Cain's Land

by Robert Frezza

  Simon reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. He selected a piece of paper from it and handed it to Bosenac. “These are directions. When we arrive, please go straight to your cabin, log yourself on to the computer, and read through the ship's instructions. Hans has assured me in great and colorful detail that the ship is going to be an absolute madhouse, and he asked me to especially emphasize the fact that the fewer people we have wandering around, the better off we will be until things get settled.” He looked at the sheet. “It says here that you will be by yourself, so I'm afraid your cabin won't be very large.”

  “That’s all right,” Bosenac assured him as the red check light came on.

  “You might also want to skim through the capsule summaries on the other scientists aboard”

  “The light means to strap yourself in,” Maria Beetje interjected, silencing her husband Bosenac did so. Moments later, the shuttle took off.

  When the shuttle docked, Simon and the rest of Suid-Afrika's scientific contingent went down a deck, turned left, and went aft to find their cabins.

  As Simon stopped to check the number on his door, the door to the cabin on the opposite side of the corridor opened, and a stocky man with a fringe of beard almost ran over him. From the printed directory Coldewe had given him--and directed him to leave behind because of the weight--Simon recognized the man as a physicist from the Go-Nihon contingent.

  “Ah, Dr. Ferenc Szuba? I am Simon Beetje from the University of Suid-Afrika.”

  Szuba grabbed Simon's wrist and clung to it like a drowning man. Hovering behind Szuba, Beetje saw the physicist’s diminutive wife, Pia, the expedition's lead sociologist

  “Beetje, Simon? Yes, someone spoke of you! Iam Ferenc. This is Pia. It is outrageous! You are from Suid-Afrika-you know these military people, no?”

  “Yes, I know Colonel Coldewe, and Commissioner Vereshchagin, a little.” Beetje tried to pry his hand loose, without success.

  Connie Marais and a genial geologist named Johan Hartlieb squeezed past them as best they could.

  Tightening his hold with his right hand, Szuba pulled Beetje into his cabin and waved his left hand for emphasis. “Perhaps then you can reason with them! This Commissioner Vereshchagin, I just saw him.” Szuba's swarthy face burned with indignation. “And when I tried to explain the matter, I was turned away! Turned away! Can you believe this?”

  Conscious of Pia Szuba's unblinking gaze, Beetje permitted himself a small lie. “Perhaps the commissioner didn't understand What, ah, is the problem?”

  “Pia and I were moved out of our cabin into--this cubicle!” Szuba snapped his fingers. “Like that! Like that! Can you believe it?”

  Beetje nodded “Yes, Dr. Hartlieb and I have the cabin across from you.”

  “Then you are outraged, too!” Szuba gestured at the interior of the cabin to emphasize the depths of his outrage. “This is an affront!” He released his grip. “Where is Dr. Hartlieb? We will remedy this injustice!”

  Dimly recollecting the dictum to try logic when all else fails, Beetje tactfully tried to explain. “We are moving over two hundred soldiers and scientists on board right now, and a lot of space is being taken up with supplies for them. Accommodations are a little cramped. I'm afraid” A sudden flash of inspiration struck him. “Did you see Commissioner Vereshchagin's cabin?”

  “Eh?” Szuba was slow to switch gears.

  His wife tugged at his sleeve, speaking for the first time. “That is what I was saying to you, Ferenc. It looked like a broom closet.”

  “A lot of soldiers--Suid-Afrikans and Imperials--are moving into cold sleep, and the rest are stringing hammocks in the forward areas. They are pretty well packed in there.” Like cocoons in a mulberry tree, Beetje thought, remembering his father's greenhouse.

  “Smaller? But--he is the commissioner!” Szuba said plaintively.

  “Ferenc,” Pia Szuba said

  Ferenc tilted his head. “Yes, sweet?”

  “You are making a fool of yourself.” His shoulders slumped. “Yes, sweet.”

  She stretched out a delicate hand, which Beetje took. “Ferenc and I are pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Beetje.” She gave him a quizzical look. “You say you are with Dr. Hartlieb? I thought I saw your wife's name on the roster.”

  Beetje choked. “Ah, it is a . . . complicated situation for me to explain.”

