“I don’t agree,” said Mpho. “An imported species would be prone to diseases and parasites to which it would have no resistance. Option two requires more upfront adjustment but is inherently more sustainable.”
Arlette nodded, but she very much hoped that the upfront adjustments would be as easy as they had been with last night’s dinner. And, preferably, delivered by a handsome man with a penchant for charming gestures.
Henri arrived and produced his map with the proposed route scribbled onto it. “We’re done here as far as collecting samples is concerned,” he said. “I want to get down to the river and see what it has to offer before we head over here” – he ran his finger over a yellow-coloured area – “and back up here to the base.”
“Looks good,” said Arlette.
The convoy moved off again further down into the valley. As the ground became more marshy they were obliged to make a detour onto a low ridge covered with dense bushes that obscured their view, but it finally delivered them onto a rocky platform bordering a bend in the river they had being trying so hard to get a sight of.
The vista was quite beautiful, the more so since it was totally unexpected. The river had cut through a shallow top layer of red-brown gravel and lay in a bed of pale grey quartz, sprinkled liberally with white pebbles. The bend below them had eroded the surrounding land to such an extent that it had become a circular lagoon, surrounding a central island only narrowly connected to the land by an isthmus of emerald green. The water was crystal clear and sparkling from the sunlight reflecting on the quartz below, and wallowing in the lagoon were five large animals.
Delight lit up the faces of the first human visitors, and most especially that of Mpho, who clapped her hands and exclaimed, “At last! Something really original – a Ceresian hippo!” They all looked. There was no mistaking that these creatures had insect origins – the six spindly legs, a separated head, chest and body, floppy wing-like appendages on their backs, and droopy, rather stubby antennae. But they were ponderous, slow-moving creatures and they were fat.
Henri turned to Arlette. “Well?”
“We’ll call it Pearl River,” she said, “and the Pearl River Lagoon.”
Mpho was already slithering down the slope towards the water. As her feet clattered onto the narrow white pebble beach, the great beasts turned to stare at her, then, one by one, they submerged and swam lazily off into the deeper water of the lagoon, using their floppy wings for propulsion. Mpho sat down on the pebbles and waited. Within a few minutes the animals swam back to the shore and hauled themselves out of the water. They turned to stare at Mpho once more, then began to graze on the vegetation. The arrival of the rest of the party failed to generate much interest, and when the armed detail approached within a few metres of them, they just stared rather balefully at them for a several minutes, before ambling back to the water.
“What do you make of them, Mpho?” enquired Carla.
“It seems that they have an easy life here. Abundant food and no predators. Pretty meaty, too. By far the best candidates we’ve seen for farming.”
The party returned to their vehicles, completed their photography of the panorama, and prepared to leave. “The next stop will be our last for today,” announced Henri. “I want to see why this area of land looks so different on the orbital photos,” he said, holding up the map and pointing to the yellow patch. “Then we’ll head directly back to base.”
The journey along the river bank was bumpy and uncomfortable for everyone. They saw several more groups of Ceresian hippos, which showed no more interest in them than those at the Pearl River Lagoon, but no other sizable animals. Then the river began to widen out, still gliding over its glorious pearl carpet, the land became more even, the vegetation more grass-like, and the earth darker. Soon they found themselves in an undulating prairie, waist high in tall grassy plants, heavy with seeds of all shapes and sizes.
“Whoa!” cried Carla. “Pay dirt!” and she was out of the personnel carrier with a satchel full of sample bags.
The rest of the group watched her jumping from one plant to the next with a stream of enthusiastic chatter addressed to no one in particular. Within twenty minutes she was back, her satchel bulging. “Cereals!” she announced. “Lots! At least five varieties!” The rest of the party did their best to show interest, but there had been nothing else to see for a while but grasses, and some were beginning to get fidgety.
“I think we’ll wrap it up there?” said Henri, his eyebrows raised at Arlette. She gave him a nod, and the little convoy began to make its way slowly up the rocky hill in the direction of the base.
