'Quality is more important than quantity. What's the point of churning out vast numbers of extra mouths each month when there's no food for them? You must know this – you work amongst the deprivation which results.'
'That deprivation is caused by the cynical neglect of the richer nations. If they put half the resources they spend on armaments into constructively helping the Third World, its problems would be solved within a generation.'
I sighed. 'We're reaching the limits, Luke. I hate to sound brutal, but if the problems of the Third World were solved in the way you envisage, they'd immediately start consuming more resources, which would push the Earth over the edge even faster. There are just too many people on this planet.'
'Those problems would not exist if the richer nations didn't squander resources so extravagantly.' Luke had lost nothing of his intensity, his lean body rigid with his determination to convince me. I felt tired, the memory of old arguments revived.
'Maybe, but you know that the economic system of the developed world depends on consumption and trade. Restrict the consumption too much and you'll get mass unemployment, economic collapse, and the end of any aid to the Third World.'
'You're turning into an apologist for big business!'
'No, you're right that we do need to restrict our consumption but we need to do that without undermining the economy. It's difficult, but achievable if the will is there. But in the long run, no such measures will do any good if the world population continues to increase.'
'You cannot sterilise humanity! These poor people I work with, their children are their only hope for the future!'
'If they had fewer of them, their future would be a lot better. Your church hasn't exactly helped matters by condemning all forms of contraception, has it? Even though AIDS is the scourge of Africa! How can you justify that?'
'I don't have to justify anything! I am doing God's work, in spending my life looking after His people – what you are proposing is blasphemy!'
I tried a more emollient tack. 'Luke, we're not talking about sterilisation, anyway. There will always be a way for a couple to restore their fertility if they want to.'
'Yes, by eating grass. Don't you know that there are vast areas of Africa where the long-term drought is so severe that fresh grass can't be found?'
'If the drought is that bad then they can't be producing their own food anyway; tell me, is it really sensible to conceive children in conditions of drought and famine?'
He gestured angrily, sending his coffee spoon flying across the table. 'If we were coldly doing only what was logical, we would be adopting Swift's "modest proposal" and telling the starving to eat their own children. We must accept human needs, and one of the most basic of those is to rear children!'
'Not as basic as having enough to eat.'
We fell into a weary silence for a few moments. It had always ended this way, debates sliding into bitter arguments from entrenched positions.
'It's no good, Luke; we're no closer to finding common ground than we ever were. We have to find some balance here, some way of resolving these arguments.'
He was doggedly determined. 'But this isn't the usual intellectual debate, Matt – you are proposing to attack our fundamental humanity. You must not do this!'
'I have to do it – the alternative is no future for humanity.'
He glared at me for a few moments, then got up abruptly. 'I can see that I'm wasting my time, as usual. You are so obstinately certain that you're right. Well, there's a huge number of people out there who are opposed to what you are doing, in the strongest possible terms.'
I sighed. 'Tell me about it.'
Luke's expression softened slightly. 'It must be very hard for you, all this. I will pray for you.'
'Thanks – the way things look at the moment, I haven't got a prayer.'
Luke marched out, still tense with anger. I looked at the spoon lying on the table. It had left a trail of coffee, as if bleeding brown blood from some mortal wound.
The following morning, Freya had more bad news. 'In the circumstances, the Secretary-General has decided that he doesn't want to proceed with you as a Special Representative. I have been recalled, and you are asked to leave this house within two days.'
I looked at her, scanned her closely. Her fixed expression reflected her tension and anger, but I was relieved to see that they were not directed at me. She had been given her orders, and had to carry them out – but it was clear that she did not like them. She started to say something else, but I raised my hand to silence her and walked out into the grounds. She followed, puzzled.
'The rooms are bugged.' I explained.
Her anger increased. 'Typical!' She snorted. 'Cade, what I want to tell you is that I don't agree with all this. I believe you and the saurians, I think that your message is important and urgent, but it's all a mess now. I either have to do as I'm told or resign.'
A germ of an idea sprouted in my mind. 'Do you have any leave you can take?'
'Yes, I have about three weeks owing this year.'
'Why don't you take them now, and go home to Iceland? I might join you there later.'
She looked levelly at me. 'You're plotting something, aren't you?'
I grinned. 'Probably, but it's only a vague notion at the moment. I have to do some research first.'
'All right, I expect that the Secretary-General will be pleased to get me out of the way for a while. If there's any way I can help, I will.'
Freya left shortly afterwards, and I contemplated what to do next. I put on the headnet and linked with Secundo. I put a number of questions and suggestions to him, and sensed a spark of interest, even excitement – rare for any saurian, let alone the grave and serious Secundo – and then broke the link to let him get to work.
I went for a swim, had some lunch, and was thinking about where I should go next – and how – when the phone rang. I picked it up and was astonished to recognise Richards' voice. He did not waste words.
'Two things. First, about the leak over those killings. The Americans went over my head and got access to your records. Second, get out of that house now – it's a trap.'
