Giles ran down. There was nothing much more he could say about the dangers of arbite reaction. He gazed at Paul hoping for a counterargument—anything to show that there was still hope of reaching him with logic. But there was no sign in Paul’s face that he had been reached, not even the faint signs visible to a fellow Adelborn. Paul said only:
“Is that all you’ve got to tell me on the subject, Giles?”
“No,” said Giles, with a sudden surge of feeling. “Not quite. There’s the Albenareth to think of, too.”
“The aliens aren’t our concern,” said Paul. “We didn’t need them before the Plan was begun. They’ve been useful while it’s been in operation because it was a great deal cheaper from a production standpoint to supply them with manufactured goods in payment for stellar transport than to build our own space fleet from scratch. With their help we’ve been able to develop new worlds for settlement at half the expense we’d have had otherwise. But now we’ll be developing our own fleet anyway, so the Albenareth are no longer needed. In the future we can ignore them.”
“No!” said Giles, grimly. “Our race can’t just make contact with another race, use it for a couple of hundred years, and then walk away from it. If the Albenareth have been useful to us, we’ve been a lifesaver to them. Because our technology and labor force saved them work-hours their own people would otherwise have had to supply, they’ve come to put more of their people out in space than they can afford to support there, on their own. You’ve seen the private reports of the Council. Even with us supporting them, in recent decades—because space is such a religion with them—they’ve gone to the ragged edge of a survival economy in manning new vessels. To the point where they’ve got crews in spaceships that are dangerously undermaintained, or overage; and they aren’t about to take such craft out of service, because no Albenareth is going to deny another Albenareth the chance to live and die in Holy Space.”
“That’s their concern,” said Paul “Let each race look to itself.”
“It’s our concern as well!” snapped Giles. “I tell you, words won’t talk this away. It’s no longer enough for the Plan to come up with a solution to our human problems. Any realistic solution has to take into account the Albenareth and their problems as well; for our sake as well as theirs, the Albenareth have got to come to terms with a religion that demands a life in space for every member of their race, but disregards the necessary planet-based economy sufficient to provide support for that life in space.”
“I repeat,” Paul said. “The Albenareth are no part of our problem. They can be ignored, to live or not live as they choose. Our only duty is to the survival of our own race. I think, no matter what you say, that the other members of the Oca Front will back me rather than you, on that.”
He glanced across at the ancient, ornate grandfather clock that dominated the far wall of his study. It was the slightest of glances and his eyes came back immediately to Giles, but to another Adelborn the hint was more than sufficient.
“I’m sorry,” said Giles, formally, getting to his feet “if I’ve taken too much of your time; but I thought the subject was important Perhaps we can talk more about it sometime soon.”
“Perhaps,” answered Paul. The single inflectionless word said “no” more plainly than any impassioned statement could have.
“In that case,” said Giles, “I’ll be talking to other members of the Front One way or another, well find ourselves in contact, shortly.”
“By all means,” said Paul. “Good day.”
“Good day.”
Giles turned and went Internally, as he left he was telling himself that he need not contact the other members right away. He could take a few days at least to think about Paul’s attitude. Perhaps a miracle of persuasion could yet be worked.
But it was less than six weeks after their conversation that Paul disappeared; and less than another six months before his Manifesto, calling on all arbites to demand Adelborn rights, had been found circulating among the lower class.
The search for Paul had been thorough, of course, after that But within a week, Giles and others in the Oca Front were convinced—even if the World Police were not—that Paul Oca was already off the Earth, and almost certainly out of the Solar System. Somehow, the arbites had helped him get away, possibly in a freight shipment to one of the frontier worlds.
To do so had taken organization. Which meant that some arbites at least had already begun to band together in revolutionary groups and think of the immediate burning of contracts and the unrestricted freedom of movement Paul had advocated to them.
So it was for a fact—the fact of arbite organization—-that Paul Oca must die, once Giles had him. It would take willing, law-abiding arbites as well as duty-minded Adelborn to build the space fleet that must replace the alien ships. Lots of arbites and many Earth years. The genius-level intelligence of Paul Oca must not be allowed to lead and attempt an arbite revolution prematurely.
But it was not easy to kill an old acquaintance, Giles thought Even if you knew that no matter how you hated killing him you would still go through with it when the time came, because an obligation to your duty had been built into you like an iron rod in place of a spine....
The screens were reglued. One of the partitions reached almost across the cabin, making two separate rooms. The other, shorter partition enclosed the sanitary facilities, with its open end facing toward the rear of the craft for additional privacy. Giles got up from his cot.
“Mara, Di,” he said, “come over here. You two are going to be in charge of picking the fruit.”
“I never did that before.” Di tried to hold back. Giles guessed her to be showing a common arbite fear of responsibility.
