CHAPTER TWELVE
There wasn't a lot of time to be spent at Moscow. They did drive out with some of the drilling engineers the first thing the next morning, but the operations were concerned primarily with obtaining samples of materials melted in the nuclear blasts, offering little to see. The surroundings were bleak, somber, and depressing, the feeling perhaps intensified by the knowledge that millions of people had been wiped out here, along with their city. They were happy enough to return by mid morning to catch the small, twin-motored service plane taking the repair crew back to Europe.
The "room for two extra" turned out to be a couple of folding jump seats in the rear compartment of the craft, cramped between toolboxes, cable reels, and assorted gear and tackle. Soon they were flying above a monotonous landscape of gray plains and marshes cut into patterns by sullen, winding rivers. Even the sixth of the planet that was supposedly land looked to be half water, Kyal thought to himself. Lorili was less talkative today, staring out at landscape, absorbed in her own thoughts. Fatigue was no doubt taking its toll. Kyal pulled the hood of his parka up around the back of his head as a cushion and settled himself as comfortably as it was possible to get against the bulkhead and the wall ribbing. Within minutes he was dozing.
* * *
Living things had fascinated Lorili since an early age. One factor that had no doubt contributed was her growing up on the island of Korbisan, in the Venus's northern mid-temperate region. "Temperate," that was, as the term was understood there. Hot and humid, covered with dense vegetation, and teeming with life, it would have qualified as tropical by Terran standards. The equatorial zone was too hot and dark from heavy, ever-present cloud cover for comfort. Life there was sparse due to sulfurous gases and pollution from liquid and vapor hydrocarbons, and it was generally avoided.
From their observations of the complexity of life and the intricacies of universe, Venusians had always considered obvious that the reality they found themselves part of owed its existence to a powerful creative intelligence of some kind, that made its presence felt through the very functions of consciousness and spirituality and life. If it acted for anything that could be understood as reasons, they would be its own reasons. Since there was no obvious way of knowing what such reasons were, or of doing much about them in any case, the sensible reaction seemed to be to accept that the span of existence called life was there, and get on with making the best of it. Although various speculations were sometimes aired, nobody claimed to really know the nature of the implied intelligence, its motives, the extent of its powers, its mental state, or much else about it. It was simply acknowledged as an organizing principle that defied the physical laws of inanimate forces and matter and caused impossible things to happen. In everyday speech it was referred to in such vague, general terms as "The Scheme of Things," which in latter times biochemists unraveling the genetic codes carried by the immense nucleic acid molecules had whimsically personified as "The Great Programmer." Sometimes, as when dealing with children or simply as a convenient shorthand, it was given the name "Vizek."
The Terrans had arrived at similar conclusions too. But in following their fashion of molding reality to suit their wishes, they had taken things to an absurd extreme by projecting their own fears, desires, likes, and dislikes into various forms of divine beings that concerned themselves with day-to-day human affairs, and judged, rewarded, or punished them as if the universe existed for that sole purpose. The cults founded on these beliefs proved an effective means of social control, enabling a few to exercise power and control over the many. A number of Venusian exo-historians, pondering skeptically on the discrepancies they uncovered between the ideals the cults preached and the reality of how they behaved, were led to wonder just how sincerely the professed beliefs were held. Strangely, it had never seemed to concern more than a minority of Terrans.
Venusians accepted that some restraint on individual behavior was necessary too, of course—but as a practical, common-sense aspect of making communal societies workable, not out of obedience to some supernaturally handed-down law to be coercively enforced. To Venusians, external conformity obtained through coercion was meaningless and in the end, self-defeating. Behavior that emerged freely from following their own internally adopted standards was what said something worthwhile about people. Politeness, a mindfulness for decorum, and respecting others through observances of simple social etiquette were examples.
Along with the Venusian world view came the generally noncontroversial notion that the immediately apprehended material aspect of reality represented just a part of something vaster. Although some theorized on such things as the possible nature of the rest of it, and whether consciousness of some kind continued beyond death, the prevailing attitude was that, as with anything else, things happened in their own time and they would all find out soon enough. Lorili had never been particularly interested, having a more practical outlook on life which she brought also to biological matters.
In this connection, there was one aspect of Terran belief systems that intrigued her. With their characteristic compulsion to polarize around extremes, they had reacted to the irrationalities and antics that went with humoring their vengeful, imaginary gods by constructing an ultra-purist concept of science that insisted everything could be accounted for in terms of material phenomena capable of being observed and quantified, and denied the reality of anything else. Not surprisingly, this brought them into conflict with the cults and politics based on anthropocentric gods; in fact, some Venusian historians were of the opinion that irreconcilable differences between the two camps had been at the root of most of the Terran wars.