25
La Cucina Ceresana
It was just after midday, Ceresian time, when the convoy arrived back. The rest of the crew dropped what they were doing and crowded around as the door of the personnel carrier opened and the passengers emerged. For a short while all was a confusion of shouted questions, groans and laughter until Arlette put up her hand for silence. “Give us half an hour,” she said, “and we’ll give you all a pre-lunch presentation. We’ll be able to answer all your questions and let you see the clips we took.”
The three scientists in the party took the hint and went off to prepare, leaving the pilots to treat the onlookers to some impromptu titbits of the morning’s adventure.
“Anyone with arachnophobia should take the next shuttle home,” announced Sanam. “It was so ghastly that I’m not going to sleep for a week. Huge quivering hairy legs, a forest of evil eyes on stalks, ugly yellow fangs and yellow glop coming out of everywhere. Ugh!”
“The army ants were impressive,” chimed in Tim. “They were incredibly fast – I would imagine they could run down any creature we’ve seen so far – and they knew just how to get around the giant scorpion’s armour. We’ll have to be careful not to provoke those guys!”
Giuliano Benedetti the cook hurried off to his kitchen to see whether the newly arrived fishing nets had delivered anything of interest. He clapped his hands with pleasure at what he saw. There, in the bath he had commandeered the previous day for the unexpected arrival of the lobsters, were ten crabs, each about 20 cm in diameter. He selected one, boiled it, and carefully dissected it, tasting small quantities of the flesh from each sector. Pleased with the results, he prepared to boil the rest, then remembered that he needed the doctor’s approval to serve any local food. He hurried over to the clinic and delivered a live crab in a saucepan, lifting the lid with a flourish and smacking his lips. The doctor inspected the crab and grinned. “Give me half an hour,” he said.
The cook returned to his kitchen and went to check on the other arrivals on the lander that morning. There were two temperature-controlled boxes. One was an incubator which contained twenty-four carefully cushioned hens’ eggs. The timer showed that they had already been at incubation temperature for eighteen days. In just two or three days he would have the first chick ever hatched on another planet, and soon thereafter eggs and poultry on the menu. In the other box he found vegetable seedlings, hydroponically grown on Prometheus and now ready for planting on Ceres. He surveyed his little domain, now so full of culinary promise, and felt elated. Then he burst into a very personal rendition of ‘Bella figlia dell’ amore’ at the top of his voice, and everyone within earshot exchanged smiles and nods with their companions. A happy cook was very good news.
The presentation was introduced by Arlette. She traced the morning’s journey on an orbital map marked with crosses and hastily assigned place names. The rocky slope was now Cactus Hill, the site of the first fruit tree became Pumpkin Tree Grove, and the area where they had seen an abundance of fruit trees and bushes was named Dale of Plenty. The spider attack and the killing of the giant scorpion were shown in slo-mo and discussed in considerable depth. There was no doubt that all of these creatures were potentially lethal to humans and that armed guards would be mandated for all activities outside the base perimeter.
“Do we assume that these spiders are forest dwellers?” Benny Tro
mper wanted to know. “Are they likely to attack us here?”
Mpho was on her feet. “We haven’t seen them on the surveillance videos and we conclude that the aggressive behaviour we have seen is the result of us having disturbed them in their habitat. We believe they have a preference for forested areas, and avoid the open. We wouldn’t expect to see them here because of the open space between our base and the forest.”
“What prospects do we have of saving the life of a spitting spider victim?” asked Chuck Connolly.
“An antidote to the neurotoxin that killed Spencer is being produced on Prometheus and will arrive in a few days, and everyone will be issued with a shot to be used in an emergency,” said the doctor. “But on no account may anybody enter a forested area with their eyes or any skin exposed.”
“The pack of predators that killed the multi-tailed scorpion thing looked really dangerous. Do they pose a direct threat to us; I mean, might they invade us?” The question came from one of the maintenance engineers.