  “When you and Dr. Hartlieb are free, come by and see us and we will open a bottle of wine.” She dug her elbow into her husband's well-padded ribs. “We are most anxious to hear about Suid-Afrika. And about Commissioner Vereshchagin.” Pia rewarded Beetje with a smile that transformed her face. “Right, Ferenc?”

  IN VERESHCHAGIN'S BROOM CLOSET OF A CABIN, HANS COLDEWE leaned back in his chair and whistled for approximately the thirtieth time. “Could we have accidentally gotten on a cruise ship?”

  “There are comic-opera overtones to this,” Vereshchagin agreed.

  “Who's next to see'!” Coldewe asked. He qualified this statement. “Who haven't we seen?”

  “Mutaro's deputy, Dr. Seki,” Vereshchagin said equitably.

  “That’s right.” Coldewe raised one eyebrow. “What do we want from Seki, and how did you keep him away this long?”

  “When I spoke to him. I explained the handicap I was working under in taking control of the expedition at this juncture, and I asked him to prepare a confidential appraisal on all of the scientific personnel from Go-Nihon for me.”

  “That will flatter his ego.”

  “Even if it does not tell me very much about the scientists on board, it will tell me a great deal about Dr. Seki.”

  Coldewe closed his eyes for a second. “I turned Kasha loose in the galley. I heard lots of bad language. We may or may not get dinner.”

  “I wonder how Prigal is adjusting.”

  “By now, he probably wishes he was back driving a taxi. What did Commissioner Mutaro say when you bid him farewell?”

  Vereshchagin stretched out. “He said that he had met several great men in his lifetime, and that he hoped it would not go to my head.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “He also said that he hoped that various gods would guide my footsteps. Under the circumstances, he did not wish to leave it up to just one.”

  Coldewe laughed. “He's a nice old gentleman, a brave one, too, and he's going to go home in an urn when all this hits the mud.”

  “Yes, Hans, all that is true and more. When His Imperial Majesty's ministers hear of my appointment, they will collectively have hysterics.”

  They heard a soft knock at the door, and Esko Poikolainnen entered. “Dr. Seki is here to see you.”

  Inagi Seki was a short, thin man dressed in a rumpled gray suit and a white shirt. Although his hair was almost completely gone from the top of his head, he wore it long around the back and sides.

  Vereshchagin nodded. “Please, take a seat. As Commissioner Mutaro perhaps explained. Colonel Coldewe will be commanding the military contingent”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Colonel Coldewe.” Seki's expression was fixed, and his bright, unblinking eyes were strangely birdlike. “Nevertheless, I earnestly hope that your special services will not be needed.”

  “Given the disparity in forces, so do I.”

  “Would you care for some tea?” Vereshchagin asked.

  “Decaffeinated tea, if you please:”

  Coldewe reached around to the samovar and drew him a cupful.

  “Colonel Coldewe, are you Suid-Afrikan?” Seki asked.

  Coldewe shook his head. “No, I am originally from Tübingen, Germany.”

  “How interesting. At one time, I corresponded with a colleague in that city.” Seki sipped at his tea and then passed Vereshchagin a hefty written report. “I hope that this appraisal fulfills your requirements, Vice-Commissioner.”

  Observing Vereshchagin's slight look of dismay, Coldewe vaulted himself back into t
he conversation. “You were an academic before you became Commissioner Mutaro's deputy. Isn't this an unusual progression?”

  “Yes, this is correct.” Seki's face relaxed slightly. “Although a colonial posting of this nature may strike you as unconventional for a person with my academic qualifications, I became dissatisfied with the caliber of decision making in public life and determined that the most effective use of my talents would be as a ministry official.”

  Vereshchagin set Seki's report aside. “At the outset, perhaps I should make my objectives and your role clear. In accordance with Commissioner Mutaro's directive, I intend to study and establish contacts with Neighbor’s inhabitants, evaluate the possibilities for trade and technology exchange, and assess the planet’s military potential. Lastly, should these people prove hostile to mankind, I intend to take appropriate action of a military nature.”

