I eased the van to the side of the road, then stopped, and got out, going to the rear and extracting a rock hammer from my equipment case. Then I walked across the grass to the edge of the badlands. There I got another surprise, because the rim of the vitrified area was just that—a smooth curved edge that was a precise line of demarcation between grass and the amorphous masses of the badlands. The surface of the stone, or whatever it was, was as smooth as if it had been finished, but there was no gloss, and I doubted that the surface was particularly reflective, although without anything resembling direct sunlight, it was hard to tell. The colors were even darker and “muddier” than they had appeared from the road.
After a moment I knelt and tapped the stone. The sound was more like a dull thump. I hit harder, and the thump was hardly any louder. There were also no impact markings. I reversed the hammer and swung it as hard as I could. It was like hitting armor, and the shock that went from my hand all the way up my arm hurt like hell or somewhere even worse. I set down the hammer and flexed my hand and fingers for a minute or so, then looked at the stone. There were only the faintest scratches on the stone.
After a moment I stood and surveyed the vitrified wasteland, but I could still discern no sense of pattern. Finally, I began to walk along the rim. Some sixty yards on, I found a place where the slope downward was so gradual it was almost flat, but when I put one boot on the surface I could feel my foot slide. If I tried to explore the place, the surfaces were so smooth, I’d likely be trapped. The only way to be certain to avoid that would be to anchor a line to the van, and I didn’t have any rope or cable.
So I settled for walking another hundred yards or so along the rim. In the end, all I could see anywhere was smoothed-over, vitrified amorphous chaos. As I walked back toward the van, I realized something else. There was no dust or dirt collected in the depressions below, as would have been the case on any other world. Was that because it couldn’t stick to the smooth stone? It couldn’t be just that. The storms and the skytubes had to be scouring it clean at least periodically.
I swallowed and kept walking.
I finally resumed driving, shaking my head at the incredible understatement behind the word “badlands.”
51
The northern edge of the badlands that I drove along appeared to be only slightly more than five kays across, although I could see that the frozen chaos of once molten rock was far wider to the south. Another ten kays farther, and just before nine I pulled up and parked the van in front of the community center of Docota, a town that appeared far smaller than any of the other outland communities I’d visited so far.
Once more, about the time I was transferring my monitoring gear into the carry bag, a patroller strolled up the ramp from the entrance to the community center and walked to the rear of the Survey van.
“You’re the ecologist, Dr. Verano?”
“I am.”
“Pierse Shawn.” The patroller nodded slightly. “Dunuld sent word that you might show up here. What do you think of the badlands?”
“Besides the fact that the term ‘badlands’ is about as understated as you can get?”
“Understatement is an outland trait.”
“How long has that badlands been there?”
“Since before Stittara was colonized. The best estimate is over two million years.”
“Are there other badlands?”
“A few hundred. I wouldn’t know for sure.”
“And they’re not mapped?”
“They show on the maps as ‘rugged terrain’ or ‘rocky areas.’”
I’d seen those, but hadn’t realized that such labeling was also an understatement. “Are there any that postdate colonization?”
Shawn shook his head. “Not that we know of.”
“It’s rather impressive … and unsettling.”
“It gives that impression … almost as if it had been intended to.”
“By the skytubes?”
“Can’t say that, Doctor. No one’s ever seen that kind of power or destruction from a skytube.”
“Something focused a lot of heat or energy there.”
“Had to be,” he agreed. “You want to monitor the crops first.”
I understood. That was all he was about to say, and another question about whether the skytubes created the badlands would only get me another nonanswer … and irritate someone there was no point in irritating.
Pierse Shawn was like all the other outland community patrollers I’d met—cordial, helpful, but not effusively friendly. He was also quietly organized, and I finished everything I needed to do, helped by the fact that Docota was indeed a small community, comparatively quickly. By a little before one in the afternoon, I was packing my monitors back into the equipment case, with Shawn standing by.
“Will the south road take me to Greenpax?” I asked.
“It does go there.”
“Is there somewhere else that might be better?”
“Well … if you take the south road about five kays, and go west for twenty-two kays, then south on the road on the west side of the river for forty, you could likely be in Jaens before dark. That would let you see Jaens, and the next drive to Greenpax would be shorter. I’d not be telling you your travels, though.”
“Are there any guesthouses there where I could stay in Jaens?”
“More than a few.” Shawn offered an amused smile, suggesting that Jaens was indeed larger than Docota.
I offered my thanks and appreciation, got back in the Survey van, and followed his directions, knowing full well I was being guided or directed. But when one side doesn’t want you to see something, following the guidance of the other side can be instructive, both in letting you see what you might not otherwise … and by the places from which you’re detoured, giving you an idea of where else to look. Or … if you end up seeing everything you need to see, you have a better idea of whom to trust about what.
