Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  "According to your blog, you want the Planetborn to 'assume their rightful place' in the running of the colony, whatever that means. I agree that Planetborns are under-represented in the colony administration, but I see that as a symptom, not the illness itself. I want to restore unity to the colony; you want to increase the influence of the Planetborn. I will not support you in establishing a propaganda drive to empower the Planetborn while suppressing the influence of the Earthborn and Shipborn. I won't help you further the already alarming division in the colony."

  Kerry was glowering. "You just want to perpetuate the power of the Earthborn at the expense of the Planetborn!"

  He shook his head. "If you really believe that, then we have nothing to discuss. I won't sit here while we shout slogans at each other; especially slogans as ridiculous as that one.

  "For reasons I won't go into here, I did not raise a Planetborn child. But you know as well as I do that the people you are talking about are your parents, and you are their own children. My goal is to heal the rift that has arisen between you."

  "If they would just…" Kerry began.

  Ken waved a dismissal. "Please. I've heard all the slogans and tag lines, and I'm not interested in discussing them. You're here because you want to create a newsie. You want to do good for the colony, and make a few bulbs doing it. I applaud your entrepreneurism. I've been hoping imaginative people would begin coming up with new and profitable ventures. But I tell you now that I will not do anything to lend legitimacy to someone who just wants to spread hatred and division." He shook his head sadly. "I had hoped that you wanted to establish a newsie on the model of the old American version of the free press. But that model requires responsibility, objectivity, and fairness. And I've heard nothing that encourages me to believe that they have any place in the newsie you plan. There's certainly no sign of them in your blog."

  Anger flared in her eyes, but her frown was one of disappointment. She visibly forced herself to calmness. "But that's what I wanted, too!" she wailed. "I know what propaganda means; it's just a harsh word for advocacy. Well, I don't see anything wrong with advocacy of a cause you believe in.

  "But," she continued, "I also know the difference between advocacy and journalism, and editorialism and news. My newsie will contain advocacy, but only on an editorial page." She paused. "Right now, all we get on the 'net is Council reports and blogs from people like me, just spitting out their individual points of view.

  "We need more than just crop reports and diatribes. We need a newsie, something that tells people what happened yesterday, and who did what to whom, and how, and why. Yesterday, Frank told us that he thought he'd found usable concentrations of iron ore. That's news! People shouldn't have to wait months for his 'official' soil analysis and then have to wade through hundreds of pages of data to find it out."

  Ken frowned. "Uh, I think that was an offhand remark that Frank expected would be off the record. In fact, it may not even be true. I think he was just making conversation."

  She nodded excitedly. "Exactly. That's where that 'responsibility' you were talking about comes in. That remark isn't a story, it's just a lead to a story. I would have to interview him and try to preview his findings, and maybe even try to find somebody else that knows about mining to confirm his opinion."

  Ken nodded. "But responsibility is only one third of the issue. Suppose I had a census report that showed that less than half our people are now engaged in producing food. Would the headline read. 'Progress; Less than half our people can now produce enough food for the colony', or would it be 'See, we don't really need that many farmers', or perhaps 'farmers now a minority, except on the Council'? Would it be a straight story, or a diatribe in disguise? What if a farming advocate, an Earthborn, gave out a statement claiming that our food supply was in danger because the Planetborn aren't doing their share? Would you cover it? Would you report it straight, or would you demonize or ridicule him?

  "What about a human interest story about how the Planetborn are abandoning their aging parents? Would you print it? Would you accept 'letters to the editor' that disagreed with your own opinions? Would you print them as is, or use your editorial power to ridicule them?

  "These are the things I’m concerned about, Kerry. I was a politician on Earth for many years, and I've witnessed a wide variety of journalistic misconduct," he paused to smile, "as well as political misconduct. I don't want puff pieces, but I don't want attack journalism and hatchet jobs, either. You're asking me to place my trust and my support behind someone who is a known, and sometimes savage, advocate. By the way, advocacy is not propaganda unless it's false or misleading. And I'm afraid some of the things I've seen in your blog come under the heading of 'misleading', or at least 'slanted'."

