Finches of Mars

by Brian W Aldiss

  ‘The finches were dull to look at, and made dreary unmusical calls. All had short tails, built nests with roofs, and laid white eggs spotted with pink, four to a clutch. Their plumage varied within limits: it ranged from lava black to green, according to their habitat …

  ‘It was the variety of their beaks that so amazed Darwin. Clearly the birds had found different foods available on different islands. By this time he must have realised that he was on the edge of a remarkable and disturbing discovery …’

  ‘You see,’ Aymee said, ‘we are like the finches—“according to their habitat”—on the edge of an evolutionary brink. These therapsid-creatures are old. We are new! Be proud!’

  Among those not attending this discussion were three persons in particular, Noel, who still awaited word from UU on what they should do for the Sud-Am refugees; Ficht, whose break time it was, and who slept in his bunk with his penis lying along his leg like a tame snake; and Tad, who was cuddled up with his ivory-skinned love, Chang Mu Gongcha, lying face to face, taking in her breath and her beauty.

  It would hardly have interested this pair of lovers, who had grown so close, to read in Darwin’s The Descent of Man that ‘the mental characteristics (of races) are likewise very distinct; chiefly as it would appear in their emotional, but partly in their intellectual faculties.’

  As for their physical and sexual differences, it was largely this exoticism which attracted the one to the other: xenophobia stood on its head.

  Lock was a quiet woman, but here she was moved to comment on Aymee’s final point. ‘After humanity emerged from Africa, some tribes went to Europe and some to Asia. Those who journeyed to the West found a forested terrain. Those who journeyed eastwards found the bamboo, that invaluable and versatile plant.

  ‘These two groups were apart from each other—hardly known to each other—for many centuries. They did finally meet, Netherlanders and British on one hand, Chinese on the other. Had they failed to meet for only a few millennia more, geography would have seen to it that two subspecies developed.

  ‘Meaning what? Meaning that cohabitation and copulation would have remained possible but the production of children—just as in our case here and now—might have been non-viable.

  ‘So every time love-making between East and West takes place, it marks a unity between the two contrasting environments, and a celebration of it.’

  From the audience came a woman’s voice, asking what of those who went neither east nor west but north.

  Lock suddenly recalled a lewd joke from her school days in Estonia. Putting on a Continental accent, she said, ‘Lucky Alphonse, he is in ze middle …’

  30

  Precious Discoveries

  Another expedition was preparing to set out, leaving by the rear exit of the tower to avoid survivors of the Sud-Am catastrophe—there was an unspoken guilt that they had done nothing to help them for days. Noel, having finally learned of Mangalian’s death, received a message from him on her private squealer. An underling or substitute must have forwarded it belatedly. Noel hesitated before opening it. Her heart beat faster since, despite the chiding tone of the message, she believed she heard in it a response to her love for him, the one man for whom she had felt any deep sexual warmth.

  The message said: ‘You know as well as anyone the need for change, for improvement, in the human species—improvement in particular in moral qualities. Of course we understand the dangers from disease of contact with the pet-loving Sud-Ams. Nevertheless, such is our hope, our thirst—which I know you share, dear Noel—for our moral growth, the West must, absolutely must, give those sad survivors refuge at once, however the West tower may suffer as a result.

  ‘My hope and heart are with you. Mangalian.’

  His voice ceased.

  Noel flung the pod against the wall. As it fell to the floor, she rushed over and trampled on it.

  ‘The hypocrite!’ she cried. ‘Why should we who are healthy embrace those who are sick? Are we who are here not in danger enough? I’ll have none of it. He can keep his damned heroism in his grave!’

  Later she announced to all and sundry that orders had come from UU not to let a single Sud-Am refugee into the tower.

  ‘They brought disaster on themselves by deliberately disobeying the rules regarding the keeping of pets. So they must suffer from the infringement. Our lives are harsh enough.’

