Escape from the Drowned Planet

by Helena Puumala

  Suddenly he smiled.

  “That’s why I like it,” he added. “Why I live there. I feel at home there, among all the different kinds of people. After all, I’m a mixed blood myself, my father having been a Borhquan.”

  “Are you saying that you don’t look like a Lamanian?” Jocan’s eyes were wide.

  Mikal chuckled.

  “I certainly don’t,” he averred.

  “So what do Lamanians look like if they don’t look like you?” queried the youth.

  “They’re a very delicately built, very pale people with heads larger than is the norm on this World, and no hair growth on their bodies,” explained Mikal. “They have beautiful, large eyes and small facial features otherwise. Some of them, you’d think a strong wind could blow them over, physically, but they are people of formidable intelligence. Theirs is the most important planet in the Star Federation and there is a reason for that. These people may seem hide-bound to others in the Star Lanes, with their rules and their laws, but they have a genius for government and for science, too. They are the oldest civilization in the Star Federation, which means that they are the oldest human civilization in our part of the Universe.”

  “Are there non-human civilizations?” Jocan’s mind was just zipping along, Kati decided.

  “Yeah. Humans don’t have all that much to do with them; their interests tend to be different. The felines, the cat people, have civilizations of a sort, although Lamanians tend to look down their noses at their claims, since the cats prefer to leave their worlds in a natural state and do not exploit their resources much. But they pass knowledge from one generation to the next, and when in contact with those not of their kind, they are quick to pick up on anything that they find useful. So I would not dismiss them as uncivilized.

  “The reptilians are a totally different matter. The Xeonsaurs are an ancient civilization, for example, much, much older than any human civilization that we know of. They were studying their past when the oldest humans were still living in trees. They are very long-lived, too, so their concept of time is so different from ours that it’s really not possible for them to have much to do with us. Although they are kindly disposed to humans and would sooner help us than hurt us, there’s always the sense in their dealings with us that it’s hard for them to take seriously creatures that, to them, live for only a short instant.”

  “Wow,” exclaimed Jocan. “How weird!”

  “I think you’ll get to know some Lamanians, or perhaps humans from some other Federation planets, reasonably soon after we’ve left,” Mikal added. “Once they have our reports about the slaver and other crooked activity on the Southern Continent, someone is going to come to take a look in order to decide how best to protect this World from criminal incursions. Since the Northern Plains appear to be the most well-organized part of the planet, I’m sure they’ll make a stop there. They will want to solicit local opinions before they make any decisions—Lamanians know better than to force planetary populations to accept Star Federation rule. Even if that rule might be in their best interests.”

  “Can you give us some idea of the options they might intend to present to the people of this world?” Yarm asked.

  “Well, at the extremes, there are the options of either leaving things as they are, or full membership in the Star Federation,” Mikal began. “Neither of which is likely. The Peace Officer Corps—my department—is going to want to get rid of that nest of crooks in the Southern Continent’s mountains. And once it has been cleared out, they’ll want to see it kept clean. This planet simply does not have the resources to keep the Space Lanes’ criminal elements out, on its own, so leaving you people to manage on your own is not an option. As for full membership in the Federation, your world does not have the resources for that either. There isn’t the technology for travel off-world, and buying the technology would be much too expensive, considering the developmental stage of the economy. It is perfectly possible that before The Disaster your world was close to getting to the stars, either through technology or purchasing power, but The Disaster set such things back big time. So full Federation membership is not in the picture for any time soon.

  “Of the other possibilities, I think the likeliest ones are Protectorate, or Protectorate with Restricted Status. There are various levels of Partial Membership but they all involve paying for the privilege and a few bolts of Narra-cloth won’t cover the cost. Under Protectorate status, a world is not required to pay any tax; the assumption is that its economy is not ready for that kind of outlay. However, for strategic reasons—such as, in this case, keeping criminals from using the planet as a meeting place—the Star Federation undertakes to equip the planet with a warning system that lets us identify any space vessel that approaches it. What it means in practice is that no ship is allowed to land on the planet unless it’s on the Peace Officers’ list of permitted craft.”

  “What about the Free Traders?” asked Yarm.

  “Any Free Trader wanting to do business here, if and once the planet is granted Protectorate Status has to contact the Star Federation and get his and his ship’s name put on the list. If the Trader is a known quantity operating within the rules of the Trade Lanes, it should not be a problem. If the Trader is a shady operator straddling the lawful and the lawless markets—well, then he’ll have to stay away.”

  “What about interference in what goes on among the people of the planet? Is the Federation going to stick its nose into our planetary affairs, or will it leave us to manage them ourselves?”

