But not now. Not with the wings atilt and beating up the wind slowly, gaining speed as the computer advanced mass just enough to seize the sun’s far pull and use it. Not with the planets wheeling in the viewer. Not with the pre-eggs making themselves felt and the lingering scent of pleele in her, somewhere. Now she lived and flew, and Rim Star strained and creaked its hull as opposing forces buffeted it, and she was near Outworld, homebound, able to see the Outworld shuttle belch upward on an arc of fire and to see Outgate swimming in space, destination of lovers.
In the storm, the interplanetary magnetic fields were strengthened, and reading them, she knew once again the love of her system, knew the prickling of its forces, and it was impossible to be melancholy.
She sang.
A song of love, of dreams, of endless bliss.
Between the orbits of Outworld and home, she flitted among moon-sized planetoids, playing with disaster casually, displaying a navigational skill attained by few flyers as, just for the pure hell of it, she did a complete orbit of a jagged, spinning, juggernaut of death in the form of a rock which would have filled the inland sea of The World. Rim Star could do it. She could do it. So that made it necessary for them to do it and laugh, the slow wheeling of the jagged rock portside, near, so near she could see, slightly magnified, that diamonds studded the barren rock. She noted and ran the orbit of the rock into her onboard course recorder. It would be duly reported and, perhaps, if the find was important enough, would add to her flight time in the form of a reward for exploitable discovery. It was highly unusual, the find. And it was sheer accident, happy accident. The asteroid belt had been picked clean, said the veterans, who spent much time there in the early days of flight.
And that made the long flight something to be remembered. She would not let her high hopes build to a level of potential disappointment, but there was the possibility. It was a small rock, and that, perhaps, explained its being unknown, uncharted. And yet there was a possibility that some flyer in centuries past had found it, reported it, and had been disappointed to find, after exploration by a mining driver, that it was not worthy of exploitation.
She luffed, drew closer. Fist-sized stones, gleaming and, to her eyes, perfect, shone in the viewer at full magnification. She rechecked the inflight recorder, making sure that the coordinates recorded there would lead a mining driver to the rock.
She had lost speed. To regain it, it was necessary to orbit with the belt, mass equalized with pull. And a new course had to be plotted. Busy with it, she started when, with a piping complaint, the sensors told of another flyer, approaching from outward. She noted its distance, continued with her calculations. Finished, she addressed herself to the intruder.
Amazingly, it was approaching on a direct line, heading toward the asteroid belt at storm speed. No, faster. Unbelievingly, she watched as her instruments confirmed the speed and bulk. No flyer, that. Not driving directly into the wind. And a driver coming head on at the belt? Were they mad?
"Danger, danger," she sent, on all frequencies, emergency and communicative. "To unknown driver in Area Y-23-5-A, you are on collision course with belt. Veer off."
She listened. From Outworld she heard communicators. A mining driver in the belt identified itself. There was no communication from the driver, which, at strange speeds, came toward her.
She turned communicators to maximum peak, repeated her warning. And now the viewer picked up the approaching driver and measured it. Mass, size. Incredible. Her heart leaped. God!
In all of the system there was no driver of that size. In all of the system no driver of that configuration.
She flashed the system-wide danger signal in all forms, visual, auditory. Light flared from the nose of the driver, and it was braking, but too late. It swept into the belt at a speed which she had not matched at the height of the storm’s fury, going outward. With its speed and mass, it weaved only slightly, picking its way. It passed within thirty thousand miles of her, and at first she hoped that due to its incredible maneuverability, it would pass through untouched. The brief bursts of light, comparable to the light of flares on the sun, seemed to be immensely powerful. The driver was using the force of the sun and that made it absolutely certain that it was not of the Artonuee system. And there was a feeling of awe about her, watching,
praying. Behind, the blackness of space was fired by the massed, exploding stars and there, in local blackness, the fires of a miniature sun as the alien blasted a terrible curve past still another hard, faceted chunk of rock; she could not believe that anything could withstand the stresses of that curve. And then it was making it, followed by her instruments, a blip now on the full screen of the viewer, but almost past, free, almost, in the emptiness of interplanetary space toward New World, a shower of tiny particles, a wall of inertial force as tangents merged and the alien struck, small asteroids bouncing away, larger ones doing terrible damage, and with a crunching finality, the almost head-on contact, at that awesome speed, with the parent rock of the cluster. The alien spun, wheeled ponderously, regained straight-line flight, but it was visibly limping, losing air into all-devouring space as Miaree accelerated, tacking toward it. Her speed matching the speed of the alien now, then overtaking.