  This announcement was in general greeted with relief, but there were more than a few who saw the edict as defying all that true civilization stood for.

  Worse was to follow. A terse report arrived, on two suicide bombs exploding in quick succession inside Harvard University buildings. The oldest American university, founded by an English settler in the seventeenth century, was forced to close its doors to allow extensive restoration to take place. All external funding was temporarily placed on hold, including the bi-annual contribution to the UU.

  Then another report, following the first report only a few minutes later. It announced briefly that the results of Herbert Ibn Saud Mangalian’s post-mortem revealed that he had been tortured before death.

  Reading this latest report, Noel found herself torn apart. She picked up the pod she had trampled and kissed it before stowing it away in a drawer.

  Many other inhabitants of the tower had cried at Mangalian’s death, some hiding their tears, some proud to show them.

  The Mars colony and the UU itself were now in deep trouble, despite the excitement caused by the discovery of Martian life.

  Haddod in the observatory, clutching his folded arms to his chest, said, ‘We’re sunk, aren’t we? They’re bound to let us down now.’

  ‘What is more disgraceful,’ Ficht replied, ‘is that behind the project which brought us to Mars was the hope, even an expectation, of getting to the moons of Jupiter. Two more generations of technological development and I believe we would have made it.’

  ‘Huh. So what now?’ Haddod hardly expected an answer, but Ficht provided one. ‘As far as I can see, the alternatives are simply that we—or most of us—get ferried back to Earth. Rescued. Or that we are all left here to rot. Shipwrecked. The latter alternative is decidedly the more likely of the two.’

  All up and down the tower, people were coming to the same conclusion. Robinson Crusoe had had it easy.

  Now every man and woman in the crowd experienced themselves as solitary beings, each with a finite life span, faced with failure. Muttering perhaps a phrase to themselves over and over:

  Future like a blank beach

  Always this same sad half-light

  Why didn’t I screw her when I had the chance?

  My ‘Petty Proceedings’—who will remember it?

  Why did I say ‘No’ to him that lecherous night?

  Something in me I cannot reach

  Oh, mother dear, you’ll need a carer soon

  I kissed her. I felt her. Oh, her juice, her breath …

  My boundaries dissolving into the blankness

  At least we’re all—all heroes. Trail-blazers

  Metanipoko, yes, regret, sublimity, at least we’ve known it

  ‘Mars as the Abode of Death’ …

  Sea lavender, the beach, little white shells, the tide coming in fast

  What is it to die? Far lesser thing than living

  Too bad living doesn’t last.

  But Gerint was a single-minded man, who kept on doggedly. His preparations for the next expedition were almost complete. Only the oxygen cylinders remained to be charged, and that would be done immediately before they set out. Sensing that there might never be the opportunity for another expedition, Gerint himself was determined to go on this one.

  ‘Come on, girls! This is going to be the expedition to end all expeditions!’ He escorted his partness, pretty Dr Gior into his office and locked the door. She was already taking down her overalls.
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  ‘Darling!’ he said. They rushed at each other.

  ‘A quickie,’ she said. He went down on her first.

  Equipped with masks and wearing tough yixiing huaheng outfits, the company set out, seven women and four men. Leaving by the rear of the tower, they came across a man propped against the wall in a sitting posture.

  ‘He’s sick,’ said Rooy.

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Dr Gior. She could feel no compassion as the hormones of sex still streamed in her mind.

  As he prodded the body, Rooy saw that fire had burnt much of the man’s clothes. It was clear that this was a Sud-Am body. In the almost complete vacuum, corruption would be slow to gain a hold.

  With Mons Olympus distant at their backs, the group made their way south-eastward, across a strip of Hesperian-age flow plain. The going was slow. They had not explored in this direction before. Several of them thought there was nothing new to be discovered.

  Many flows could be traced for a mile or more. Some of them, coalescing, formed broad overlapping sheets, where progress was easier. Not that ease was exactly what they sought.

