by S MacDonald
‘From now on,’ Sarat told the Sub who was their liaison officer, ‘you only need to tell me about things you want decisions about, and I’ll tell the others and let you know what they’ve decided.’ As he stared at her, dumbfounded, she adopted a slightly scolding tone, distinctly maternal. ‘You can’t keep trying to talk to all of us all of the time, it’s tup, you haven’t got the time and you’ll wear yourself out. So be told. We’re going to do it this way – the easy, sensible way.’
Within an hour, Sarat’s idea was news all over the planet. It passed from island to island, radiating out in a cascade of calls ranging from chiefs calling one another with ‘have you heard about this? What do you think?’ to people merely calling relatives and friends to have a laugh about Sarat telling the Fourth what to do.
‘I cannot,’ Tan admitted, the following morning, ‘believe what I am seeing.’
‘Nor can I.’ Alex said, with considerably more feeling. Tan, he knew, was amazed because the Carrearranians had long-jumped over several key development steps straight into the process of forming regional governments, and even more astounding than that, were already moving that towards a global structure.
It made sense, of course. It was, in fact, just the kind of logic-based thinking the Carrearranians were so good at. Ask them to come up with creative ideas for the use of a globelight and there’d be a tumbleweed silence. Ask them to solve an evident problem with clear logical breakdown, though, and they’d have got the solution almost before you’d finished asking the question. The problem here was evident; there were too many of them trying to talk to too few of the Fourth. The solution was evident too, to appoint representatives to speak on behalf of the group. And while they were doing that, it made sense to confirm what had already been the case for all practical purposes anyway, that Arak had their authority to speak for them as a planet.
This being Carrearranis, however, their thinking stopped short of being creative in naming the new higher echelons of government on their world. The regional representatives were to be known as elder chiefs, literally translated as Elder Elder Elder. And Arak, being recognised as world leader, was to be called Chief Chief – Elder Elder Elder Elder.
Tan had not expected, realistically, that they could be looking at the establishing of a global and regional structure for at least a couple of years. He had been prepared to be patient, too, no matter how long that took, since it was essential for that structure to arise from the Carrearranians themselves deciding that there was a need for it, and not for it to be imposed from outside. He was overcome with joy, and all the more so because the various elders within each region were now embarking on the process of deciding which of them would be the leading elder in their particular fields of expertise, for the purpose of liaison in that with the Fourth. That was going to make Tan’s work, when he took over here, immeasurably more straightforward.
Hearing the note in Alex’s voice, though, he put his own delight on pause to look at the skipper enquiringly. Alex did not sound happy. He seemed, in fact, really quite horrified.
‘Mmmn?’ Tan asked, since he’d taken a bite of croissant after he’d spoken.
‘Oh…’ Alex gave himself a little shake, and managed an apologetic smile. ‘It’s all right – all good, I know that, it’s excellent all round, logistically and in terms of seeing how readily they do adapt to changing circumstance. I think, frankly, seeing that, I really understand what you meant about the Guardian holding them back – left to themselves, they’d certainly have developed a long way, possibly even more advanced than we are ourselves. And it is good, really is, to see them picking up from the loss of the Guardian and starting to develop – an amazing thing to see, a privilege to be part of.’
‘But…’ Tan prompted, having swallowed his croissant.
‘But…’ Alex admitted, ‘I must admit, it’s just hit me… when we were talking about the islands forming regional cooperatives we expected that to grow out of established relationships, groups of islands which share harvesting on particular atolls and that kind of thing. It never even occurred to me that they would form regional governments from their liaison groups. That was never intended, it was just a logistical structure for us. And so arbitrary, you know, simply taking the number of islands there were and dividing by the number of officers we’d got, assigning them in geographical patches. But now they’ve taken that up and they’re basing their regional and global government on it, and I … well, I can just imagine in a hundred years, a child asking ‘Mummy, why are there thirty eight nations?’ and the Mum saying, ‘Because that’s how many officers they happened to have on the Heron when the Fourth arrived.’’
Tan laughed, not unkindly.
‘First contact,’ he said, ‘can impact on worlds in very unexpected ways.’ He spoke with the knowledge of a man who had studied every first contact in the League’s history, in considerable detail. ‘But you know that everything you’re doing here is crucial for this world and its future.’ He gave Alex a curious look. ‘So why, particularly, is this freaking you out?’
Alex did not deny that he was feeling just a little freaked.
‘Because I didn’t intend to do it, I suppose,’ he admitted. ‘And perhaps a bit because I’ve slipped into thinking that we understand these people and know what to expect. Tup.’ He shook his head, and Tan chuckled again.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘you’re doing brilliantly – every call you make is for the welfare of those people and the future of their world, and nobody could ask for any more than that.’
Alex felt the metaphorical bomb in his hands give a little click and whirr as if engaging itself on a countdown. There was an awful sense of inevitability. He was going to have to face this, and he knew it. For right now, though, he shot Tan a look which conveyed not while I’m eating, and Tan raised a hand very slightly in a gesture of acknowledgement. Making Alex choke once had been funny, but he didn’t want to keep on putting him off his food. And this was not, as Tan knew, something that Alex could think about and still retain his appetite.