When I got to the last turn mentioned by Shawn, it wasn’t so much a turn as an entry onto the largest paved road I’d seen since the one linking Passova and the dropport, and several lorries rumbled by going both north and south. Then, on the flat some five kays short of where Shawn told me to expect the beginning of Jaens, I passed what my link told me was the regional flitter port. It didn’t look all that different from the Passova dropport. From there into the center of Jaens, I encountered a scattering of vehicles of various sizes … but more than I’d seen in total in all the other outland communities.
The building in the center of Jaens wasn’t a community center, either. The entrance—entirely aboveground, something I hadn’t seen in any outland community—bore an inscription carved in stone: “Outland Communities Council Center.” This time, I didn’t even get to the rear of the van before a tall man in a brown dress singlesuit with a tan jacket over it walked quickly from the building to meet me.
“Greetings, Dr. Verano. I’m Merrik Rahle.” Rahle was a good head taller than me, with flawless honey-dark skin and short red hair. His voice was a rumbling bass, its sonorous menace only slightly disarmed by the warm smile. “I’m the head of outland security for the Council. You’ve been very cooperative. We do appreciate it, and we hope that it will be to your benefit as well.”
“All the community patrollers report to you, then?”
“Technically, but in reality they report to the regional security coordinators, who report to me.” He glanced to the north. “While I don’t want to hurry you, it might be best if you moved the Survey van to the security bay.”
“Should I be more worried about the multis or the Planetary Council?”
“At the moment, there’s likely not much difference so far as you’re personally concerned.” He walked around to the passenger side of the van, opened the door, and slid in. “I’ll give you directions.”
I got back into the van and followed his guidance, roughly a block north and a half block east, to an unmarked vehicle door that opened as I drove up. Unlike the other outl
and vehicle doors, the few I’d seen, this one was not only a pressure door, but there was a second armored pressure door one level down. I parked in a bay down the ramp from the second door, which did close behind us.
“This should shield whatever tracer is in the van and also hide it from satellite surveillance.”
“What did you mean about there not being much difference?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean, but I’ll spell it out just to be clear. For differing reasons, neither the Planetary Council nor the multis want you to know too much about Stittara. Yet they’d prefer you to complete your report without controversy and in a way that will give the Unity no reason for concern and no reason to make changes in either the governance of Stittara or the operational controls of the existing multis.”
“And what does the Outland Council want?”
“Almost the same thing, except we want an end to present and possible future atmospheric and high-energy experimental projects such as the ill-fated Pentura project and the current RDAEX effort.”
“And you’d like political parity with the Planetary Council.”
“That would be nice, but it’s unnecessary, since we believe that will occur in time.”
From just my one meeting and briefing—and the explosion directed at me—not to mention the “official” maps of Stittara towns and cities, I had my doubts about the Planetary Council’s easy or early acquiescence in sharing power. Yet … with Rahle’s knowledge of both the Pentura project, and whatever it had been, and of the RDAEX project, it was clear he had more information than I did.
Without saying more, Rahle opened the door and stepped out of the van.
I followed his example and found myself standing in a well-lighted vehicle bay that made the Survey Service bays look slightly grimy.
“You can bring your monitoring gear if you’d like. Take whatever readings please you.”
I did take one monitor from the case, just in case, but I was getting the impression that more environmental monitoring outland communities wasn’t going to add much to my assessment or improve my chances of surviving to complete the assessment.
“Why is the Outland Council worried about the RDAEX project? Have you brought your concerns before the Planetary Council?”
“We’ve attempted to suggest that any directed high energy is not particularly wise. The previous two Planetary Councils, in turn, which shared our belief, conveyed their concerns to RDAEX. That resulted in some … more active … Council elections. The present Council does not believe that it should interfere with the business and research decisions of powerful multis.”
“I understand that there will be elections later this year.”
“Four members are up for reelection. Most of those are members who share our views … although we have heard that some other factors may be in play.”
“What other factors?”
“I’m afraid those are only rumors at the moment. The Outland Council is only advisory, and advisory bodies cannot afford to deal in rumors. I trust you understand.”
“Has Councilor Morghan come down for or against ‘conveying concerns’ to RDAEX? That should be factual … somewhere.”
“The councilor has been greatly concerned in the past. The present Council has held no votes on the matter.”
“She’s concerned about RDAEX getting into Stittaran politics, then?”
“That has always been a concern of every Council member,” replied Rahle smoothly. “Stittara only has a few million people. We must rely on the support of the Unity government in matters dealing with any Arm multi.”
“And if a multi has the Arm government behind it?”
“I’m certain you can see where that would leave the Planetary Council, Doctor.” Rahle turned and walked toward an archway, beyond which a ramp was visible.
The ramp, in turn, led to a tunnel that brought us into a rotunda. On one side ramps led down from the entry gallery I’d observed from outside. On the other were two sets of double doors, closed. Light poured down from a domed ceiling. It had to be some form of intensified lightpiping because I didn’t believe the outlanders would use artificial illumination for a rotunda and because the natural illumination of Stittara was too diffuse to provide such intensity.
