Worlds in Chaos

by James P. Hogan

  Marie was with Cade, looking for once the part of a presentable, urbane Western woman instead of a desperado, in a cream jacket-skirt set with chocolate blouse and trim. Vrel was there too, insistent on being their self-appointed tour guide and general attendant on Chryse. And Dee was with Vrel too, of course. And finally, making up their group, was Nyarl, going home by popular demand to meet millions for whom his face had become a phenomenon on display screens, and receive a public honor decreed by the provisional administration that the Querl had installed to take stock of the Chrysean condition.

  A month had gone by since the people of Earth—bewildered and frightened; resolute and defiant—had emerged from foxholes, come out onto streets, listened to announcements in refugee centers, turned on radios and TV screens, to learn that the war which yesterday had seemed about to explode into ever greater levels of ferocity and consume the whole planet, was over. It didn’t mean that the world’s problems or the future of Terran-Hyadean dealings was solved, or that anyone had clear ideas as yet of how to solve them. Nobody knew what form the reconstruction of what had been the United States was to assume, based on what formulation Constitution. It was not even agreed where the capital would be, which was why negotiations were taking place in Denver: as effectively neutral as anywhere, and the nearest principal city to the Querl’s first landing. But what it did signify was something akin to a collective version of the shaking up experienced after an automobile accident that could have killed everyone. If all the pain, grief, and loss of those three weeks of mass insanity—and it had been substantial—had been for anything, it was the imperative now acknowledged across both worlds that the fundamental values that life should be seeking were in drastic need of reexamination. And the people who needed to make the judgment were not the ones who so far had been allowed to be in charge.

  Representatives from various Terran nations, organizations, institutions, other interests, had been invited to Chryse to begin a joint exploring of which way to go next. The other passengers on the flight from Denver were some of them. More had arrived the day before. And to Cade and Marie’s amazement, they had been invited too. Nyarl, it seemed, wasn’t the only one to have become an instant celebrity among the Chrysean worlds. The Terran couple who had appeared with him and symbolized their world’s defiance and determination to fight through in the face of impossible odds, facing Hyadean war engines, speaking against backgrounds of burning cities, were equally famous. The Chryseans wanted to meet them too.

  The transport landed among rows of cavernous cargo-carrying hulls looking vaguely like monstrous, flattened guppy fish; single-stage space-planes that could make orbit, maneuver for hours, and return; assorted special-purpose craft whose nature could only be guessed. From ground level, the peculiar alien structures rising in the background were as imposing as the launch complex had appeared from the air. Cade had the feeling of practically being on a small piece of Chryse already. The transport’s cabin section detached from the airframe as a unit and slid onto a conveyor rail alongside. Moments later, it was being carried toward an opening into the terminal complex.

  Hudro and Yassem were installed in Cade’s place at Newport Beach, which was where Vrel would be returning. The area had escaped damage, although the house itself had shown the wear and tear of being used as a shelter for displaced children from the war areas by the time Cade came back to it. Cade wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with the house. It struck him as gaudy and extravagant now, somehow. Luke had suggested making it an open house for visiting Hyadeans. Whatever the outcome, Cade couldn’t see the kind of life being resurrected that he had come to know over the years. It wasn’t so much that the rewards seemed shallow now in comparison to the cost—which was true enough—so much as life having so much more to offer that was too intriguing to ignore. Trying to understand some of the questions that Krossig and Blair had raised, for example; or seeing people in terms of more than just gains to be assessed and realized. And in any case, the prospects, contacts, hangers-on, around whom that life had revolved and depended weren’t going to be around anymore—at least, not in those roles. They all seemed to have changed too in some fundamental ways, just as he had.

  As, indeed, had the world. For what else did all the fumbling and reexamination to find a new direction mean than the dawning, finally, of a new perception that sought more than could be captured by Terran monetarist bookkeeping or the Hyadean calculus of efficiency as the sole measure of the worth of a life or the purpose of existence? Maybe now, together, the two races could build the legend the Hyadeans had created of what Earth could have been. If so, then perhaps the war had not been in vain.

  The cabin came to a halt beside a platform in a roomy concourse of service desks and seating areas laid out beneath bright panel lights set amid a typically functional configuration of tie beams and roof supports. The arrivals disembarked to a throng of Hyadean officials and agents waiting to receive them. The Hyadean who had accompanied Cade and his companions from Denver conducted them to the two Hyadeans, a male and a female, who had been assigned to look after them. Waiting with them was a familiar purple-and-crimson-haired figure, dressed glaringly in an embroidered Bolivian shawl, straw hat with a band of wildy colored design, and bright green gaucho pants. It was Tevlak, going back on the same ship to spread Terran art on Chryse.