The phone went dead before I could ask any questions. I put it down and opened my senses. The two staff members weren't there – the house was empty apart from myself. I extended my range and instantly detected three sources glowing with malign intent, closing fast. One was coming by road – I sensed a truck-load of men – one by water, and one by air. I ran out of the house towards the shore. A small helicopter was visible, racing towards the house. A cabin cruiser was a few hundred metres away, the bow-wave indicating high speed as it approached. I heard the squeal of tyres as the truck turned into the driveway, and stopped for a moment to think.
I considered and instantly dismissed the idea of killing them – it would make my position even worse, confirm the worst fears of the public. In the Sound I would be safe from the men in the lorry and probably the boat as well, but not with the helicopter watching overhead, able to look down through the water. I focused on the helo, found the pilot's mind, and squeezed, giving him a blinding headache. The helo wobbled uncertainly and I increased the pressure. The pilot gave in and turned away as I sprinted into the Sound. Behind me I heard a barrage of explosions and the roar of gunfire as the house was attacked; it sounded as if many grenades had been thrown, but I did not turn back to look. In the water, I swam out as fast as I could towards the approaching boat, reaching deeper water as soon as possible. Then I submerged, turned away from the boat's path until it was passing by, sank to the bottom and shifted my colour to match.
I stayed on the bottom for a long time, deliberately calming down and slowing my breathing and metabolism. The boat crew threw grenades overboard and the concussions battered me, but they were too far away to do any damage. After about twenty minutes they gave up and sailed away at high speed. Once I was certain that they had gone, I slowly surfaced, scanning sensitivity at maximum range. There was nothing out of the ordi
nary visible except for the blazing wreck of the house. I could hear the distant sound of police sirens approaching.
I floated for a while, considering what to do next. Fortunately I still had my headnet, securely protected inside its sealed bag. It was time I disappeared from view. I turned over and began swimming steadily, out into the Sound.
8
I swam ashore at Twin Island, a small, wooded promontory at Pelham Bay Park, on the opposite side of the Sound. I found a concealed place among the woods, the leaves glowing with the rich colours of autumn, sat down, put on the headnet, and linked with Secundo. During the swim, I had worked out what I needed to do next but first I needed feedback. Secundo confirmed that what I had suggested was possible, and that the saurian authorities were prepared to do it. I picked up from his mind how appalled he was at the attack on me, and asked him to keep me posted about what the news media had to say. The headnet now proved doubly useful as it enabled me to make use of the internet via the saurians. I asked Secundo to search for some information for me, then settled down to wait until it was dark.
A night of travelling followed. I would have preferred to follow the coast, on foot or by swimming, but there wasn't time – Secundo had come back with the news I wanted and I had an appointment to keep. I ran inland until I hit a major road, then paralleled it until I found a truck stop. From then on I travelled by commercial vehicles, unknown to the drivers; where I couldn't get inside the vehicles, the strength and endurance of my adapted muscles proved useful in hanging on underneath. En route, I rather apologetically did some breaking-and-entering into a food store to collect some packets of fruit and nuts and bottles of water, plus a backpack to carry them in.
Dawn wasn't far away by the time I reached the outskirts of Boston. Primo had taken over from Secundo and was following my progress using on-line maps. Following his instructions, I left the vehicle near Columbus Park and slipped into the water there. I swam as fast as I could, burdened as I was with my backpack, around Pleasure Bay and into the Main Channel. It didn't take me long to locate my target – a huge Holland America cruise liner tied up to a quay, glowing with light. I made use of my chameleon abilities to get onto the quayside and then slip aboard via a heavy mooring rope, away from the brightly lit and guarded gangway.
Such an enormous ship needed many lifeboats. The larger ones might be needed as tenders in some ports, but the smaller ones were less likely to be used, so I located the remotest one I could find and got inside, just as dawn was breaking.
The day was filled with the sound of preparations for sea; the passengers arriving and exploring the ship, crew messages echoing over the tannoy. I ducked right down on the ship side of my refuge as the passengers assembled on deck for lifeboat drill. Late that afternoon the ship sailed, and I settled down to a long wait.
Most of the time I was trapped in the lifeboat, but in the hours before dawn I was able to get out, use the facilities and take some exercise in reasonable safety, senses alert for the approach of any passengers or crew. I longingly considered the swimming pools, but that would have been too risky. Once, a crewman came to check on the lifeboats. I nudged his mind and he looked away from me before wandering off, satisfied that all was as it should be.
The saurians kept me in touch with the news about my disappearance. The official word had been very bland: yes, there had been an attack on the house in which I was staying, but the house appeared to be empty at the time; no, they didn't know who had carried out the attack but were "following up leads"; no, they had no idea where I was. Comment in the news media was more interesting; it was believed that the attackers had been a group of right-wing extremists, possibly with some fundamentalist religious motivation. Even more intriguingly, it was suggested that they may have had help from people with access to intelligence sources; possibly an unofficial or "black" group with close links to the intelligence community.