“I don’t think it’ll be too hard to learn,” he said gently. “Come over here. Do you see the lower end of the stem on this fruit I’m pointing at? Twist the stem to break the fruit loose. Don’t pull it off or you’ll injure the vine. Collect about a dozen fruits apiece and bring them down here.” He turned to look for the graded arbite. “Hem, how strong are you feeling today?”
Hem bounded to his feet from the cot on which he had Stretched out. He grinned crookedly.
“No one ever beat me in the barracks, sir.” Solid, scarred fists closed at the memory. “You show me what you want done, Honor, sir.”
“Well, you don’t have to fight anybody, not yet at least,” Giles said easily. “Though I’m sure you’re good at it I’ve got something that calls for someone with good muscles.”
“That’s me!”
“All right then. This is the fruit press.” Giles pointed to a heavy cast-metal apparatus fixed to the wall. There was a round opening at the top and a long lever projected from the center; scuffed plastic containers were locked into position below it “You lift the handle and drop the fruit in here, like this. Then, press down hard on the handle. The juice drains down on this side and, when you lift the handle, the two halves drop into the other container. Then you’re ready to repeat the process.”
“I can do that easy!”
It did not actually take much effort to squeeze the fruit, but Hem threw himself into the operation with a will.
“Containers full, sir,” he announced when he was done.
“Very good. Now who’ll be the first to try this food?”
The truth was, Giles had to admit to himself that the green-gold pulp looked repulsive. The arbites shied away. Giles smiled at them encouragingly, dipped a bowl into the stuff, and dug out a gobbet There were no utensils of any kind aboard, so he had to use his fingers. The pulp was slimy and had a musty odor like worm-ridden wood. He popped a lump into his mouth and chewed industriously. Thankfully, it had almost no taste, but the texture was very unpleasant The juice, however, was a good deal better. It was almost pure water with only an edge of sweetness to it He held the bowl of pulp out and, after some hesitation, Di took a tiny bit And instantly spat it out “Phoo! That’s terrible.”
“I don’t think it’s rea
lly that bad. I imagine well get used to it Anyone else hungry?”
The only other taker was Hem. He chewed and swallowed without expression and finished a whole bowl. Apparently flavor, or the lack of it made little difference to him.
“Stuffs all right” was all he said.
“One satisfied customer already,” said Giles. “I’m not going to force anyone, but the ib fruit is here. During the next twelve hours I want you all to try it We’re all going to stay in condition and no one’s going to get sick. This is our food and we’re going to eat it” To prove the point he filled the bowl again and managed to finish everything in it without changing expression. It is often easier to lead than to follow. He was rinsing his hands clean at the basin, not successfully because the water in the tank was ib fruit juice, when Mara approached him.
“Did the Captain say how long this trip will last?”
He had been braced for someone to ask him that She deserved an answer.
“It’s not going to be a short one,” he said. “That I’m fairly sure of. As soon as the Captain has worked out the figures I’ll let you all know.”
“Did he say why they left that other crewman on the ship?” Giles also had been waiting for someone to ask him this and had worked out what he thought was a satisfactory answer. There would certainly be trouble if the arbites discovered that the engines weren’t functioning correctly.
“To understand the Albenareth you need to know something about their philosophy ... their religion, or whatever you want to call it,” he told her. “To them the mere act of being in space is a blessing. They gain what I suppose you’d call ‘holiness’ by being many years in space. About the only thing that exceeds the value of many years spent in space is the honor of dying there after a lifetime of service. So the ones that were left on the ship were fortunate by their standards—and that included the one of them that had a chance to go with us but stayed behind. From this point of view it was probably the most important and best thing that ever happened to him.”
She frowned.
“That sounds, well, almost sick, doesn’t it? I mean being in space is just being in space. Dying there certainly doesn’t accomplish very much, either.”
“Apparently the Albenareth think it does.” He made an effort to bring the conversation back to the present “Have you picked all the fruit we’ll need?”
“A lot more than we need. Nobody’s rushing to eat it We had both baskets filled, and the bumper’s been working up a sweat squashing them.”
“Bumper?” He had never heard the term before.
She looked at him a little warily, then her tenseness of expression dissolved into a smile.
“Bumper ...” she said. “It’s a name for someone of the graded ranks. I can call Hem that, but you shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because …” She hesitated. “Actually, it means someone who got dropped on his head when he was small, and who doesn’t have all his brains because of it. Among ... us, it’s just a word. But if you used it Hem would think you meant it literally.”
He gazed at her curiously.
“You express yourself well,” he said.
For a second he thought he saw something that might have been a flash of anger in her eyes. If so, however, it was gone before he could be sure it had been there at all.