Mpho again. “We saw both these animals when we did our original scans from orbit. The giant scorpions seem to be solitary animals, but we saw their predators moving around in columns. I would guess that they are tactical predators. They probably chased the giant scorpion into the forest knowing that it could not move as fast there as they could. I don’t think they’d invade us unless we left something outside to attract them.” This produced an uncomfortable murmur in the audience.
Henri got to his feet. “We are able to track all significant animal movements from Prometheus,” he announced, “and part of our job is to monitor that data and ensure that we are not taken by surprise. But”, he added, “you must observe the standing orders for activities outside the base to the letter.”
There was rather a long silence.
“Are the Ceresian hippos likely to be edible?” A question from another maintenance engineer.
The doctor responded. “Probably yes. They are apparently herbivores and rather docile. I can’t promise that they’ll taste like chicken but I think there’s a good possibility that their meat will have a mild flavour.”
The questions flooded in.
“Carla, did you find us any vegetables?”
“Yes,” she said. “We have samples of fruit and vegetables which are currently being tested for toxins. When that’s complete I’ll invite you all to come and taste them and we’ll decide which ones to harvest. I’m pretty sure that we have some acceptable cereal seeds, so we can expect to have fresh bread and pasta fairly soon.”
This news was received with boisterous approval, a mood which persisted so that when the cook entered to announce that lunch would feature ‘pasta alla granchio Ceresiana’, he got an unexpectedly enthusiastic response. In fact his crab meat sauce was a masterpiece of ingenuity, concocted with a blend of indigenous herbs he had first tasted just an hour earlier.
The process of expanding knowledge of the environment, both in geographical scale and botanical and biological detail, continued under the direction of an impromptu Colonisation Committee, chaired by Arlette. Its objectives were initially security and survival, but developed into systematic food collection from an area some five square kilometres in extent. This included indigenous fruit, herbs, vegetables and cereals, the hapless Ceresian hippo, or Cerippo, which turned out to be excellent when barbecued, and a secretive rabbit-sized jumping beetle, which tasted not unlike bacon when fried, dubbed the Cerepig.
The first crew rotation was due to take place after completion of ten Ceresian days on the surface. Half of the initial arrivals would return to Prometheus, including Arlette and Henri, and would be replaced by seventeen new arrivals, with Marcel in charge and Chang taking over responsibility for security. In the pre-dawn of the day of their departure Arlette and Henri sat together over a rare cup of coffee and discussed the status of their mission.
“Astonishing, the conversion of hardened space-travellers into farmers within a couple of weeks,” Arlette was saying. “All I hear about is food, and Benedetti is the undisputed hero of the mission!”
“Oh? What about the football?” asked Henri.
“Yes, of course.” Arlette grinned. “Mixed football. One of my more productive innovations, don’t you think?”
“Actually yes. A wonderful vent for aggression, including yours, I noticed.”
“Are you referring to Benny’s broken leg? He just fell badly, that’s all,” said Arlette defensively. “Football is about maintaining possession within the limits of the rules. He challenged me, I gave him a lawful barge and he fell over. Tant pis.”
Henri grinned. The evening seven-a-side football game had become a regular event, now sporting three teams, some of whose members were training quite hard. Arlette had appointed herself captain of the Conquerors, which aptly described their attitude. Benny Tromper’s team, the Magicians, were technically more skilful but were currently being outclassed by the sheer audacity of the Conquerors. Henri suspected that things would change in Arlette’s absence.
“How do you see things developing socially?” he asked.
“It’s command and control for the time being,” said Arlette. “The commander on the ground has to listen to the input, define the programme and ensure that it’s implemented. He or she has to have complete authority. For the rest, well there has to be tangible progress day by day, and people need to enjoy being here. I would like to leave a self-sufficient colony behind, but it will have to be composed of people who want to stay and build themselves a long-term home on Ceres.”
“How about you?”