  The flows sometimes gave way to low-cratered territory, where some ruined crater walls were reminiscent of ruined terrestrial castles. Some of the going here was dangerous, where half-concealed channels ran, shadows adding to the difficulties of negotiation. Gerint himself, his mind part preoccupied with other things, slipped and fell into one such channel. A cloud of dust stirred up about him.

  The other members of the group, once they saw that Gerint was unharmed, moved back, avoiding the dust. Gerint heaved himself on to his hands and knees. He felt what he took for pebbles. Taking hold of one, he brought up into the uncertain light a green stone.

  He was about to throw it away when Stroy told him to hang on and jumped down into the channel with him.

  ‘It could be valuable,’ she said.

  ‘But not on Mars!’

  ‘No, it’s a—hell, I forget the name.’

  Stroy began digging with her hands. Soon she brought up another green stone, similar to the first one but slightly larger.

  Another plunge and up came a blue-ish stone, and then another. These stones she held up to the light. They glittered with a purple richness.

  ‘You know what these are?’ she asked. ‘Tanzanite! That’s the name! Unless I’m mistaken, this purple stone is known as Tanzanite. I came across it in Jaipur when I was working there. It’s quite precious. We’ll take this lot back and look them up. They should fetch a good price.’

  As he climbed out of his hole, Gerint said, ‘They’re worth nothing here.’

  ‘Have you never heard of the export business?’

  The group went no further. They turned back for the tower.

  The Sud-Am corpse was still sitting by the rear door where they had left him, quite elegant in death.

  Stroy laid the jewels on the desk before her while the others watched. Gior picked one up, polished it, held it close to her eye.

  A wakipurr produced figures concerning the stones.

  Tsavorite, also known as green grossularite, of the garnet family—a stone has recently fetched up to $9000 per carat, on account of its rarity—1000 times rarer than diamond.

  Tanzanite (pronounced tan-zan-ite), a variety of the gemstone zoisite, can appear blue or purple or yellow from different angles. Stones of Tanzanite have been fetching up to $4000 per carat, on Earth, in spite of depression and deflation.

  Some geologists believe these rare stones were formed more than 580 million years ago.

  ‘Five hundred and eighty million years ago!’ Stroy breathed. ‘How I adore such incomprehensible bundles of time …’

  ‘This could be the saving of us,’ said Noel, withholding the excitement from her voice. ‘We need as many of these jewels as we can gather. Gerint, can you form up another expedition at once to collect as many of these precious objects as possible? You all realise, don’t you, that with these—well, these amazing gifts—we could buy our own university?’

  All present beamed at one another. Later, it was Noel alone who, thinking of Mangalian, wept to herself. She determined that if the precious stones fetched the prices they hoped for, she would use some of the money to pay for the erection of a statue at the tower gate to commemorate Mangalian and his work.

  In the end, only one consignment of precious stones made it back to Earth. As the transport ship returned from that first round trip with enough supplies for several decades, and bearing a delegation of biologists, and as Herb stowed away in the opposite direction, lines of communication suddenly dropped. The worst fears of the Tower dwellers were realised, in their moment of triumph.

  Earth’s fate remained a mystery. Eventually, after months of panic and recrimination, the thoughts of all in the towers turned to survival.

  Long slow Martian years had passed. Once again, as of yore, Aymee and Rooy were enjoying their daily walk and exercise.

  The lighter gravity of this world, which had proved such a barrier when colonisation began, was now proving a blessing. That taxation of weight which bears earthlings to early graves was in part alleviated. By terrestrial reckoning, Aymee and Rooy were several centuries old. Here, they bore their age lightly. Meeting them on their stroll, one might mistake them for reasonably youthful. Aging had not affected fertility, conception was as easy as ever. Foetuses were getting stronger and staying longer in the womb. The stillbirth problem was not yet resolved, but all had a sense that soon, soon this would change. They had adapted to Mars, children must be next. They had time.