“Lightpipes?”
Rahle nodded.
“How did you manage to step up the intensity?”
“The use of natural diffusion in reverse, I understand. I have no idea how it works.”
“There’s a Council chamber here?”
“Through those double doors. They’re not meeting this week.”
“What do they think of my assignment here? Do they even know?”
Rahle smiled. “They know. They think it could be beneficial or a disaster.”
“That’s why all the not-so-indirect guidance?”
He nodded.
“Might I ask how you know?”
“I’m on the Council.”
“Oh.” That was involuntary. I’d figured that Rahle was important, just not as high up as he obviously was. “I see. I think.”
“Not yet. This way.” Rahle continued across the rotunda to a single door on the far side.
Seeing as I didn’t have much real choice, I followed. We entered a wide corridor with regularly spaced doors on the left side.
“I’m assuming that Jaens is the unofficial outland capital, or at least the Conuno continental outland capital.”
“Both, in fact.”
“Where are we headed?”
“To a short meeting. After that, you’ll be free to do what you want in Jaens. Oh … you won’t need to worry about a place to stay. We’re putting you up in one of the Council’s guest quarters.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Kind … and in our self-interest.”
We only walked another fifty meters or so before Rahle turned down a side corridor to the left. At the end was a door.
A young-looking patroller stood by the door. Unlike the others I’d seen, he wore both a long-barreled stunner and a truncheon at his waist. He nodded and said, “He’s expecting you and the doctor, Councilor.”
Rahle opened the door and stepped through. I followed. The patroller closed the door behind us.
The chamber was oval-shaped, with one end of the oval at the entry, except the other end had been cut off by a flat wall perhaps two-thirds of the way from the widest point to where it otherwise would have ended, so that the distance from the entry door to the rear wall was some fifteen meters. Old-fashioned bookshelves, some two meters high, comprised the lower section of the rear wall. About half the shelves held books. The other shelves appeared to hold objects or artifacts. Set before the bookcases was a wide antique console desk, with a semicircle of eight chairs facing it.
The man who stood from behind the desk console was slightly shorter than I, so thin he might not have cast more than a rodlike shadow on any world with direct sunlight, and with short black hair shot with silver, something I hadn’t seen before on Stittara … suggesting he was ill or quite old, although he appeared to be neither. He did not speak as Rahle and I approached, walking across a light brown oval carpet whose border appeared to represent entwined lichen/grass and purple skytubes.
Rahle stopped short of the chairs. “Dr. Verano, I’d like to present you to Tedor Roosan, the first councilor of the Outland Communities Council.”
“I’m honored to meet you, sir.” I inclined my head politely.
“As am I to meet such a noted ecologist,” replied the first councilor, adding dryly, “and one who has caused so much quiet consternation.” He gestured to the chairs. “Please do sit down.”
We all sat.
“I noticed you studying the carpet as you entered, Doctor.”
“I was. It’s quite striking and appears to be of excellent quality.”
“It is.” Roosan nodded sagely, although I thought I caught a twinkle in his eyes. “The grass/lichen and the skytubes have grea
t similarities, for all their apparent differences, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know enough about the skytubes to make that kind of analysis.”
“Then I will merely observe that there is far more to each than meets the eye, and leave it to you to complete your analysis as you can. I did wish to meet you. It’s not often that the Unity sends someone so qualified to assess a planetary ecology as a whole.”
“Not often?” I questioned. “Has it ever?”
“No. Not that we know. I do have a question or two for you, Doctor. Do you consider yourself an honest ecologist?”
I laughed. Then I said, “I’d consider myself well educated and well grounded, experienced, careful, as thorough as possible under the situational circumstances, and even-handed in assessing situations. But … honest? Probably not, because using honesty as a term of evaluation in dealing with the environment indicates that nonenvironmental considerations are in play, and taking such factors into consideration can’t help but bias any environmental assessment.”
A look passed between the two councilors.
Roosan nodded once more. “So you would place an accurate assessment above other factors?”
“Begging your pardon, but that’s a deceptively dishonest question. Decisions have to be made on some basis. If you don’t have an accurate assessment, you’re likely to have bad decisions.”
“That’s true. But what if the decision-maker is incapable of understanding the assessment or unable to act in a way that would not result in what, shall we say, an impartial observer, not that there are any in real life, would consider a disastrous result?”
“That’s usually not the role of an ecologist doing an assessment.”
“I’m sure you’re correct in that,” replied Roosan. “I’d like to ask you one more question, but I don’t want an answer now. I’d prefer your answer after you finish your assessment.”
I had a feeling I knew what was coming. I nodded.
“What would you consider the right course in presenting an assessment to an authority where an incorrect policy based on that assessment would result in great ecological and enormous physical harm?”
The One-Eyed Man Page 32