While such an outlook might have been overly rigid and restricted by Venusian norms, it had led the Terrans to a theory of life originating and developing via purely naturalistic means that, whatever else might be said, was striking in its originality. Lorili wasn't sure how far, if at all, she was convinced by it yet. But it had an audacity and appeal that made it irresistible as an object of study.
She had always been motivated by curiosity about new hypotheses and an inclination to test them by experiment. Also, she had to admit to a certain delight in prodding institutions that were getting too staid, and challenging them to stir themselves not simply to seeking new discoveries—which happened of their own accord anyway, when the time was right—but to entertain new ideas. It followed that by instinct and nature, she had become attracted to the Progressive movement. It wasn't so much a case of believing it could achieve the things its proponents claimed, or opposing the detractors who said it couldn't work. She didn't know. None of them knew. That was the whole point. As with the questions that guided her experimental designs in the lab, it was a new idea that made here curious enough to want to find out.
The more scientifically inclined among the Progressives quickly absorbed Terran-inspired ideas of the natural evolution of life into the philosophical underpinnings of the movement. It gave them a means of questioning the traditional notion of existing as parts of some vaster, unintelligible scheme, and advancing instead the claim of being accidental products of the universe, unconstrained by any role, free to assert themselves to whatever extent they were capable of achieving. If the traditional views could be wrong about something as fundamental as this, they could be wrong about a lot of other things too, which would legitimize much of what the Progressives had been saying. As a professional, Lorili appreciated that emotional appeal could have no bearing the scientific fact of the matter, in the way that some of the Progressive campaigners seemed to imagine. But she couldn't deny an irreverent side to her nature that found it amusing to see traditionalist scientists spluttering and rushing to the defensive, instead of making lofty pronouncements.
She looked across at where Kyal was by now asleep, and smiled to herself. But here was one who seemed refreshingly different. He was definitely from a traditional type of background—what else with a father like Jarnor Reen?—raised to the correct mores and acknowledging his own conse
rvatism. But unlike so many, he didn't seem to feel he had to be proving his case all the time. It was an uplifting feeling for Lorili to be not just tolerated by such a person but accepted unconditionally; to be recognized as a person with a right to be herself, as she chose, without being categorized or judged.
A rap sounded on the door leading forward to the crew cabin. It opened, and one of the repair team in coveralls stepped through, bringing a couple of mugs containing hot drinks. The noise and movement caused Kyal to stir and wake up.
"I thought you two people could use these. Sorry about the accommodation. We're less than an hour out now."
"Don't worry about it," Korili told him. He handed the drinks over, nodded, and disappeared back up front, closing the door.
"Well, I fine amount of sightseeing you're doing," Lorili commented while Kyal rubbed his eyes and straightened up.
"There's not that much to see just at the moment. . . . Oh, my. . . ." Kyal set his mug on a ledge and flexed his arms. "I guess it all catches up with you after a while."
"Feel better?"
"Yes. I needed that. You just keep going and going, eh?"
"I didn't arrive here from Venus the day before yesterday."
"At least I've got the sense not to go straight off running up some Himalayan mountain somewhere, like Yorim."
"Is he the one who came out with you? The electrogravitics expert. A Gallendian, you said."
"Right."
"What's he like?"
"An old colleague. We've worked together for years. Solid and dependable. The kind of pal you'd trust anywhere. If I was going to climb a mountain they way they do with ropes and things, he's the kind of person I'd want to have at the other end."
Lorili asked, just to see how Kyal would take it, "Is he kind of traditional too?"
He endeared himself more by merely smiling in a way that seemed to say good try. "He's easygoing with either side. What you might call an ideological eclectic. Rides with the flow. The pragmatic kind—and so are you deeper down, if you want my honest opinion. He says it was their fixation on ideologies that messed the Terrans up." Kyal paused to sip his drink appreciatively. "I need to call him. He'll be interested in that business about Froile that they were talking about last night."
"You mean whether it contributed anything to Venus's spin rate?"
"Right. That's more his department."
"How come you haven't called him before?" Lorili asked.
"What for? If he needed anything, I'd have heard."
"How do you know he hasn't fallen off a mountain?"
"If he has, then there wouldn't be any point in calling him, would there?"
Lorili shook her head despairingly. "Guys!"
Kyal grinned, took his phone from an inside pocket of his parka, and flipped it open. "It should make you feel appreciated. You see, we need females around. The reason there are two sexes has nothing to do with producing children. The biological part's easy. It's to raise them. They need a bit of both of us. . . . Ah, it looks as if we're through. They've certainly got the net up and working here."
"Can I say hello to Yorim?" Lorili asked.
"Sure. I was hoping you would."
"Really? Why?"