  Seki took a sharp breath. “I should mention that I am not completely in agreement with Commissioner Mutaro's emphasis on military measures. History teaches that where one looks for hostile intent, one finds it. Mankind is outgrowing warlike pursuits. As a scholar, I believe that it simply is not rational for another intelligent species to manifest hostile feelings toward us so long as we demonstrate our peaceful intent and explain the benefit that would accrue from peaceable cooperation. Nevertheless, I earnestly hope to work with you in a fully cooperative spirit.”

  Vereshchagin caught Coldewe's eye. “I appreciate your bringing your views to my attention. Although military officers are professionally required to assess military potentialities, I assure you that Colonel Coldewe and I both hope that military preparations prove unnecessary.”

  Seki bowed his head.

  “I intend to utilize you as my bridge to the scientific community. Please convey to the scientists on board my further hope that in working together, we can establish the proper spirit of cooperation in all of the personnel assigned to the expedition,” Vereshchagin concluded.

  Seki studied first Vereshchagin's face, then Coldewe's, then he again bowed his head. “I am most gratified.” He looked at Vereshchagin curiously. “Have you lived in Japan? I cannot help thinking that you have a curiously Japanese spirit for a foreigner. Perhaps this was a factor in Commissioner Mutaro's decision that I was not aware of.”

  “Yes,” Vereshchagin said, controlling his expression, “I attended war college there and I have also visited on other occasions.” He added as an apparent afterthought, “We will have to integrate our Suid-Afrikan scientists into the various scientific working groups, once they are settled. I think it would be helpful for me to sit in on working-group meetings over the next several days.”

  Seki nodded thoughtfully. “I will speak to the working-group chairmen and arrange this. I would be honored to accompany you.”

  “Excellent.” Vereshchagin's face grew pensive. “I would like to keep this as informal as practicable. Perhaps we should attend separately.”

  “Ah, yes, that would appear to be an excellent solution, honored Vice-Commissioner.”

  “A second matter that concerns me is water usage,” Vereshchagin continued “Recycling is never completely efficient, and Zuiho had to load six tons of water on arrival, which is far too much. As a measure to curb wastage, I intend to turn off the taps for six hours each day.”

  Seki bowed his head. “As you wish. Vice-Commissioner.”

  “Are there any matters that you wish to raise?” Vereshchagin asked, not quite hopefully.

  “If I may comment, Commissioner Mutaro's decision to bring nuclear weapons particularly concerns me. I do not foresee any circumstances wherein we would use such weapons, and leaving them behind would eliminate any possibility of accident. It is a matter of some concern to myself and to the scientists on board.”

  “I understand your feelings in this matter, but I concur with Commissioner Mutaro. Nuclear weapons give us a possible means to avert more serious conflict,” Vereshchagin said politely.

  Seki accepted the decision gracefully. “There is one matter I have been asked to bring to your attention. During the voyage over, the kitchen staff prepared individual meals to order, which was very convenient for the scientific personnel aboard. A number of scientists have asked whether this service will continue.”

  Hans Coldewe saw Vereshchagin flinch as if stuck with a needle.

  “I regret not.” Vereshchagin carefully measured his words. “As you are perhaps aware, we have only a small fraction of the support personnel considered necessary for a force this size, and I do not deem it appropriate to divert personnel to perform catering duties. The dining facility will serve meals at appropriate hours. Tea and soup will be available at other times. It is, of course, traditional to wheedle the cooks occasionally.”

  “But Commissioner Vereshchagin, really!” Seki persisted. “Experiments and creative thinking cannot be confined to set hours. Surely my scientists are entitled to the same considerations as your officers receive.”

  “I am not aware of any ongoing experiments that require constant attention,” Vereshchagin said, with a studied absence of emotion, “and my officers will eat with everyone else at the appropriate hours, as I will.”

  Perhaps sensing his mistake, Seki bowed. “Thank you, Vice Commissioner. I look forward to worldng together with you.” He bowed again and left.

  Coldewe stared at Vereshchagin, trying not to laugh. “I can see why you wanted me in here instead of The Iceman.”

  “You can mimic youth and naïveté, whereas with Piotr it is readily apparent what one is dealing with, which many people fmd unsettling,” Vereshchagin said absently, tapping his pipe against his thigh. “What is your impression of Dr. Seki?”

