by Chris Walley
“What happened there? I’ve not heard of it in the history files.”
“It never made it there. They rotated the population out, checked the air and water, and reviewed the diets. Then things settled down.”
Merral felt that there was a rough and uncomfortable edge to Vero’s answer. “So, were the sentinels right?”
There was a long pause, as if Vero was making a painful choice. “The currently prevailing view, which is—I think—the correct interpretation, is that the problem was primarily biological. And not spiritual.” He gave a quiet little awkward chuckle. “You are thinking it is not much to show for a hundred and seventeen centuries of labor, is it?”
“Well, I suppose I was.”
“I would—I think—find it hard to disagree. And I refuse to talk about some of the other cases we have gotten involved in.” He shook his head firmly. “The toad plague on Saganat. The library anomalies on Tegranatar. The so-called psychic triplets of Limaned. Best forgotten. Please!”
“I see. But, Vero, surely you shouldn’t question what you do? If you are called to do something, then you do it. Whatever happens—results or not. Here on the Made Worlds we build and plan and sow, but we do not know whether or not we will be successful.”
“Ah, well said.” Vero smiled ruefully. “Oh, I suppose the last two weeks of travel have made me question my vocation a little more.”
“Who knows—perhaps your vigilance has been a factor in the preservation of the Lord’s Peace.”
“A useful rebuke. Perhaps indeed. We do not know.”
Merral heard, far away, echoing up through the streets, the renewed sounds of percussion and brass. “Time to go. You’d better get your coat. The weather looks nice and the forecast is good, but you never know.”
“It is proverbial. ‘Beware the weather in the Made Worlds.’ ”
Outside the house the street had become crowded with people dressed in their colorful best and with an air of exuberant noisiness. All the neighbors wanted to make Vero’s acquaintance, and many people on the other side of the street pointed him out to their children. Gradually the sound of the procession became louder and the talking in the crowd died away to be replaced by an eager silence. All eyes turned expectantly to the end of the street. Suddenly, amid raucous laughter, two dogs raced around the corner, wheeled briefly around to look at what was following them, and hurtled up the street, egged on by the cheers and whoops of the crowd. After them, but in a far more dignified manner, came the procession. Three flag bearers led the way, the first held aloft the great Lamb and Stars banner of the Assembly; the next the gleaming blue sphere on a black field for Farholme; and the third Ynysmant’s flag, the stylized cone of buildings above a blue lake. After them came the first of the uniformed musical groups, supplied this year by the music college, and following them, the first singers. Three green gravity-modifying sleds borrowed from Agriculture followed, bearing those who by reason of age, pregnancy, or injury could not walk with the procession. After them came his father’s band, and Merral and Vero were rewarded by a wink over the trombone. Walking behind them were the first long lines of townsfolk, more flags and banners, and then his mother’s choir. Eventually it was time for their street to join the procession. Merral and Vero fell in with the other families.
Half an hour later, they were filing into the vast space of Congregation Hall on the top of the ridge. Merral found the seats allocated to them, scanning the crowd as he did for Isabella. There was no sign of her, but as the hall was such a tumult of people he felt it was not surprising. As he settled into his seat he noticed that Vero was looking around at the roof and walls with an expression of unease. Their eyes met.
“Those are high-load beams. And the doors are airtight and sealable.” His voice was low and curious. “A refuge?”
“Of course it is,” Merral replied in surprise, but it was only as he answered that the significance of the question registered. “Oh, sorry, Vero. I forgot you’re from the only planet that doesn’t need them. Welcome, inhabitant of Ancient Earth, to one of the Made Worlds. Yes, it’s a refuge, with two months’ food, air, and water for the whole town underneath us and a landing zone on the roof.”
“I see,” Vero said, his voice somber. He looked around pensively.
It’s strange to think that it’s new to him, Merral reflected, when it’s one of the first things we learn in the Made Worlds. That it may all go wrong and we may find ourselves huddled in here for weeks, breathing, eating, and drinking our recycled wastes while they get the rescue shuttles in through the Gate. And we always know that sometimes even refuges may not be enough.
“Do you know much about Yenerag, Vero?”
“You read my mind. Standing in a refuge cannot fail to remind me of Yenerag. A thousand years after the planet’s core failure, and the volcano eruptions that buried sixteen cities in ash—sixteen—in three days. Fifty thousand people remain entombed in Yenerag’s refuges until our King of kings returns.”
Merral shifted in his seat, feeling in some way that such thoughts were unworthy of Nativity Day.
“It could all go wrong, couldn’t it?” Vero said suddenly.
“Yes, we live with that reality.” Then a thought came to Merral. “But Nativity helps.”
“How so?”
“The universe is so vast and unforgiving that the only way this whole venture of ours—spreading ourselves over thousands of light-years—makes sense is if God is indeed with us.”
“A fair point.”
Suddenly, with an increasing rapidity, silence descended on the hall. From the floor three people took the stage and stood still, every eye on them. Merral prepared his heart for worship. Then, away behind them at the door of the hall, the trumpets sounded four loud, open chords and, with the echoes dying away, the congregation stood for the invocation.