  “So how things have changed since we were together,” he said, shaking hands vigorously with Vrel, Cade, and Marie. “Then, the security people invaded us. Now they no longer exist.” He put a hand on Nyarl’s shoulder. “So sorry about Luodine. She should have been here today to see this.”

  “It was still as much her doing as anyone’s,” Nyarl told him. The guide from Denver performed the remaining introductions.

  “You know, this routine at airports is getting to be kind of old,” Cade said to Marie as they began walking toward a ramp leading though to another space.

  “I guess we’re just going to have to get used to being famous for a while,” Marie replied.

  “Without the gun, I could get used to it,” Cade said. He snorted. “I never even got to shoot it. I told you I was never cut out for that kind of stuff.”

  “So we complement each other. That’s supposed to be a good thing.”

  Dee was looking around and up at the utilitarian drabness of what passed for decor, and raw engineering of the architecture. “Is it all going to be like this?” she asked Vrel. “If they’re catching on to our ways there, there has to be a whole load of openings for interior designers.”

  “I think there are going to be some big changes very soon,” Vrel said. “We can’t import the Andes valleys or the Amazon forest. So what we lack naturally, we’ll make up with through ingenuity.”

  “Ten years from now, Terran tourists will be flocking to sample the exotica of Chryse,” Tevlak assured them.

  “That soon, eh?” Dee sounded skeptical.

  “It isn’t going to be just enthusiasts like me—just one person on his own,” Tevlak said. “Bringing Earth to Chryse will involve everybody. Lots to do for lots of people.”

  Cade glanced at them and thought for a few seconds. “You reckon so, eh? I think I know a few people who could be a big help. Maybe we could sound out a few leads for them as part of the agenda while we’re there.”

  Marie nudged him pointedly. “I thought we said that all that’s over. You were going to find a new meaning in life.”

  “But hey, people still need to talk to each other. A lot of them are still going to be too busy to know all the options. . . . And besides, I like meeting people.”

  “What happened to the celebrity?”

  “Oh, by next month they’ll have found another one to put on the screens everywhere. That’s the way it works. But with real friends you don’t get forgotten.” His voice warmed to the thought as a lot of aspects he really hadn’t considered before started clicking into place. “In fact, it could even be a lot better now, considering what we know. Take those people in Austr
alia that I told you about, for instance. They’re already doing it right, but only in a small way that suits their own needs. You know what scientists are like. Now if a few more of the right people on Chryse knew more about that . . .”

  They came out into a glass annex with a walkway leading down to an outside door. Through the wall they could see the landing area with its assembly of Hyadean aircraft, and across a stretch of terrain beyond, the distant silhouettes and towering shapes of the launch complex. Cade stopped to stare again at the Querl vessel that would ferry them up to the mother ship tomorrow. Even after all that had happened, he still found it unreal to think that in the morning they would be leaving Earth itself, and in a matter of days be at a different star system. What changes the rest of his life might have in store beyond that, he was unable to imagine. But he would make certain that it was all for worthwhile things. He thought of people like Rocco and Miguel and the things he had learned from them; Mike Blair and Bob Powell, who wouldn’t be seeing Chryse, ever; Wyvex and Luodine, who wouldn’t be going back there. All so that something better might come out of it. He resolved to himself that he wouldn’t let them down.

  He felt a tug at his sleeve. It was Marie. “Come on. We’ll be there soon enough.” The rest of the party were disappearing through the door at the bottom of the walkway.

  Cade grinned and took her arm. They followed down after the others, through a ramp to a Hyadean ground vehicle that would take them to the accommodation arranged for the night.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  James P. Hogan (1941-2010) was a science fiction writer in the grand tradition, combining informed and accurate speculation from the cutting edge of science and technology with suspenseful story-telling and living, breathing characters.

  Born in London, he worked as a digital system engineer and sales executive for several major computer firms before turning to writing full-time. His first novel, Inherit the Stars, beginning his celebrated “Giants” series, was greeted by Isaac Asimov with the rave, “Pure science fiction . . . Arthur Clarke, move over!” and his subsequent work quickly consolidated his reputation as a major SF author.

  He wrote over thirty novels, nonfiction works and mixed collections, including Echoes of an Alien Sky and Moon Flower (both Baen). His earlier works include the Giants series (Baen) the New York Times best sellers The Proteus Operation and Endgame Enigma, and the Prometheus Award winners Voyage from Yesteryear and The Multiplex Man.