“For an arbite, you mean,” she said. Her voice was perfectly even and calm.
“Why, yes,” he said. “I don’t expect you to have had theadvantages of a wide education.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” she murmured. “I should thank you for the compliment, then.”
“Compliment?” he said, bemused. A compliment was something you gave to an Adelwoman, not to a girl like this. “I was just stating a fact—a fact you should be proud of, of course.”
“Oh, I am.” There was a slight edge to her voice, but it changed abruptly. A note of sadness crept into it and she looked down at the spongy floor of the lifeship. “Along with the others, I’m glad just to be alive. When I stop to think about how many there are back on Earth who’d give anything they have to be out here in space, even if it meant being on this lifeship...”
He stared at her, puzzled.
“You mean there’re arbites who like space travel that much?” She shifted her face to look at him. For a second he thought she was going to laugh at him—an unpardonable breach of manners, of discipline, coming from someone like herself to an Adelborn.
“Of course not,” Mara said. “I’m talking about the chance to indent to one of the Colony Worlds—a chance to get off Earth.”
“To get off Earth?” The girl was a bundle of strange remarks. “To get away from a safe life on the Mother World—away from the pleasure parks and the entertainment centers—and to go out to work for long hours with a restricted diet; and under harsh conditions? Why should an arbite want that?”
“Why should an Adelborn want it?” she said. “But many of the upper people do.”
“But that’s entirely different.” He frowned. There was no way to explain to this child of the underclasses, with her no doubt permissive upbringing, what it was like to accept the self-discipline and singleness of purpose that were the duties of the Adelborn from the moment they were old enough to walk Faintly, from very long ago, he remembered the loneliness of being four years old and separated from his family, sent to a boarding school to begin the training that would fit him for his adult responsibilities as a leader of the race. He had cried—he winced with shame now at the memory—that first night, silently into his pillow. Many of the other small Adelborn in his barracks had cried also their first night, but only one of them openly. The fact was that that one, a boy, had continued to cry, if more quietly, on succeeding nights, and at the end of the first week he was taken away. To where, the rest of them never discovered, for none of the masters or mistresses at the school would talk about him.
“That’s different,” Giles said again to Mara, now. “It’s a matter of responsibility for our class, as you know. Adelborn don’t go out to the Colony Worlds because they prefer it there to Earth. They go because duty points them that way.”
She was watching him closely.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” she said. “Haven’t you ever done what you wanted—just because you wanted it?”
He laughed.
“Come, now, Mara,” he said. “What sort of an Adelman would I be if I could say yes to a question like that?”
“A human one.”
He shook his head at her, amused but completely baffled. “Honor, sir,” a voice spoke in his ear. He looked around and saw that Frenco had come in and was waiting to get his attention. “What, Frenco?”
“The Captain wants to see you. He spoke to me in regular Basic and said to tell you.”
The Captain had his fingertips resting on the book on the console before him when Giles stepped behind the controls partition. The engineer stood stolidly at his side.
“You wished to talk with me?” Giles asked, in Albenareth. “The Munghanf has located the problem in our drive”
“The Munghanf is exceedingly competent.”
The Engineer touched two fingers together in the gesture that might be translated as meaning “your words give me pleasure,” then he pointed to the engine compartment.
“Our power source operates well, the warp drive functions within the desired parameters. The malfunction is located in the radiant drive mounted on the hull outside. It must be repaired.”
“Can it?” asked Giles.
“Most easily. There is a spacesuit here and I have the tools and knowledge to do what is needed.”
“That is good.” Giles nodded.
“It could be more than good. It could be of great reward for one person.”
The Engineer picked up a bulky plastic bundle from the deck and pulled the spacesuit from it The fabric crackled when he shook it out and held it up for Giles’ inspection.
“Look here, and
here, at the seams. They are stiff with age, cracking open. They could burst under internal pressure and leak air, and then whoever wears this suit may die in space. And it is I who must wear it if the necessary repairs are to be made!”
Before Giles could say anything more the Engineer was rocked by loud and continuous laughter.
5
Giles waited until the laughter died down. Then he spoke to the Engineer.
“So the Munghanf approaches the further Portal of the Way,” he said. “My congratulations”
“It is not certain yet,” said the Engineer. He turned to look at the other dark, wrinkled alien face. “Also, she has been my Captain through much time and space, and the I that is I would be lonely to go on without her. But as a passing from the suit failure would be an end result of the explosion that destroyed our vessel, my responsibility thereby would be canceled, and I cannot but hope.”
“The Munghanf has lived in duty and may properly proceed,” said the Captain. “But we will cease talk of it now, Munghanf. The human can only look on this important thing that happens as through a thick wall of clouded transparency. The Way and its meaning are closed to his race.”
Lifeboat Page 4