“Me?” cried Arlette. “I’m no farmer! I’m a space navigator. I’d rather take Prometheus to Omega 16-4 or another solar system than stay here.”
“Well, either could be a lot more comfortable than being on Earth, from what we hear,” said Henri. “How long do you plan to stay here? Do you have orders to quit at a certain point?”
Arlette studied him. It was an impertinence asking about her orders. On the other hand, he was right about the prospect of going back to Earth, which seemed to be slipping inexorably into social and political chaos, and she needed a strong, dependable ally. “Mission Control is responsive to my input,” she said finally. “If I recommend an extended stay to secure the position of the human race here, I’m sure they will agree. They can build another ship and hire another crew. They don’t need me back there.”
“Do you ever think about Acapulco?” It came straight out of the blue.
Arlette’s instincts were to cut him off, but she knew he wanted to get it off his chest, and perhaps that would make things easier.
“Not much,” she said. “We were two adults, each with our own motivations. I was honest about mine. You weren’t honest about yours. End of story.”
“I was sent to do a job without ever having met you,” said Henri. “I could not have done that job if I had been upfront with you. Of course I understand your anger at being deceived, but if you think I can just shrug off that experience, you are wrong. You hit a place I didn’t know I had. It hurt – it still does.”
“Oh dear!” said Arlette “Poor wounded soldier.”
“Yes,” said Henri stiffly, “I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
“Well, Henri Bertin, you’ll just have to put it down to collateral damage in the course of duty,” she said.
Arlette shocked herself with the severity of this brush-off. It was not that she felt the need to be cruel to him, it was rather that she could not see a way to restore parity or intimacy in a situation where she was indisputably in command. It was a pleasure to look at his handsome face and fine figure, and remember the wonderfully controlled lust he had lavished on her, but how could that be resurrected in this context? She pursed her lips and continued.
“Now, where were we? Oh yes – the length of our mission. Having confirmed that we have a habitable planet, it is now our job to prepare it for immigrants. That means more than just being able to feed ourselves. We have to be able to
build permanent structures from local materials. That means exploration for mineral resources, mining – industry. We know how to do these things, and we have to get on with it.”
“Industry?” Henri was incredulous. “Isn’t that a bit ambitious after two weeks on the planet? Where are we going to get the equipment?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the stuff we have on Prometheus. Portable nuclear power plants and motors of every size and description, construction kits, drilling equipment, furnaces and God knows what – and lots of very resourceful engineers. But our next task is back on Prometheus. We have to map the planet’s mineral resources. In fact Marcel has been busy with that since we landed.”
Henri felt completely upstaged. “But that will take years,” he protested. “How much of that can we accomplish without additional help and equipment?”
“Oh, once the mineral resource mapping is done we have to demonstrate feasibility and then come up with a development plan. We already know that we have fresh water and the basic minerals for bricks, cement and glass within a workable distance from here. There’s also lots of copper. We’ll define what we can do with what we have, then order what we need on Prometheus II.”
“It sounds to me as though we are not going back,” said Henri.
“Of course we are going back!” retorted Arlette. “Once we have exhausted everything we’ve brought with us on Prometheus, what is the point of keeping her here? She becomes a ferry for both human and technical resources.”
Henri saw it now. The powers that be on Earth would already be looking at maps of the resources on Ceres and dividing them up between them. The first proud settlers would soon be swept aside and the wrangling over wealth and power would begin. “Don’t you think we might do a little better with this pristine planet than just import the way we do things on Earth?” he asked.
“Henri, just remember how this expedition was financed,” replied Arlette. “The ISEA was tasked by the G25 with finding a new home for the human race once Earth becomes uninhabitable. We are scientists and navigators, not politicians. It’s the politicians’ job to apply the experience of several thousand years of civilisation to creating a viable new society on this planet. Ultimately Ceres will have a population of billions. It will have to be rigorously organised by visionary people. Idealism is fine for dreamers but it’s not a practical basis for government.”
Omnipotence: Book I: Odyssey Page 20