“Let’s hope so.” I offered a pleasant smile and headed out.
I’d decided to begin with Thoreau, the outie community on my list of three that was the farthest from Passova, not for any other reason than it seemed slightly contrary. Thoreau wasn’t all that far away, just some sixty kays north-northwest, although it took an hour and a half to get there. Geneil’s directions helped, given the essentially featureless terrain of low rises and rolling hills covered with lichen/grass intermittently sprinkled with the low domed bushes that were seldom more than knee-high, especially the one directive that told me to take the road after the one recommended by the SPS, even though it was a dirt track. When I got to the top of a low rise and looked back south, I saw why. The paved road ran into a pond … and out of it as well. The dirt road did rejoin the paved one a kay later.
I kept driving through grasslands that looked untouched, except for the road itself, until I found myself in what I presumed was Thoreau. At first glance, Thoreau didn’t exactly pop into view. I saw several tan stone ovals rising no more than a meter or so above the lichen/grass, ovals no more than three meters across. Farther down the hillside, off to the side of the road I was traveling, I saw a low and longer building, built from the same tannish stone. Then I saw the croplands, alternating rows of grass and leafy green plants that stretched at least a kay on a stretch of flatter ground. The strips of grass were roughly two meters wide, while the plant strips looked to be three meters wide. As usual, there wasn’t a tree in sight.
I kept driving until I reached the long building. While set into the ground, it rose a good two meters above the surrounding grass. There was actually an inscription carved into the stone over what looked to be the main entrance—Thoreau Community Center. I ended up parking the van on a stone-paved square beside the walk leading into the community center.
Then I got out. Standing by the van, I looked around.
A short man in a rough brown singlesuit approached me. “Can I help you?”
“I suspect you can. I’m Paulo Verano. I’m an ecologist, and I’m visiting a number of outland communities to see how they fit into the environment.”
“Dannel Craik. I’m the local patroller and coordinator. I thought you might be something of the sort with the Survey van there. What do you intend to do?”
“Look around. Take measurements. Talk to people.”
“You’re welcome to do all that. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep you company.”
“That would be helpful.” Whether it would or not, he intended to do that, and there was no sense in protesting. Besides, I could always learn something, one way or another. “Let me get a few things from my case.”
While Craik watched, I took a series of ambient air readings, then took what I needed from the case and put the instruments in the small carrying bag I also extracted. “I’d like to walk down to the fields or crops there.”
“It’s farther than it looks.”
“I’m sure it is, but you can tell me about Thoreau as we walk. How big is it?”
“You see what you see.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “A little over a thousand folks, eleven hundred twenty last count.”
“What else?”
“What is there to say? We’re an outie community. We like to be closer to the land and the sky.”
“I notice there aren’t any surface dwellings.”
“There’s being close to land and sky and being a damned fool.”
“What sort of crops are those?”
“The closer ones are beans.”
“They must be irrigated.”
“Capillary drip system off tubes on both sides.”
“Where does the water come from? Groundwater?”
Craik looked scandalized, if momentarily. “Skies, no. We don’t believe in mining groundwater. That’s why we locate settlements where we do. We look for places where springs flow naturally, where we can take a small fraction of the water from the springs, or a stream or river. Aren’t many rivers on Stittara, mostly streams. That’s another reason why most communities aren’t that big…”
While he talked, I took more readings. When we reached the first row of crops, I bent down and took a reading close to the ground. From a quick look, the monitors weren’t picking up anything untoward, but I’d have to check later for concentrations lower than parts per million. Then I looked at the lichen/grass. The blades looked healthy enough. “What’s over there?”
“The little patches are herbs and spices. We grow stuff like that special for the eateries in Passova. Next row over is miniature plums. Bred to stay close to the ground.”
I kept walking on the narrow path at the end of the rows, from crop row to crop row, passing what would be potatoes, Craik said. I saw a handful of people, mostly checking the irrigation systems or calibration, I suspected. There was also a small machine tilling one row, looking the size of an anemic landcrawler.
“How does the diffused light affect the growing season?”
“It takes longer,” Craik replied, “but the seasons are longer, and there’s almost no winter. Get two crops a year. Except in the years we lose one.”
“Skytubes?”
“Storms around them mostly.”
In time, I started back up toward what I thought was the center of Thoreau.
Since I didn’t see much sign of building or excavating taking place, I ventured, “Thoreau seems fairly settled, a long-established community.”
“One of the older outland holds on Conuno.”
“Is there much change in population over time?”
“No. We’re pretty stable, no matter what the Council thinks.”
“Thoreau … or all the outland holds?”
“All those that I know. Wouldn’t be that much sense in having more children than we have food or jobs for, would there?”
“Are there any new holds around here?”
“Hasn’t been a new hold on Conuno in a hundred years.”
I nodded, but that certainly didn’t square with what I’d heard in Passova. “How do you support all the agriculture? You’ve got a sophisticated system here.”