"Oh. . . . Just to see his face, I guess."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm supposed to be so traditional. Remember?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The group that Yorim was with had changed their plans at the last moment and gone westward from Rhombus instead of east. Wearing an open bush shirt with britches to just below the knee, and a floppy-brimmed hat that a site worker he'd stopped to talk to had given him, Yorim was sitting not far from Jenyn near the top of an immense weathered pyramid. Naseena and Mowrak were clambering about a short distance above, around the summit. The others, were below, exploring tunnels that had been discovered, going deep into structure.
The pyramid was the largest of three, standing between flat grasslands that disappeared to the horizon in one direction, and a broad river running south to north in the other. According to the geologists, the area had been a dry desert once. A strange effigy of an animal in repose with a human head stood near the pyramids, which along with other constructions in the surrounding area dated from a civilization far older than the Western technological one. Many great cultures had evidently arisen on Earth and been gone and practically forgotten by the time of whatever the final calamity had been that ended all of them. It brought home just how young Venus was in comparison.
"You know what this reminds me of?" Yorim said, still squinting out at the distance. "You remember the guy that I was with in Rhombus, who went his own way, Kyal? He's an electro-propulsion specialist. We went to some trials once, that they were conducting back home, of an experimental model of a high-power interplanetary drive they're talking about that would land you right down on the surface. But to do that, an incoming ship would need to lose its excess buildup of charge. The attractor they used was this kind of shape—a pointed artificial mountain. It focuses the field, like a lightning rod. You'd need something like that even more here on Earth. It's more active electrically than Venus. Doesn't have the same amount of cloud blanket to act as an intermediary distributor between space currents and the surface."
"Technical matters don't concern me," Jenyn answered. "My subject is languages."
Yorim hadn't formed an impression of him as the friendliest of people, but there was nobody else nearby to talk to just now. Jenyn seemed to be of the kind who never smiled, as if he preferred keeping others at a distance. Maybe he felt that setting expectations of amicability conferred an obligation to live up to them that put him at some kind of disadvantage. Yorim didn't particularly care why. "Is that what you were doing across in the Americas?" he asked.
"Yes. In the north they spoke mainly English, which is the principal language that we're studying."
"But England was over this side, right?"
"True. But more sources are turning up over there." Jenyn looked across at where Yorim was sitting. "It was a legacy from the times when the English were a nation of conquerors. They had a huge empire for a time." Yorim got the feeling he was looking for approval.
"If you say so," he replied noncommittally.
"Don't you think Venus could learn something from Earth?" Jenyn persisted. "How to stand up and fight for the right to be independent, for instance. To reject these constraints we have to live under, that say you can only be what the approval of others allows you to be." His tone moved a notch toward being conciliatory. "I would have thought that would appeal to someone like you. You seem like an independent kind of spirit. I'm pretty good at sensing a potential rebellious streak in people—the instinct to be one's own person."
Yorim showed his teeth, drawing a plant stem between them that he had picked up somewhere and was still chewing. "What are we talking about here, Progressives and traditionals? That kind of stuff?"
"Yes. It's no secret that I believe very strongly in the Progressives. Naseena said it in Rhombus, when we met."
Yorim shook his head. "You've got me wrong. I just get on with my life and try to enjoy it without spoiling anybody else's. There's probably some truth on both sides. I figure it will all come together in its own time without people needing to blow each other up the way the Terrans did."
Jenyn was not being put off so easily. "You must be the adventurous type at heart, who has to test limits. Why else would you come to Earth?"
"I'm just on my way to Luna with Kyal to do a job. We're electromagnetics specialists. Propulsion and gravity. That's what interests me. The other business isn't worth getting tension sickness over. Life's too short."
"But it's not quite that simple, is it? Holding back when you could play a part is no different than working against us. Changes are going to happen. Will you be happy to just sit on the side and the accept the freedoms and rights that others won?" Jenyn paused for an instant. "Maybe even died for?"
Yorim looked at him disbel
ievingly. "Died for? You're not seriously suggesting that what's going on back home could come to armed conflict?"
"Who knows?" Jenyn shrugged. "Anything is possible. Terrans wouldn't have shrunk from the thought of it. . . . But tell me, out of curiosity, if it did come to that, where would you stand, do you think?"
Yorim sighed and shook his head. "You just don't give up, do you?"
Jenyn's face remained serious. "The Terrans taught us never to give up. Study their history. In any social order, the top level eventually becomes complacent and idle, set in their ways. When that happens, somebody else displaces them. Venus is ripe for such a change today. So now it's our turn. But it took the Terrans to show us. They were attuned to it. They created a world of ideas, passions, crusade, and conflict that makes ours look tame and timid."
Yorim snorted. "Sure. And look what happened to it."
"We don't know that they were responsible for whatever happened."
Echoes of an Alien Sky Page 8