  “A nice man, a true scholar.” Coldewe's eyes glittered. “He seems to possess all the virtues that one associates with academics and bureaucrats, as well as all the vices.”

  “And what is your definition of a scholar?” Vereshchagin asked dryly.

  “If you ask a scholar why Indians put dog manure on the corn plants, he'll start you off with the Creation myth, drag you through the religious observances of several generations of remote maternal ancestors, and finally opine that it is undoubtedly a purely symbolic rite rooted in clan connections. Unless, of course, he's had psychiatric training, in which case he will attribute it to subliminal Oedipal urges.”

  “I see.” Vereshchagin smiled. “And why do Indians put dog manure on the com plants?”

  “It scares off the rabbits.”

  “And the moral of the story?”

  “I don't know why the Neighbors shot at the probe, but five will get you ten it’s because they're not very friendly. And if that’s the case, it might be nice to have nukes. And chem, and bio.”

  “ ‘The fact that slaughter is a horrifying spectacle must make us take war more seriously, but does not provide an excuse for gradually blunting our swords in the name of humanity. Sooner or later, someone will come along with a sharper sword and hack off our arms,' “ Vereshchagin quoted.

  “Clausewitz,” Coldewe guessed, and Vereshchagin nodded.

  Coldewe tilted his head. “Is the tea?”

  “Is the tea what?”

  “Decaffeinated.'

  “No.”

  Coldewe consulted his wrist mount, which he had remembered to reset to ship's time. “What’s next?”

  “Piotr and Captain Yamawaki are discussing the first law of transports, which is that the crew expands to occupy any and all underutilized space. When they fail to reach a meeting of minds, I will intervene. I also have to prepare my oration about our mission.” Vereshchagin stared at the far bulkhead. “Has Aksu told you the interesting part? He believes that a small band of Major Aichi's noncommissioned officers are planning to assassinate me on the voyage over to redeem the honor of Imperial Japan. Major Aichi has not said anything, but he appears worried.”

  “We're a happy ship, aren't we? Anton, take a nap. You could use one,” Coldewe urged.<
br />
  “Piotr can handle Captain Yamawaki.”

  “I will do that,“ Vereshchagin said dreamily. His eyes began to close.

  Coldewe's eyes widened. “Not here!” he announced. “All of the unscheduled callers who wish a moment or twenty-two of your time would be scandalized to find you here asleep. Go to my cabin.” He pulled out his kukri and began toying with the blade. “I can handle things here.”

  Vereshchagin smiled and followed his advice.

  Hours later, from atop an ammunition box in the ship's gymnasium, Vereshchagin explained to assembled soldiers, scientists, and ship's crew that humanity would come to an alien planet

  bearing an olive branch outstretched in one hand, with a sword prudently concealed in the other.

  Monday (1175)

  HANNES VAN DER MERWE, FORMER SILVERSHIRT AND ONETIME TERRORIST, cleaned his apartment for the last time. Packing a lunch and a few personal items in a knapsack, he wrote out a short note that was, in effect, a last will and testament. In it, he left no apologies for what he had done with his life. After thinking for a bit, he wrote another note to his current girlfriend. He placed the first note neatly on his bed and posted the other. Then he got in his car and drove to the resort town of Roodepoort, on the shore of the Tethys Sea.

  Greeting a few old friends at the marina warmly-much too warmly, some of them recalled later-be sailed his boat out a few kilometers, took in his sails, ate lunch, and waited.

  The sea, empty of edible fish and boats to catch them, was calm and glassy. Van der Merwe trailed his fingers in the water.

  A Sparrow reconnaissance plane materialized almost directly overhead. With its odd angles, forward stabilizers, and an extremely quiet, eight-bladed adjustable-pitch prop, a Sparrow was bizarre in appearance, but extraordinarily difficult to see. Molded from sheets of thin, radar-absorbing composite material, the plane had tiny sensors in the skin to gauge ambient light, allowing a computer-driven network of photoelectric cells to match the light coming in and even, to a degree, the background coloration on the opposite side. Used as a utility aircraft, a Sparrow could carry two men easily, and a third in a pinch.