Something had spewed into space. Her sensors warned, and she avoided the trail of entrails. Maximum magnification showed the objects to be inanimate, some mechanical, parts ripped and torn from the skin of the alien driver.
With a start, she saw the front of the driver light, braking again. Now it was in the pull of the sun and its original speed was a terrible handicap. The lights of the braking were seemingly weaker. Again and again they flashed, as if in desperation. Still the sunward momentum was in command.
And there was nothing she could do. Even an Artonuee driver could not outdistance a flyer on a sunward track. And as the alien driver accelerated, she saw it pull away.
God, it was unfair. All the years of speculation, of hope, of effort. All the wealth poured into sending unreturned signals into space. And there it was, a driver, a driver from out, and it was diving for the sun on a straight line and would plunge into the furnace in—she calculated—three days.
It was unfair to her and to all Artonuee and it was unfair to the beings on board the doomed flyer. For there, in that battered hulk, was the secret to resist God. To come to the Artonuee system, the driver had had to cross interstellar space. And, unless it was an incredibly old robot machine, it had had to fly at a speed which proved, with finality, that God’s laws were not absolute.
These were her thoughts as she chased futilely after the runaway miracle from the stars. And as it passed the orbit of New World, no longer blinking in that desperate effort to break its fall into the sun, she felt a surge of despair.
Lost. Irretrievably lost. Salvation for the race within her sight and now gone. A blip on the viewer, a tiny particle lost in the vastness of space. Accelerating with the sun’s pull. Leaving her behind as she forgot her flight plan and went past New World in the desperate hope that, at the last minute, a miracle would happen.
She lost the driver in the fires of the sun as it passed the orbit of First Planet, and far from home, overdue, she once again rode the winds outward, but no longer ebullient. Saddened. Shamed at her inability to help.
They were broadcasting her call when she opened the communicators. She edged into Haven, a half-day overdue. The committee awaited at the dock. A stern male boarded Rim Star and confiscated the in-flight recorder.
She was numbed, helpless. It was only when the controller picked up the empty bottle, the jenk liquor bottle, that she was able to submerge her sadness in common sense. The flight recorder would contain her frantic messages to the alien, the messages which had been, apparently, unheard. And such things were not for mere males. There was meaning here. Males, hearing her description of the alien, would say, "It is only the jenk."
"I plead immunity on the grounds of discovery." she said, as the stern-faced male looked at her.
"That is a serious statement. Don’t make it worse, my daughter, by clutching at motes in the wind."
"Nevertheless, I plead." she said. "And I request direct transport to Nirrar to report my discovery." There was the diamond asteroid, of course, but it was not that now diminished discovery which concerned her. She wanted to talk with Mother Aglee. The asteroid would cover her movements.
"And this?" The controller was holding the empty bottle. "Does pleading discovery excuse this flagrant breach of regulations?"
"I will face that." she said. "I will accept my penalty."
"It is usual to withdraw flying rights."
"For how long?" Her heart was hurting. Not to fly ?
"A year. More."
Oh, no, she thought. Oh, no.
"We will put a seal on the flyer." the controller said, "until the hearing."
Chapter Five
The small executive driver which lowered her to the Nirrar port was luxurious and comfortable, but the pleasure was lost on her. In her mind, she could hear the disintegrating whine of metals, the crackle of liquid fire, could imagine the terminal pain of burning. She could see, with her large eyes lidded, the strangely fashioned driver as it plunged sunward. She closed off all sensation, became encased in her body, suffered with the beings aboard the driver, dead by now.