“Ingenious application of minimal high tech for simple systems … mostly. Don’t believe it for a moment that we’re some sort of land grubbers or peasants.” Craik chuckled. “I’m afraid we’ll be disappointing you. Come with me.”
I followed him up the gently sloping path past the community center to another stone oval, although this one had a stone-paved ramp leading up from a reinforced composite vehicle door. Beside that door was a solid personal entrance door that Craik opened. The door was solid, but not a pressure door.
He looked back at me scrutinizing the door frame. “It’s solid. We use indirect diffuse venting to deal with storm pressure changes. It’s worked fine for centuries.”
I closed the door, a solid but simple hinged affair, with what looked to be a metal double-bar storm brace on the back side, and followed the patroller down a corridor into a well-lit chamber filled with various sorts of equipment. I didn’t immediately see the light sources, then realized that the entire ceiling had point sources of light—simple optic fiber lightpipes most likely running from hidden surface receptors designed to concentrate the diffuse ambient light. I would have guessed that at night, the lightpipes ran off some other powered illumination system.
“Kearyl! Are you here?” called Craik.
“Coming!” called a voice from a side corridor.
“I thought you’d like to meet Kearyl Laine. She’s the head engineer for Thoreau.” Craik gestured to the fresh-faced muscular woman who entered the main chamber. She could have passed for a security type, except for the wide smile she offered.
“This is Paulo Verano. He’s a Survey Service ecologist.”
“I’m doing an ecological study of Stittara for the Unity government.”
“They sent you here from Bachman?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Does someone think something’s wrong?”
�
��More like the SoMods want proof that nothing is, or if it is, an assessment of what’s wrong and how to fix it.” I wanted to see how she responded.
“Nothing’s wrong in the outland communities. We balance everything.”
“Do you see Survey enforcement people here often?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Only from their flitters. You’re the first Survey person we’ve seen in years.”
I certainly didn’t think of myself as a Survey person, but I let that pass. “You mind if I take a few readings?”
“Go ahead. You’ll get a slight spike on volatiles. I was repairing a crawler/tiller, and the filters likely haven’t cleaned the air.”
They watched as I took out the atmospheric monitor, then fed the data to my link. “A tiny spike,” I said.
“The city folk think we grub in the land. We work in it and with it, but here in the community, we use fusactors, the same as the cities and facilities do,” explained Laine. “We just use them more efficiently. We have one templating center here…” She gestured.
I recognized the equipment … and its clearly well-maintained status.
“… but we can do anything that needs to be done. We can even model our own templates for things like the crawler/tiller.”
“Where did you get your training?” I asked, again out of curiosity.
“We’ve got our own edulink,” said Craik. “Some of our people do go to the university.”
That sounded defensive, but I just nodded.
“Thanks, Kearyl. I imagine the ecologist has a few more measurements to take.”
I took the hint and said, “It’s likely to be a long day, even so.”
For the next five hours I walked in and through Thoreau—from the spotless community center to a produce processing center, to the main lorry bay, through part of a small school, and through an underground arcade that smelled like the outdoors but held a modest range of shops and craft stalls. While several people initially stared at me, the stares were brief, and they all went back to what they had been doing.
I hadn’t known exactly what to expect at Thoreau, and I hadn’t found what I expected. The question was whether the other outie settlements would be similar, radically different, or somewhere in between … and I wasn’t about to guess.
By the time I returned to Passova, it was well past seven. While I parked the van in the Survey vehicle bay, I didn’t check it in, since I’d be taking it out again in the morning.
44
Fourday was my day to visit Doones, and I was in the van early, this time heading east and then turning north roughly halfway between Passova and the dropport. Since Jorl Algeld had said that Doones wouldn’t be a problem, I was eager to see what the difference might be.
Just before eight, I drove over a low ridge, not that there appeared to be any other kind in the areas of Conuno around Passova, and into a wide valley that stretched to the northern horizon, or so it seemed. Unlike Thoreau, there were at least twenty low buildings, all protruding from the lichen/grass that grew right up to the stone and all showing less than two meters above ground level. They were clustered in general groups of two or three, each grouping separated from the others by roughly a kay. The roads were narrow, but paved. In the end, I followed the road into what looked to be the center of the community and pulled up on the stone-paved square in the middle of three low buildings. Although I saw people walking along the street to the north, and two men working on the top of the end of the building farthest from me, I didn’t see anyone immediately nearby as I stepped out of the Survey van. I walked to the rear to get to my equipment case.
“Mykail! What are you—”
I turned to see a woman, wearing the same kind of brown singlesuit as Dannel Craik had the day before, come up a ramp from the entrance to the nearest building.
She broke off her words as she neared, then said, “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Mykail of Survey Service enforcement?” I asked in as friendly a tone as I could.
She grinned sheepishly. “As a matter of fact … yes. He was only here last week.”
“I’m Paulo Verano. I’m doing an ecological assessment of Stittara, and that includes a sampling of outland communities and activities.”