That did not, inevitably, stop him thinking about it. He was aware of the gentle pressure coming from Tan all of the time and no matter what he was doing, like a quiet tick tick tick at the back of his mind.
Time was running out, too. He knew that. The earliest date that they could hear back from the Senate on whether they had ratified the Codicil was now just over two weeks away. If – when – it was confirmed that the Senate had recognised Carrearranians as a genome of Homo Sapiens, there would be no further bar to the Fourth making that all-important first-footing visit groundside. Exactly how they did that and what agreement was made for furthering that relationship would decide this world’s future, not just for now but for all the generations and the centuries to come. They… he… had to get it right.
But all he could do for now was wait. The Senate and/or the President might well send clear directives out along with their decision on the Codicil, in which case Alex would be relieved of responsibility for anything more than enacting their orders. Part of him was hoping that would be the case, so long of course as those orders were sovereignty-respecting, honourable and fair to Carrearranis. And he refused to believe that the Senate would send any orders that were not sovereignty respecting, honourable and fair to Carrearranis. Certainly they’d have more sense than to send out such orders to him.
He was right about that. When the answer did come back from Chartsey there were no surprises in it at all. The full Senate had been called to emergency sealed session to have the Codicil put before them. There, they had debated it for seven hours and sixty three minutes, at the end of which a call to put it to the vote had gone unopposed. As expected, pragmatism had carried the day over concerns about moving the goalposts which defined what it was to be human. A few Senators had voted against, determined to keep the human club exclusive on principle, while others had abstained in protest at what they saw as Envoy von Strada forcing their hand. Most, though, had seized on i
t with relief, recognising that it solved all the immediate concerns about public reaction if they had to admit that Carrearranians weren’t human, or the long term difficulties of working with them as a non-human planet right on their borders if that alien status had to be kept as a secret. Von Strada’s solution, it was felt, might have been somewhat high handed, but he had acted within the limits of his authority and it was a workable solution, the best they could do in the circumstances.
On that basis, it had been passed by majority vote and duly ratified. A special Senate Messenger was sent out to them with that news, too, making the same journey which Tan had accomplished and in the same time, too, of thirty seven days. Lacking Tan’s readiness to wear skydiving gear and sleep in a hammock, he arrived in a suit and was so shattered he could hardly stand up straight. Even so, he managed to hold it together long enough to present the Senate-sealed tape he’d been carrying all that time.
‘From the Honourable Members of the Senate House, Your Excellency, Captain, Sir,’ he said, evidently feeling that this covered all the bases.
‘Thank you,’ said Alex, and leaving the Messenger to be taken away and looked after, went to his cabin to open the tape. When he emerged a few minutes later, the smile on his face had everyone cheering before he’d even put the confirmation on the board. Codicil ratified. And he was already calling Arak, too, to tell him the good news.
Within minutes, it was on global broadcast. The Senate has accepted that we’re human. There was more, admittedly, of ‘And so they darn well should’ about that than outright celebration, but there was a touch of relief in there, too. There was even more relief in the Fourth, with many people there not having quite as much confidence as Alex had in the Senate’s ability to make the obvious, sensible decision. And there was pleasure, too, when it became known that neither the Senate nor the President had sent out any orders trying to direct the mission by remote. Shorn of Senate-speak and presidential guffery, the latest directives from Chartsey did no more than tell Alex to keep up the good work. I know that we can rely on you to do the right thing, said President Tyborne’s personal memo, and though that made Alex grimace, it made him nod, too. They could, all of them, rely on him to do the right thing.
So he went ahead and did it.
‘So now you can come visit?’ Arak asked, when he was talking to Alex again, later on.
‘Yes,’ said Alex. They had been ready for days; shuttles loaded, poised for the word. But Alex got up as he spoke, moving from the command deck and into his own cabin. ‘Bear with me a moment, Arak,’ he requested, and shut the door, locking it with a do not disturb before he sat down.
The ticking of the bomb had stopped. There was only silence now. And only the next few minutes would tell whether it would go off and destroy everything that they’d been working for.
‘There is,’ Alex said, with the calm and steady hand of a bomb disposal expert, ‘something very serious I need to talk to you about.’
Twenty Four
Three days later, after extensive discussions and very little sleep, Alexis Sean von Strada declared war on the people of Carrearranis.
It was, without a doubt, the shortest war in the history of the League, the most amicable declaration of hostilities ever made and the most cheerful and confident surrender.
It was accomplished as part of their first-footing visit, itself a wonderful occasion. The shuttle carrying Alex and the first-footing team came down to the patch of beach the islanders were already learning to call their landing pad. The first-footing team had been carefully chosen – as Alex took the first historic step onto Carrearranian ground, it was Martine Fishe and Silvie who stepped out behind him and stood to either side. Silvie was already laughing. Arak had asked for her specially to be included in the first landing party. She was a hero to them all – not only had she saved young Barut when he would certainly have drowned, but she’d given them that excellent advice when the issue of their genetic status was causing such a muddle. It was thanks to her, the Carrearranians felt, that they’d known what to do and had got the League Senate to recognise them as humans, so they had a great deal to thank her for.