She lifted her privacy screen only when the crush of deceleration weighted her body. She was alone in the passenger section, was standing when the flight crew sent clearance and the outer door hissed, then lowered. Laden with carry luggage, still dressed in spacecloth, she walked from the pad, registered incoming, saw the fare charged to her personal credit. In the warm sun of New World, she stood, hair mussed, smelling chargy from ten days of flying, waved to a public roller.
She knew the city well. They gave the driver directions, waved aside his objections. "It’s shorter to take the river road, lady," he said.
"And fight bumper to bumper traffic as the home-bound government employees are released," she said. "The Western Circle, then Lonwee Avenue."
"It’s your credit, Lady."
Her own dwelling was on the outskirts to the north, in the residential complex around Research Quad. Just off the Western Circle, the new route finished only years in the past, was the home of her Chosen Mother, where she had learned and where she had grown. There were the schools, the parks, the playgrounds.
Near the port, the industrial complexes towered cleanly over the even elevation of the Nirrar Plateau, a site chosen for the capital city of the Northern Continent, a site picked after two centuries of unplanned city development proved to be disastrous for the newly settled planet. Nirrar was new, and yet it was old. In the Nirrar Hall of Wonders she had stood, with youthful awe, before the ancient and battered driver which, two thousand years ago, had first orbited New World. The Hall, itself, was of neo-silk construction and bore a date, over its ornate entrance panel, which established it as one of the first constructions of New Nirrar, following the first two centuries of planetary exploitation which had almost devoided New World of its native flora and fauna.
She loved the city, had roamed its avenues and byways, knew the secrets of its hidden, small dining halls, its tiny, out of the way shops where the exotic products of the five-planet system were on display. She had taken University at The School of the Artonuee, New World, in Nirrar Gardens, to the south of the main complex. Between her fourteenth and fifteenth years, she had served her mandatory aideship in the Hall of Government, starting as a mere clerk and, in one short year, had established a rank which had, to a young girl just out of University, seemed exalted. As assistant to the Charge Advisor in the government of Mother Aglee, she had appeared before the Planetary Legislature to testify on the negative results of the work of government scientists. She had been complimented by Mother Aglee herself on the clarity of her report on the ill-fated expedition to the sunside of First Planet. At the end of her year, she was offered permanent tenure and stood in line to be Charge Advisor when Lady Jonea, who was aging, should hear the call home. Her rank, when she reluctantly refused the permanent appointment, opting to pursue her chosen career in research, was awarded on a nonpension basis, but that rank, she knew, would assure her an audience with the Mother.
"Lady," the roller driver said, as he cruised Lonwee Avenue in ideal conditions, "I bow to you."
She accepted the compliment. He had the accent of the cold outworld,
Five. "Just in?" she asked.
"A year, just shy," he said. "It would have taken a half-hour longer my way."
Since no vehicles were allowed in the Government Quad, she stepped out of the roller at the Southern Gate, had her credit stamped, joined a throng of sightseers on the public conveyors as they moved into the building complex past the impressive neo-silk and metal monuments to past Artonuee heroines. She soon branched into lesser-used paths, entering, at last, an executive conveyor, after showing her pass of permanent rank, and was whisked into the heart of the Quad. The Palace of the Mother towered over all in shining beauty, tall, many-viewered, guarded more out of ancient ceremony than of necessity, by the brightly uniformed Home Squad, tall, young men of seemingly equal attractiveness.
"I am Miaree, Rank Three, former assistant to Charge Advisor Jonea. I would see the Mother." She stood at respectful attention before the appointment clerk, which in itself was not a small feat, having required an hour of rank-pulling and demands.
"Your purpose?" asked the clerk.
"A matter of security," said Miaree. "Pass my name. Tell the Mother that I, Miaree, assure her of the urgency of my business. This I pledge."