  She was near tears, now, though Ken was unsure whether they were tears of disappointment or anger. "But I can be objective," she complained. "Do you think I want to hurt my own parents? I love them very much. But they're wrong about a lot of things." She waved a hand. "Never mind. But in your examples, I'd like to think that I would write that story as straight as I could. Then I'd try to imagine how my parents would react. Would it seem unfair to them? And as for your Earthborn farming advocate, I might hammer him on the editorial page, but on the news pages I'd try to be scrupulously fair to him. I might need a statement from him another time, and besides, if I kept demonizing or ridiculing my sources, I'd end up with what I've got now; a blog for Planetborns.

  "I want everyone to read my newsie, not just those that agree with me. Yes, I'd run that human interest story; it would generate a lot of comment from both sides. And I'd already decided I'd do my best to run letters to the editor straight and complete, only correcting the grammar and stuff. I want the editorial page to be a lively, wide-open place for people to exchange views, popular or unpopular.

  She slammed a fist on the arm of her chair. "You're judging me on the basis of a blog that is honestly and openly one-sided. On my blog, I'm trying to explain and advocate the Planetborn viewpoint. I don't want to spread hate, and I don't want to incite violence. I just want the Earthborn to understand our point of view, so we can talk to each other, instead of past each other.

  "But that's a whole different purpose from a newsie. A newsie is to inform the people, to keep them up to date on happenings in the colony. We have over five thousand people in the colony now, and we have never had a systematic news source. The 'net has always been informal and hit-or-miss, and sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between news and, yes, propaganda.

  "But with a real newsie, people would be able to trust the information they're given. It would be verified before being published, and people could be confident that it wasn't being slanted toward a certain viewpoint.

  "So, yes, Messer Terhoe, any newsie I produce will follow the old American Free Press model, not EarthGov's perversion of it, and I have no doubt that I could be honest, fair and objective. And I want your support because you can get me access to Council members and Council reports before they hit the 'net, and because you know everyone, and can help me get sources for stories and verification.

  "But I can do it by myself if I have to, because the colony is now large enough to need a newsie. Your help could make it better and more authoritative, but I can do it without you.

  Ken sat silent for over a minute, frowning at the table in front of him. Finally, he spoke.

  "All right, Kerry, I'll support your newsie, with a few conditions. First, I will see to it that you're added to the list of those receiving advance copies of reports and summaries. In return, you promise not to use the information to mousetrap Council members and others before they can have seen the reports. You may, of course, brace them for comments, but only after the reports have been circulated for long enough that they can reasonably be expected to have seen them.

  "Secondly, I will make sure that all the Council members know that you are a genuine newsie, and not just the same old Planetborn blogger. In return, you promise to let th
em know when you are asking a question for your blog. You will also promise not to blog about something in the newsie until after the newsie has been published; I won't help you 'get the jump' on other bloggers.

  "Thirdly, I will agree to vouch for your authenticity as a newsie any time I'm asked, as long as I'm convinced you are doing your sincere best to meet the standards of the old American Free Press model, before it got all distorted and finally replaced by the EarthGov version.

  "Finally, I will give you as much access to myself as possible, and will try to be as open as possible in my comments, as long as you understand that you will occasionally hear, 'No comment', or something similar.

  "I think I can do all these things on my own, without needing Council approval, but you will need to understand that you will have no special privileges. There will be no silly court cases about refusing to name sources, for instance. There will be Council members and others who will refuse to answer your questions, or even to talk to you. That is their right, and you will respect it, and not use it against them. Do we have a deal?" He stuck out a hand.

  She looked at him quizzically. "No 'equal time' nonsense? No 'Council Review' of my stories?"

  His grin was open and honest. "No. That 'equal time' nonsense was one of the perversions I mentioned that predated EarthGov. Mind you, I can't guarantee the 'no Council Review' thing; but they'd have to push it through over my protests and negative votes."