  Change marked their surroundings. Over the long chilly years, oxygen manufacture had been increased. The towers had developed and expanded, but no more had been built.

  Now, beside the path where the couple were walking, vegetation grew. That vegetation was of a kind which, long ago, had fuelled and fed the ancient dynasties of China, the bamboo.

  The venerable couple passed Gongcha and Tad, riding in a carefree way on a light tractor.

  As it happened, Rooy and Aymee were going in one direction and the younger pair in the other.

  And so it transpired, appropriately enough, that it was this younger pair who were about to encounter—as a later phrase had it—‘History riding in the guise of the Future’.

  31

  Visitors

  The light was light enough, the stars—for there was no sky within the meaning of the word—gleamed in rich darkness overhead.

  Gongcha and Tad were riding in a light tractor borrowed from the Works Dept of the Chinese tower. They were heading for Olympus Mons, always one of the dominant features of Mars as seen from Earth, a volcano with a vast aureole.

  ‘It reminds me of my own breast,’ said Gongcha, smiling. ‘Which reminds me of a most peculiar dream I had in the night. Imagine a very crowded street, with people jammed on the sidewalks on either side. An open carriage of an unfashionable kind is coming slowly along the road. In the carriage is the most beautiful princess. Are you listening, Tad?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, yes. Go on.’

  ‘You were there. And in my dream, I was telling you my dream, dictating it as it happened, and you kept saying that I had told you about it before. But still the carriage kept coming and I was telling you, and the crowd were all saying, quite gently, “Aaaaah!” as if in a single breath. I was puzzled because now the carriage seemed to be going in the opposite direction. But the crowd were not noticing … And I kept telling you … You kept saying I had already told you.’

  Gongcha let the tale die away. ‘Silly, really. But I was sure it was important.’

  ‘Uh huh, okay.’

  ‘You might at least pretend to listen,’ she said, without malice.

  Tad stopped the tractor engine. ‘I thought I heard something … A—I don’t know what. You think this dream of yours all happened on Mars?’ He found he was trembl
ing.

  ‘Oh, I am convinced of it. But not this Mars.’

  ‘There it is again. Listen!’

  Sound did not carry, yet this sound carried. Two notes together.

  And then … they couldn’t understand it …

  And then a vehicle was low overhead, shaped like a surf board, but studded along the base, much like the tentacle of an octopus. It was set on a course that took it round behind Olympus, slowing all the while. The pair were like children again, clasping each other’s hands.

  ‘It’s going to land! What shall we do, Tad?’ There was curiosity in her tone, salted by alarm.

  Tad told her to climb out of the tractor. They both climbed out and stood by the vehicle. Gongcha clung to Tad’s arm.

  ‘There’s not much we can do,’ he said. Yet all the time his gaze was sweeping over the tractor, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon. He saw nothing of any use. ‘If they’re hostile—well, we’d never get back to the tower in time. Just stay put and try not to look alarmed.’

  Gongcha’s tinkling laugh was nervous. ‘But this is not an Earth vessel?’

  ‘Where else could it be from?’ Even as Tad spoke, he was thinking, My god, it could be from anywhere.

  The vehicle hovered only a few metres from the pair and then sank to the ground, churning up a cloud of dust and grit. It exuded light all round. ‘Don’t move,’ said Tad, grasping Gongcha’s wrist.

  ‘Where exactly do you imagine I might move to?’ she asked. ‘What’s going to happen?’

  Something resembling a large tongue stuck out from the floor of the vehicle. Three personages emerged from the flier and walked unhurriedly down. At first they could be seen only in silhouette. When they were farther from their craft more details were discernible. The three of them turned in unison. They wore what appeared to be short tight jackets and baggy knee-length trousers. Their midriffs were bare. Each of them had a silvery leaf-like instrument clipped to one ear. Their complexions were spectrally pale; in contrast, their hair was brown, cut short. All three had high cheekbones and strange features.