Department called Munred Danporr, the young policeman Drin Ligure, Petre Fanne an over-the-hill gymnast, Anton Singh a mysterious businessman, 'Dr' Tevor Cade, several Senators, the maverick bureaucrat Jorge Arbatov; and, among others, the two principal characters - Awen Mendawer, a photographer, and the heroinne, the astrophysicist Tulla Yorke.

  At the same time that the moon disappeared all radio (speed of light) communication to and from that planet was blocked. Within Space only farmers and cranks live on planets. An unseen force destroys any craft that tries to leave the planet, except the one Space police ship. During the investigation into the missing moon, and its consequences, the principal one of which is the building of a road though mountainous terrain for the convenience of Nautili, there are 2 love affairs and many considerations upon the nature of government and society.

  The third novel, You Human, is in 3 parts, Prologue, Leander Chronicle, and Epilogue. Prologue and Epilogue are told by the randy poet Farley Judd. He is also Director of Communication on his Station. Free of any sexual hypocrisies himself, he tells of other station inhabitants sexual obsessions with his Talker. Talkers are telepaths in instant communication with all throughout Space. The result of interbreeding with the Nautili, Talkers male and female have long sinuous bodies and very short legs. Misused and abused, the Talkers start to disappear, leading to disruption throughout Space. Farley Judd goes in search of them, eventually discovers the Leander Chronicle, which tells of Talkers' resentments and fears of humankind, and of their determination to live a life independent of both humans and Nautili. The Epilogue tells of what Farley Judd did with the Chronicle, the whole being a consideration of love, sex and hatred.

  The fourth, Not Now: Death, Dreams & Reasons for Living, is an sf exploration of desire, dreams and self-deceit. A clever and conceited young poet, Okinwe Orbinson, is recruited from his artificial city world - part of a moribund space civilisation - by a small mysterious stranger calling himself Leon Reduct. Only when Okinwe has accepted Leon's challenge is he told that his mission is to save a, by now, rumoured hybrid-human race, Talkers, from self-extinction.

  Talkers are telepathic and individual suicides are becoming epidemic. Left on one of their planets Okinwe is witness to 3 suicides in quick succession. Suspicious of all around him, doubting himself, not knowing if his thoughts are his own, he becomes friends with a Talker woman, worries for her safety and falls in love with her daughter. Their love affair is not easy. Nor is the solution to the suicides. It happens through a casual touch, through pregnancies, through paintings... (All who have read 'Not Now: Death, Dreams & Reasons for Living' have said that it left them feeling weird for days after.)

  The fifth is The unMaking of Heaven. and is told in 3 strands, The Recent Present, A History, and The Reconstituted Part-Memory of the Shining Knight Compiled Here as Narrative. All of the characters are post-organic beings, minds become machines, calling themselves Synths or Eternals. Some Synths - led by the Shining Knight - decide that all Synths, including Sexthetes and Puzzlers, are Abominations, themselves included, and they set out to destroy them all. The survivors are those who hid. As did the Shining Knight. All 3 strands draw together into a final showdown with the Shining Knight and the other machines.

  Also by Sam Smith

  poetry collections -

  'To Be Like John Clare' University of Salzburg Press 1997 ISBN 3-7052-0066-6

  'Skin&Bones' Odyssey Poets 1997 ISBN 1 897654 03 0

  'Dialogues' Silver Gull Publishing' 1998 ISBN 0 9527668 3 3

  �
�John the Explorer' Gecko Press 1999 ISBN 0 9535844 0 2

  ‘pieces’ K.T.Publications 2001 ISBN 0907759432

  'the complete pieces' BeWrite e-book 2007 ISBN 978-1-905202-52-2

  ‘Rooms’ Oasis broadsheet 2002 ISBN 1-900996-27-8

  'apostrophe combe' boho press 2003 ISBN 1-904781-02-0

  'Problems & Polemics' boho press 2004 ISBN 1-904781-09-8

  'Rooms & Dialogues' boho press 2005 ISBN 1-904781-66-7

  ‘Canoe’ erbacce press 2008 ISBN 978-1-906588-13-7

  novels -

  'Sister Blister' Online Originals 1999 ISBN 1-84045-047-9

  'The End of Science Fiction' Jacobyte Books 2000 ISBN 174053028 4

  ‘Paths of Error: Undeclared War’ Jacobyte Books 2001 ISBN 174053073 X

  ‘Paths of Error: Constant Change’ Jacobyte Books 2001 ISBN 1740530780

  ‘Paths of Error: As Recorded’ Jacobyte Books 2002 ISBN 1740530969

  ‘Marks’ BeWrite Books 2002 ISBN 1-904224-02-4

  ‘Porlock Counterpoint’ BeWrite Books 2002 ISBN 1-904224-15-6

  ‘The Care Vortex’ BeWrite Books 2002 ISBN 1-904224-98-9

  ‘Sick Ape: an everyday tale of terrorist folk’ BeWrite Books 2003 ISBN 1-904492150

  'The End of Science Fiction' BeWrite Books 2004 ISBN 1-904492-70-3

  'The Secret Report of Friar Otto' boho press 2006 ISBN 1-904781-97-7

  'We Need Madmen' Skrev Press 2007 ISBN 978-1-904646-45-7

  ‘John John’ Turner Maxwell Books 2008