  With a broad smile, she reached out and shook his proffered hand. "Deal."

  Chapter 17

  Eleventhmonth 20, Year 23 A.L.

  "Well," Vlad exclaimed. "Young Messer Creding! How can I be of service?"

  Ron looked nervous and, Vlad decided, embarrassed. He wondered what could provoke that combination of reactions in the young Planetborn. "How are the preparations for your exploration trip downriver going?" He continued. "I know the Council approved use of the small airship for long-range reconnaisance."

  Ron nodded. "Yes, sire, Doctor Renko. That's, uh, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Vlad raised an eyebrow, and Ron flushed, which only emphasized the greenish tinge to his skin. "Uh, well, you see, sire," Ron carried on, "we were running through the supply list for the trip, and Tran said something about how he wished EarthGov had given us some long-range telescopes, and maybe some cameras.

  "Well, sire, that got me to wondering. Maybe EarthGov did give us telescopes and cameras. And maybe even other stuff. I wondered if anyone has ever asked the comp?"

  Vlad's eyes widened and he snapped upright in his chair.

  Surprised by the reaction, Ron continued in a rushed tone, "You see, sire, we know that Messer Montero tried for years to get the Council to authorize exploration, but they always refused…"

  Vlad nodded. "And, since we knew we'd be turned down, why bother to do the research? Ron, I think you're onto something, here. Let's go talk to Ken. He's the one with Admin access."

  Ken was less sanguine about the possibility. "It's been twenty-three years. Surely at least the Scouts would have asked." He shrugged, but turned to the terminal in his office in the Colony Building. "Evelyn, are there exploration equipment and supplies stored aboard?"

  Ken's avatar was a plump, middle-aged, rather sweet-looking blonde that bore an uncanny resemblance to the holo of his wife that adorned his room. "Of course, dear," the computer replied in a warm contralto. "Exploration equipment is stored in compartment 7-3071A. Specialized supplies are stored in compartment 7-3071B." The voice firmed, became more mechanical. "Access to lading lists for these compartments will require Administrator authorization."

  The three men exchanged wide-eyed looks. Ken mashed his thumb on the pad. "Administrator authority accepted," the computer said in that strange mechanical tone, but in the same contralto voice. It continued in the warm, human tone. "What would you like, dear?"

  Ron flushed. He'd heard stories of people who'd fallen in love with their avatar. Ken Terhoe had apparently created an avatar that duplicated his dead wife, even her voice and tone. Ron suppressed a shudder. To him, it seemed like reanimating a corpse, and he thought it rather creepy. But apparently, to Ken it was a way to maintain a long-dead love.

  Suddenly he remembered how his mother had had the computer send copies of the recordings of all of his father's classes to her tablet, and how many times he'd found her listening to one of them and weeping quietly. He shrugged. If it helped the man carry on, well, he had no objection.

  Ken smiled. "Please send copies of the lading lists for those compartments to this terminal, and Doctor Vladimir Renko's and Ronald Creding, Junior's tablets. Access to those compartments are authorized for those personnel."

  The avatar smiled. "The lading lists have been transmitted. I'm afraid that access to those compartments will require a retinal scan. What else can I do for you today, dear?"

  The image on the monitor became a closely spaced list crammed with descriptions and details. At the bottom, the page said 'Page 1 of 274'. Ken whistled and smiled at the wide-eyed Ron and Vlad. "Well, son," he said. "It looks like you've got days of work ahead, just finding out what you have. Evelyn, all personnel designated 'Explorer' are authorized access to instructions for the use and maintenance of these materials. Are there any equipments or supplies that will require Administrator authorization?"

  "Administrator authorization will be required to authorize the fueling of the R65C metals detector and the JZE-101 Contact Vehicle." The formal tone was back, sounding odd in that warm voice.

  Ken frowned, but an even deeper frown crossed Vlad's face. "Why?" Asked Ken.