Almost two hours later the benediction ended the service. Slowly people got to their feet and began to talk and embrace one another.
Merral turned to Vero. “I hope that wasn’t too strange for you?”
Vero shook his head gently and returned a warm smile. “No, that was fine. It seems to me that there’s nothing wrong with your services.”
Merral wondered whether there was supposed to be and was trying to phrase a question on those lines, when someone came to Vero and introduced himself, and then a moment later Merral’s attention was occupied by an old school friend. He had just finished his conversation a few minutes later, when he felt a hand gently grasp his elbow.
“Happy Nativity, Merral D’Avanos!”
Merral turned to see Isabella at his side. How typical of her to slip up to him so unnoticed. They looked at each other, and he noticed how her long gray-blue jacket seemed to offset her dark, almost black, eyes.
“And to you, Isabella Danol. I was looking for you earlier.”
“I was at the back.” Isabella brushed a strand of her long, straight black hair away from her face. “The Earther who read—the one who is staying with you, I missed his name—Vera something, wasn’t it?”
“Vero. It’s short for Verofaza. I hadn’t realized till I met him that on Ancient Earth men’s names can end in A. ‘Verofaza Laertes Enand, sentinel’ is how he introduces himself. Yes, he was one of a number of surprises yesterday.”
“I can guess one of the others,” she answered, a hint of regret darkening her soft voice.
“Yes, Isabella. My parents told me when I got back. I’m still thinking that one over, but what with Vero and the service today, I’m afraid I haven’t really digested it. Six months’ wait before approval.”
Merral looked at her, realizing that she was revealing no emotion in her expression. She wouldn’t here, and not so soon. It would take something like an hour’s walk in the park to find out what she really thought.
Then she spoke again, her voice businesslike. “If then. But I understand. Do you have any first reactions?”
“Well . . . actually, thinking about yesterday, Vero wa
s the second of three surprises. We were third. The first was fairly reliable news that I am going to be given a tropics posting.” He watched her face as he said it, but other than the faintest lifting of a fine dark eyebrow, she kept any feelings hidden.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She knows me so well. “It’s a challenge. Very demanding and horribly hot, especially if it’s Umbaga or Faraketha. Oh, I haven’t really thought about that news either. But it does seem that my path may be away from Ynysmant before long.”
Isabella said nothing immediately but nodded gently. When she did speak it was in a voice that he could barely hear over the chatter in the hall. “Our parents seem to have assumed that this sort of thing might happen.” Isabella joined her delicate fingers together in front of her mouth. She might have nodded, but if so it was so faintly that Merral couldn’t be sure whether she had.
“We will talk more of it another time,” he added, thinking, Isabella, it’s so hard to read your emotions even though I know you very well. It’s as if I have to tune my senses to maximum to pick up the signals you give out.
She smiled delicately. “Yes, I’m sure we will. And I’d like to met Vero if I can.”
“Of course. He wants to meet you. But any particular reason why?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “I have a certain professional curiosity, Merral. There is a school of thought that says that Ancient Earthers and Made Worlders have differing psychologies. Actually everyone agrees on that—it’s just how far the differences go. Made Worlders are more assertive and outgoing but at the same time less secure. Partly that is society, partly it is environment.”
“I’ve heard that, but you aren’t going to profile him here?”
“No! Of course not!” She laughed. “But it would be nice to talk to him.”
“Well, come on, I’ll introduce you.”
They walked to where Vero was talking with a young man. At a suitable point Merral made the introductions, to which Vero responded with the utmost formality and a slight bow. Isabella smiled at him. “I hadn’t realized Ancient Earth had so much civility.”
Vero smiled shyly at her. “It hasn’t really, but training instilled in us the idea that in a strange culture it is better to be overformal than the opposite.”
“And we are a strange culture?”
Vero gave an oblique grin to Merral. “No, madam, not entirely.”
They all laughed, and Isabella turned to Vero. “Have you found Nativity here as you expected it to be?”
Vero paused, thinking through the answer. “I can answer both yes and no. I had assumed it would be like home and in some ways it is like that. But there are differences. For example, with us there is silence on Nativity Morn until we are assembled. And there are other things.”
As he went on and listed differences, Merral found himself standing back and treating the conversation as if he were a spectator. It is interesting how Isabella is able to draw out of Vero what she wants. He watched how she kept her intent, almond-shaped eyes on him and how she encouraged him with the slightest movements of her head.
Merral’s thoughts were interrupted by a member of the Team-Ball squad he played for who wanted to pass on news of a match that he had missed. When they parted after ten minutes or so, Merral realized that the hall was now nearly empty. He walked over to where Isabella and Vero were still deep in conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt, but, Vero, we must go.”
“You are quite right.” He gave a little bow. “Isabella, I hope we meet again.”
“And I too. Merral, you will be in touch soon?”
“Of course.”
As Merral and Vero walked down from the hall in silence, Merral felt that his new friend seemed deep in thought.
“You had a good discussion with Isabella?” he asked.
“Yes. I think, though, she found out more about me than I did about her.”
“Well observed. She is both an acute observer of others and a private person herself.”
“I can believe that. A striking face—but you know that. Her family isn’t recently from Earth? I mean in the last five generations?”