And the same went for Alex, as they told him, times eight, times eight. The whole village came rushing forward to greet them, shouting, laughing and embracing. There was no possibility whatsoever of Alex making any ceremonial speech, and that suited him just fine. All of the landing party went down on one knee to be hugged, a protocol worked out on Buzz’s advice, and as they were surrounded by more than a hundred people all trying to hug or pat them, touching their hair and feeling their clothes, Alex laughed too, a moment of pure joy. He had spent months getting to know these people, worrying for them, doing everything he could for them, and now, finally, they could meet in person. He could feel Carrearranian sand under him, feel the light sea breeze, the smells of wood smoke, cooking food, the jungle beyond. After so many months on the ship, the open sky above was overwhelming.
So was the welcome. It was several minutes before they could get up and be led into the village, and several more before they’d been seated in the places prepared for them and provided with refreshments. Having been advised that the offworlders could drink only water and eat only a little soft fruit that was what they provided.
It took some nerve, though, even to eat and drink that. The water, served in a wooden gourd, had simply been scooped out of a spring bubbling out of the earth. The gourd itself was no more than a seed pod and it had been in use for years, too, with nothing like the League would consider a thorough cleaning. As for the fruit, it had grown wild, out in all weathers, crawled on by insects and touched by unwashed hands. The bacteria levels in both water and fruit would get them treated as biohazards aboard ship.
Alex put the gourd to his lips and drank. The water tasted every bit as revolting as he had expected it to, but he had trained for this and sipped the tepid, earthy-tasting water without flinching. He was trying very hard not to think about the filthy ground this water had filtered through, or the bits of dead insect that might be floating in it. He nibbled the fruit, too, under the eager eyes of the whole village, beaming at him delightedly when he accepted the food. This was soft fruit by Carrearranian standards, the kind of fruit that they mushed down for babies. It was still as hard as a crunchy apple, though, and Alex took the time to chew each of the little green berries very thoroughly before he swallowed them.
This courtesy done, the islanders concluded the ceremony of welcoming strangers, forming up as Alex had seen them do many times, now. The elders with their sashes stood to one side, the villagers gathered on the other, and Arak stood up front, representing them.
‘Joy to you, Alex,’ he said. ‘And to us. It is a new day for our world, which we rise to meet with boldness and joy.’
He paused, looking expectantly at Alex, and there was some anticipatory giggling amongst the villagers.
‘Ah,’ said Alex, recognising his prompt, and with that withdrew a folder from his pocket and held it prominently in his right hand. ‘It is with great joy that we greet you too,’ he said, ‘and in a spirit of true friendship that I declare, on my authority as Presidential Envoy, that a state of hostility exists between the peoples of the League and the people of Carrearranis. I make this declaration on the grounds that children on your world are suffering in ways which we consider to be intolerable and which compel our intervention.’ He paused for a moment as there was some laughter at that, and his own face was so serious that the laughter faded out. ‘I do this,’ said Alex, speaking straight from the heart, ‘for the welfare of your children, your children’s children, and their children’s children.’ He paused again, then laid the folder down on the ground before him and said the fateful words; ‘You are, as of this moment, to consider your world occupied by the forces of the League.’
Arak grinned. He seemed undaunted by the idea that hundreds of highly advanced and heavily armed worlds with a population running into trillions had just declared war on their
little world, population one hundred and thirty two thousand, four hundred and eleven. The might of the Heron alone was beyond their understanding, with its great laser cannon, missiles and rifles. The most sophisticated weapon the Carrearranians had was obsidian axes. Nobody, but nobody, could consider this any kind of fair fight.
Arak, though, clearly found the whole thing highly entertaining.
‘We surrender,’ he said, using the League word because there was no equivalent in Carrearranian. And with that, he grinned, holding up his fingers. ‘These are our terms,’ he stated, and ran through them, clearly rehearsed and ticking off each point as he went with a folded-down finger. Alex, seeing that, did not look at Silvie, but he knew she was sparkling with merriment. It had, of course, been Silvie who had coached Arak in the protocol of giving his response. Having him do so with one of Alex’s own mannerisms was just pure mischief.
‘One,’ said Arak.
The terms were just as Tan had suggested – to Silvie, not to Alex. It had been tacitly understood that Alex must remain aloof from advising the Carrearranians on the terms of their surrender when he was the one making the declaration of hostilities, so he had kept himself out of that. Tan, too, was reluctant to appear publicly in any advisory role on that issue. That, after all, was the whole point of getting Alex to do it, keeping Tan himself and the Diplomatic Corps as free as they could be from being seen as responsible for this. When word got out that Alex von Strada had declared war on the helpless little people of Carrearranis, there would be protests on just about every world in the League. Civil rights groups everywhere would declare him Public Enemy Number One. A system president, indeed, would refer to him on camera as ‘that psychopath’. Demands to know why such an evil swine had ever been allowed anywhere near Carrearranis would storm at the Senate.