  "Those vehicles are powered by small fusion reactors, and their fuel pellets are stored in HazMat storage. Administrative authorization is required for retrieval of this material."

  Vlad slapped his forehead. "Of course! I remember now! Oh, not the R60-whatever, but Ken, you were a politician. I'll bet you remember the other one too, once I mention the SoAm Robot."

  Ken's eyes widened. "That's the SoAm Robot?" He paused. "Well, of course we'd have one aboard. I just never really thought about it." He smiled "I'd like to see it, once you get it running."

  Vlad looked at a clearly dumbfounded Ron. He smiled. "It was the biggest scandal in the history of the Colony program, and maybe in the history of EarthGov."

  He shook his head disgustedly. "It might even have had an influence on the judge that sent me here. Anyway," he continued, "some whistleblower went to the newsies with the story that the committees tasked with selecting equipment for the colony ships were being subjected to strong political pressure to select items made by friends and relatives of the Administrators and Supreme Councilors, even when they weren't wanted or needed. The JZE-101 Contact Vehicle was Exhibit A.

  "The Committee rejected the thing as unnecessary. But it had been designed and built by a company owned by a son-in-law of the SecGen himself, and it seemed there was a deal with the Administrator of the SoAm Region to build the manufacturing plant in the Brazil District in exchange for his support. The whistleblower released a lot of documents, memos and e-mails showing pressure on the Committee to approve the robot as standard equipment for the colony ships.

  "The whistleblower disappeared shortly after that. Everyone assumed that EarthGov Intelligence caught up with him." Vlad paused and white teeth flared in the mahogany face. "He probably ended up aboard one the colony ships himself. It was too late, of course. The newsies had a bone in their teeth, and they went after it like a starving mongrel."

  Ron didn't know what a 'mongrel' was, but he didn't want to interrupt the explanation.

  Ken picked up the narrative. "The scandal went on for almost a year. Heads rolled, some of them pretty big and powerful. The rest of us politicians just kept our heads down and thanked our lucky stars we weren't involved." He shrugged. "Eventually it faded away, of course. And obviously, it didn't make them stop stocking the robot aboard the ships."

  Ron was looking mystified. "But what is it? You've called it a 'vehicle' and a 'r
obot'. What does it do?"

  Vlad chuckled. "That's actually a pretty good question. I was a roboticist, so of course I was interested enough to look up the design.

  "It was called a 'contact vehicle' because it was designed to assist teams in making contact with extraterrestrial intelligent life, in case one of the ships actually encountered some. Best I remember, it was supposed to serve mostly as a cargo carrier on foot expeditions. But in case the team encountered intelligent alien life, it had a pretty sophisticated computer built in. It also had a lot of compartments containing items that were supposed to dazzle primitives with our magic, and impress developed societies with our own technical prowess and abilities.

  "Some of the propaganda kept calling the computer an 'artificial intelligence', but it was no such thing, of course. In fact, there is no such thing. The most powerful computers ever designed are aboard these ships; but they are simply computers, and there is no 'intelligence' involved."

  He paused, and after a moment, shrugged. "Sorry. I guess the presence of a robot threw me into lecture mode for a moment. I would like to inspect that thing, though."

  "How good was it?" Ken asked curiously. "How advanced?"

  Vlad nodded. "Very good, actually. It may have been a boondoggle, but the design work was first class. Jonathan Mboto designed the 'brain', and Jonathan was a top man. And the rest of the design looked just as good. That's why I'd like to inspect it. I'd like to see if the construction quality is up to the standards of the design." Another of his white grins flared. "Or maybe I just want to get my hands on a robot again."

  Ken smiled. "Well, I'm sure we can accommodate you. But Vlad, make sure your inspection is a real one, not just curiosity. We may actually need to contact another intelligent race, and we'll need all the help we can get, boondoggle or not. Maybe Ron and his kids can really use the thing."

  "Evelyn," he continued, "Do we have any colonists qualified to handle radioactives?"