The grin vanished. “Poulina Maruka.”
“You’re the local patroller and coordinator?”
“Yes. Why didn’t Mykail come with you?”
“Because I’m not part of enforcement. I was sent from Bachman to do a periodic assessment at the behest of the Unity government.”
“Now what?” There was a certain exasperation in her voice.
“Would you like to see my ID and authorization?”
“No. That’s not necessary. Could you tell me why you’re bothering us, though? We create less of a footprint on the environment than the multis or the cities do.”
“I don’t intend to bother anyone. I just intend to walk around, talk to people, take some measurements, and depart. Yesterday, I was at Thoreau. Tomorrow, I plan to be at Hobbes. Next week, I’ll visit more outland communities.”
“How many of the multis have you visited?”
“So far as I can tell, all of the large ones.”
“They let you in?”
“They didn’t really have a choice. They’re multis. If the oversight committee of the Unity government heard they’d refused…” I shrugged.
An amused smile replaced the polite hostility. “What did you find?”
“Not all the analyses are done, but … they’re abiding by all the rules.”
“What do you think of the rules?”
“I have the feeling that the rules don’t cover everything. That’s one of the reasons why I’m here.”
For a moment she was silent. Then she said, “Tell me a little about yourself, if you would.”
While the whole situation was getting a trace bizarre, I didn’t see that telling Poulina Maruka my background, which was known to the Planetary Council and all the multis, could hurt. “I’m Paulo Verano. I’ve a doctorate in environmental studies from the Reagan Institute on Bachman…” From there, I gave her the entire spiel, just the facts, though, and nothing personal. When I finished, I just waited.
She shook her head. “What does the Planetary Council think about your study?”
“Councilor Morghan asked for a briefing. They’re following what I’m doing, I suspect.”
At that, Maruka smiled again. “What did you do in Thoreau?”
I told her, including Craik’s comment about accompanying me.
“I’ve heard about him. He’s very protective.”
“Quietly so, I got the impression.”
“It’s better that way.” She paused. “Do you want to start with the crops or the shops? Or the sanitary systems?”
“How about crops, then sanitary systems, templating centers, and then shops and public places?”
“You’ve got a long day ahead, Doctor.”
“So do you, if you’re coming with me.”
Maruka laughed. “I’d cover most of those places anyway.” She pointed. “The oldest crop strips are this way.”
We headed out.
Obviously, I couldn’t walk every field or even every different kind of crop, but we covered enough that I could point to a broad sample of both crops and locales. We did visit all the sanitary central locations, not that there were many or that they were large, because each dwelling unit recycled and reused the majority of goods, except for the compacted and dehydrated waste organics, which each dwelling owner had to deliver to the central recycling synthesizer.
When we’d finished going through the last arcade of shops, and that was after five in the evening, Maruka walked back to the van with me. She watched as I loaded my gear back into the equipment case.
“You’re going to Hobbes tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan. Unless a storm comes up or I get into an accident.”
“I’ll let them know to ex
pect you. You won’t get quite as much hassle.”
“You’re not all that fond of Survey enforcement, I can see.”
“The good ones do what they’re supposed to do. The others … they usually don’t come back. I’ve linked with our Council liaison. The Council doesn’t have a problem with what you’re doing so long as you do the same sorts of things you did here and in Thoreau.”
“There’s an Outland Council? I’ve never heard mention of it.”
“The Planetary Council doesn’t recognize it. Officially, we call it a coordinating body, and they can’t do anything about that.”
I nodded. “Tell me, if you don’t mind, what you think about the skytubes.”
“You tell me first. Then we’ll see.”
Once again, I’d triggered something, but I just nodded. “Fair enough.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “What I’m going to say … well, there’s no proof that I know of, and it’s based on my own observations and analysis of what the data doesn’t show.”
“Doesn’t show … Rather interesting way of putting it.”
“For thousands of years, analysis of high-altitude weather patterns on T-type water worlds has indicated that microscopic organic material survives at incredibly high altitudes, and in some cases, actually thrives. But there’s never been a case of anyone proving that this … material was more than thinly spread and largely disorganized. The only evidence here on Stittara consists of privately held reports that I know of but cannot access, which suggests that airborne organic materials are more prevalent and better organized.” I looked at Maruka. Had I seen a hint of a nod? I couldn’t tell. So I went on. “I suspect that those materials are far better organized. Whether they’re the equivalent of airborne jellyfish whose movements influence the weather and storm patterns, and whether the skytubes are a manifestation of that, or whether I’m seeing things, or whether there’s even more there, at this point I can’t tell.”
Maruka shook her head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be saying that anywhere else.”
“You said you’d offer your thoughts.”
“I did.” The amused smile returned. “Like all science types, you’re looking for facts you can replicate in your laboratories, or somewhere. This time, you won’t be able to do that. We all know that. So will you. Like I said, someone who doesn’t understand might hear what you said. It’s not likely to be good for your health.”
The One-Eyed Man Page 27