The clerk looked at papers. "Could it have to do with a charge of intoxication while flying?"
Miaree’s eyes changed from blue to an imperial purple, flashing anger. "Don’t talk like a male fool."
To the female clerk, it was the ultimate insult. Her honey-colored neck fur undulated as she swallowed her furious reply, for the rude female was Rank Three, permanent.
"I will not accept the responsibility." the clerk said, her thoughts colored with fire.
"Will you pass the responsibility, then?" Her tone told the clerk she had best do it.
"Wait, Lady." The title was delivered in a surge of sarcasm. The clerk disappeared into her inner office. Miaree put her carry baggage on the floor and waited impatiently. "Lady Jonea will see you," the clerk said, after an interminable period of time.
"I know the way," Miaree said, picking up her carry luggage and walking, back straight, rear tucked arrogantly, past the clerk’s desk into the great hall.
Lady Jonea rose, extended both arms, embraced her. "Ah, the charginess of you," she said.
"I came in great haste, Lady," Miaree said. "Forgive my spacecloth."
"The smell of you takes me back to my youth," Jonea said. She was gray. The look of her shocked Miaree. She had a flash of old Beafly. Now he was carrion on The World. "You come directly from flying?"
"Yes, Lady. I—"
"Good soar? Tell me." Jonea had embraced her, released her, regained her seat behind the huge desk with a sigh of weariness. "I have not flown." She let her eyes lid, dreaming of it.
"Lady, I must see the Mother on a matter of utmost urgency."
"She will see you, of course."
"It grieves me to rush," Miaree said.
"I understand." The instrument on her desk was a direct link. It accomplished the results within seconds.
"Come with me," Miaree requested, "for the information I have is directly related to your work. Our work." And there were three of them in the surprisingly small office when Miaree began her report by playing back the in-flight recordings of her warning message to the driver pounding into the belt.
Lady Jonea was stiffly upright in her chair. Mother Aglee, younger than Jonea, but showing tired lines around her mobile lips, rested her chin in her hand.
Miaree waited comment. There was none. Jonea looked at her, face drawn in thought. "Ladies," Miaree said, "it was n
ot an Artonuee driver."
"No," Mother Aglee said simply.
"I beg your pardon?" Miaree asked, surprised by the lack of reaction.
"A tragedy," Mother Aglee said, shaking her handsome head. "A tragedy."
"Mother, please, do you understand?" Miaree was leaning forward in her intensity. "It was not an Artonuee driver. It used as power a source which gave the same radiations as the sun, though not so intense, of course."
Mother Aglee rose, ran a delicate hand down the front of her robe of state. She opened a drawer, withdrew a carefully protected packet, motioned toward Miaree. Miaree rose, accepted the packet, looked at Mother Aglee questioningly. "Open it," Mother Aglee said.
The pictures were on duppaper, slick, indistinct in image. "We received these three years ago," Lady Jonea said. "There are many more. These were the first and came from a great distance."
The pictures were simple drawings, reproduced in dots on the duppaper. There were scars and slashes of static, but the images were discernible. A planet circled a sun, a rim sun, position indicated by a superimposed drawing of the galactic wheel. Picture two was three figures. Biped. Different, yet near the Artonuee form. A larger figure, naked, male genitalia evident. A medium-sized figure, the male identification absent. A small figure with smaller male genitalia.
Stunned, Miaree looked up. Mother Aglee smiled encouragingly. "Life," she said. "Intelligent life."
Miaree turned the next image. Stylized stars in collision, an arrow locating the planet. So near. Strange figures along the arrow.
"We think the figure represents God’s Constant," Lady Jonea said. "We have been working on it. Note that there are stylized rays alongside th e figure."
"Yes," Miaree breathed. "It would be less than one unit, but are their units the same?"
"God’s Constant would be measured, in all probability, in relation to the planetary year. We would have to know—"
The Legend of Miaree Page 3