The motivation of such a maverick intelligence group was the subject of some speculation; it was suggested that since the US had now obtained the information they needed to construct fusion power-plants and other advanced power systems, I was no longer strictly needed, particularly as they could communicate with the saurians via broadcast email or mobile phone. Such people would be likely to regard me as a "loose cannon" with a dangerous level of influence which was being used against their perception of the national interests of the USA. They would probably prefer to control me in order to benefit from my close links with the saurians, but they feared that my abilities in detecting and countering attacks would make that very difficult, so putting me permanently out of the way was the next best solution.
I pondered this for some time. It was all speculation, but it sounded uncomfortably realistic – or was I just becoming paranoid? Still, as the old joke goes, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't out to get you – and somebody certainly was. If I had the reach of a part (albeit unofficial) of the US intelligence community against me, I was in deeper trouble than I had thought.
I had plenty of time to think on that cruise, to consider all that I had done, where I had gone wrong, and what I could have done differently. At each decision point I had tried to make the best choice I could at the time, but it had all resulted in my becoming a discredited fugitive, hiding from the hunters. Had my judgement been so much at fault? Was I mistaken in what I hoped to achieve, as Luke believed? Would humanity muddle through anyway – perhaps we would be the one iteration of the human worlds to maintain our civilisation by ourselves? In the dark of the nights, my spirits sank lower and I was plagued with doubts and regrets. If it were not for the saurians, always there to link to, I don't know what kind of mental state I would have finished the journey in. They were endlessly fascinated by humanity, by our inconsistencies and contradictions, our impressive achievements and spectacular disasters. Tertia confessed that they liked linking with me – my mind "felt different", despite the saurian modifications. I had always regarded myself as a clear and logical thinker, and was rather mortified to find that the saurians were intrigued by the way in which my thinking "jumped about all over the place" compared with their systematic and thorough approach.
'Tell me more about your relationships,' she asked. 'Your males and females seem to be in constant conflict, always deceiving each other, breaking up and coming back together again in different combinations. Isn't it very difficult to live like that?'
'You've been watching too many soap operas. Most people enjoy uneventful relationships but that would make boring television, so they pick out the small percentage of extreme behaviours and have their characters act those out as if they were normal.'
She thought about that for a moment. 'But if lots of people watch these "soap operas", might they not assume that they are supposed to behave in a similar way – that this is normal?'
'I expect that does happen to some extent, yes. But I think that most viewers probably watch because they can vicariously enjoy the crises and dramas from within the security of their own relationships.'
'It is very hard for us to put ourselves in your minds and understand human actions. We have a similar problem with the saurians in our alternate worlds, who have rejected mind-linking, but at least we think in similar ways about most things – we have shared cultural norms. I don't wish to cause offence but, for us, watching you is like it might be for you, if you were watching a community of blind people who have found clever ways of dealing with their lack of sight but are forever colliding into each other and lashing out.'
'Sometimes it looks pretty much the same from our viewpoint as well.'
The ship called at a couple of places in the Newfoundland area, then went on to Nuuk in Greenland. I looked out of the lifeboat's porthole with interest as the ship entered the fjord. The great ice cap was visible in the distance, but I didn't need the tannoy commentary to tell me about the speed with which it was losing ice as the melting glaciers accelerated their flows down to the sea, lubricated by their own melt-wat
er.
Ten days after sailing, the ship arrived in Reykjavik. By then, my plan was set and agreed with the saurians and with Freya. She had put a wireless internet link into her computer and was communicating with the saurians – and thereby indirectly with me – via email. Her home was out of range of the nearest wireless internet node so the transmissions were completely secure.
In Reykjavik the ship was scheduled to dock early in the morning so I slipped overboard before anyone was about, and thoroughly enjoyed the swim across the harbour, not caring about the cold rain falling from an overcast sky or the chop blown up by the stiff breeze. Freya was sitting in her car waiting for me by the skeletal steel sculpture of a Viking longship on the sea front. I slipped into the back of her Toyota Landcruiser – fitted with the almost obligatory oversized tyres in bulging wheel arches – and lay on the floor, covered by a blanket, as she drove through the city, south-west towards Keflavik. We talked on the way, Freya giving me a running commentary on where we were, interspersed with chat about what she had been doing. I could sense her nervousness and tension only too clearly.
Before reaching the airport, Freya turned left onto the Grindavik road. Traffic was light and I was able to raise my head up to see where we were going. The land became very rugged and barren, the gnarled remnants of old lava flows. Soon the landscape would be white, but the first snow was yet to fall. After a while, Freya turned off the road and onto a rough track which wound its way among the rocks. She eventually stopped on the edge of a depression about two hundred metres across, surrounded by high rocks. The scenery was so desolate it could have been the surface of a moon, were it not for the constantly falling rain. There was no sign of humanity – indeed, of life – except for the barely discernable track winding through the depression. I scanned to the ultimate and confirmed to Primo that no-one was within range.
A few moments later, there was a brilliant flash on the track a hundred metres ahead, and the shattering blast of the explosion rocked the big Toyota a fraction of a second later. There was no fire – there was nothing to burn – and Freya put the car into gear and drove towards the focus of the blast. Lying on the track was a silvery ovoid, hand-sized. I got out of the car and picked it up – I was surprised that it wasn't hot – and Freya turned the car and returned to the road.
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