“No, Farholme for four generations on both sides. Antakaly before that on her father’s side, I think; Marant on her mother’s. Why do you ask?”
“Because out on the worlds, most racial genes have been fairly well diluted and yet, at a glance, she appears to have fairly pure Chinese features. It’s more typical of Earth. Did you know that?”
“That on Ancient Earth there had been much less intermarriage across the races? Yes, I’d heard that. I mean, you are much darker than anyone I know on Farholme.”
Vero raised an eyebrow in amused acknowledgement. “It has been pointed out. Well, it removes the temptation to go disguised among you. Anyway, Isabella asked some penetrating questions.”
“She would do that. And what was the hardest she gave you?”
Vero shook his head gently. “Ah, you have something in common. She asked whether I had found what I came for.”
Merral looked sideways at his companion. “To which you said . . . ?”
“To which I said . . . ‘No, and I’m no longer sure what I’m looking for.’ ”
“That sounds bad.”
“Perhaps. But then if it isn’t here, then not to find it is surely no bad thing.”
“I suppose not.”
“I am on the point of coming to a decision. But I need to think more about it. I will talk more about this to you later.”
They strode on and Merral caught his companion glancing up at the sun.
“You look puzzled, Vero,” he said.
“Disoriented. It’s just slightly wrong; it’s too red.”
“Yes, our sun is slightly cooler than Sol. You’ll adjust.”
“Maybe. Do you ever call it ‘Alahir’?”
“As in ‘I see Alahir is setting’?” Merral laughed. “Hardly. In formal astronomy, maybe, but to us it’s just the sun. Makes sense to me.”
Vero shrugged. “Yes, it makes sense. We never call our sun ‘Sol,’ except under the same circumstances. But I find it hard. I suppose it is as if you were a child and your mother died and your father married again. You might have a hesitation about calling the new woman ‘Mother.’ ”
Merral felt that the observation revealed how deeply Vero felt that he was away from home.
They walked down the west steps and Merral asked his guest whether he had appreciated the service.
Vero paused. “Yes, it was very good.”
“I vaguely noted that you were paying careful attention to what was going on.”
“Yes. Well, I suppose I had thought that if there was anything untoward, it would show itself here.”
“And it didn’t?”
Vero seemed to bite his lip. “I saw, heard, and felt nothing to raise an alarm. It was reverent, orthodox, and all the rest. As you would expect.”
“You seem almost disappointed.”
He shook his head. “No, on the contrary, I suppose I am relieved. But I am puzzled. Anyway, I’ll discuss that later.” He paused. “Incidentally, the choir was very good. I’m gifted—if that is the word—with perfect pitch, and a failure to hit the right note hurts. But it was painless on that account. A credit to Farholme.”
“I’ll pass it on. Now we’d better hurry or we will be late for the meal.”
Much of the rest of the day was spent in festivities and eating. There was an apparently endless round of visits of friends, relatives, and innumerable children, and numerous rounds of food and drink. Then there was the time of giving presents. Merral gave his father a new map and his mother a brooch and received sweets and a scarf in return. There were any number of family stories, and presumably because of Vero, almost any incident even vaguely concerned with Ancient Earth that had happened in the last five generations was brought up. Surprisingly, the one everyone found funniest was that of his father’s Great-Aunt Margarita, much given
to precise and painstaking management of every detail of her affairs, who at a very advanced age had finally managed to travel to see her family on one of the worlds on the other side of the Assembly. On the way back she had found the strain too much and had gone Home to the Lord without warning. But as she had been such a quiet passenger and much given to sleeping, it was many hours before anybody noticed she had stopped breathing, with the result that the death certificate had written on it under “Location” the words, Not known within fifty light-years.
Then there were games, including a long and noisy one called Cross the Assembly. Vero revealed, with a certain awkwardness, that when he played it on Earth, everybody hated getting the Farholme card because you could never get to anywhere from it and it was so far from a decent Gate node. The news that, even in games, Farholme had a reputation as Worlds’ End was greeted with a great deal of amusement.
Sometime about nine Merral found himself yawning. He felt he had not fully recovered from his long and tiring northern trip and, making apologies, he went upstairs to his room. As he began to undress he put his diary on the table and noted that a nonurgent text message had been transmitted an hour ago. He flicked it on and read the message as it slid across the screen.
Merral,
The Rechereg choral went fine. I hope you enjoy the attached performance. I did use Miranda Cline after all.
Give my love to your family,
Happy Nativity,
Barrand Antalfer
There was a sound file attached, and switching it through the room speakers, Merral began to play it as he rinsed his face in the basin and put on his night-suit. He was about to switch it off when there was a tap at the door.
It was Vero. “Not asleep then? Good. Look, sorry to interrupt, but I was going to tell you that I have decided to leave tomorrow.” He paused. “Wait—I know this music.” He started waving his fingers slowly in time to it, his face a study in concentration. Suddenly his face acquired a look of recognition. “Of course! Rechereg’s Choral Variations on an Old Carol. The old carol being the truly ancient ‘Child of Mary, Newly Born.’ Very fine. Where did you get the recording?”