  “With simple Protectorate status there will be no interference whatsoever in internal planetary affairs. You’ll be left to organize yourselves as you will. Federation scholars may come in from time to time to study your world and people, but they have no jurisdiction except for their scholarship; they are required to get permission from the local authorities to conduct their studies. If the locals object, well, that’s their right. If, at some later time, your planetary authorities decide that the world has developed enough that a deeper participation in Federation affairs makes sense, it is up to them to initiate a change of status.

  “The Protectorate with Restricted Status is a little bit more complicated than simple Protectorate, but there are reasons why I think that it is very possibly what you will end up with. At the moment I’m not at liberty to give my reasons for thinking that but, let me assure you that they are pretty compelling.”

  “The Kitfi, of course,” Kati subvocalized to the granda and sensed its agreement of her assessment.

  “The same restrictions as with a simple Protectorate apply as far as ships coming to the planet are concerned. Arriving ships have to be on an approved list, and to get on it they have to register with the Federation Peace Officer Corps.

  “Generally, the Restricted Status means that there is something—like perhaps a rare eco-system—on a planet, and it requires protection. Usually the human inhabitants and the Federation agree to work together to do the protecting, with the Federation dealing with any possible threats from off-world, and the locals making sure that none of their kind trample over the protected ground. But if the locals refuse to co-operate, the Federation can and will bring in the peace officers necessary for the protection.”

  “Why would the local people refuse to co-operate?” Jocan asked, looking mystified. “I mean wouldn’t it be in their best interests?”

  “Sometimes they might not see it that way,” answered Mikal. “Suppose that there is a forest that is the home to a rare species of animals, ones only found inside it, dependent perhaps on a particular tree-species for their food. And suppose that this particular tree, when cut down and milled, makes a beautiful, strong furniture wood, coveted by every important person on the planet and even attractive to Free Traders as a luxury good. The local people might be of the opinion that they have just as much right to the wood of these trees as the animals have to the leaves which they eat.”

  “Well, yeah, maybe,” Jocan muttered. “But couldn’t there
be a compromise? Like maybe the locals could cut down so many trees a year, of certain size. Leaving the smaller ones to grow and feed the animals?”

  “Indeed.” Mikal smiled at him as at a star pupil in a class. “That’s the first thing we’d try to do, try to reach a compromise. Then we’d have to find a way to police it, because, obviously, the rules of the compromise would serve to make the wood even more valuable and there are always a few unscrupulous individuals who will try to take advantage of such a situation. Whether or not we’d trust the locals to do the policing would depend on how well organized a government they have, among other things.”

  “Is that why you have been talking up co-operation every chance you have?” Yarm asked Mikal, his eyebrows raised. “Because you happen to know of something that needs protection on this planet, and you’d rather we looked after it ourselves, without a large presence of your—what—Peace Officers?”

  “Something like that.” Mikal eyed Yarm seriously. “It’s better for us and better for you, if you can do the job with minimum interference from us. It’s an opportunity for the inhabitants of the World to get better at looking after themselves and the environment around them, and also to learn to truly appreciate the marvellousness of the planet they inhabit.”

  “Well it’s a pity you’re not coming with Jocan and me to the Northern Plains. The Central Council would appreciate your eloquence.”

  “Someone from the Federation will be along, soon enough, to speak to your Central Council,” said Mikal. “And whoever it is, will be much better at making this case than I am.”

  *****

  They continued their journey the next day, in a leisurely fashion since the next village—with an Inn—was less than a full day’s ride from the Sunlit Peak Village. Kati found it something of a relief to, temporarily, drop the sense of urgency that had been driving both her and Mikal across the planet. Not that she was free of the need to get off this world and on with her future tasks; she certainly was not, but the knowledge that she was going to have to cool her heels on Lamania for six months while Mikal and his fellow Peace Officers would be chasing slavers, had dampened her enthusiasm for rushing off at top speed. Especially considering that once she and Mikal had left this world, they would be separated for that half-a-year.

  That night, while getting ready to go to sleep (which was not the same as going to bed, she mused happily), she asked Mikal about the marriage and divorce he had mentioned a long time ago, and had refused to talk about.

  “Are you going to tell me about that, one of these days?” she asked gently. “I kind of feel that now I have the right to know.”

  Mikal was already in the large bed, lying on his back, half under the covers, on the wall side. He rubbed his hands over his face and eyes at her question, and made a face. Then he sighed and turned on his side to face her as she came to bed, leaving the candle which was the only light in the room, burning on the bedside table.

  “That bad, huh?” she asked as she crawled under the covers, beside him.

  “You have the right to know,” he agreed, speaking softly. “I just hate to reveal my past idiocy and arrogance. Thing is, being with you makes that past arrogance pretty obvious; I don’t know why I couldn’t see it then.”

  He lapsed into a thoughtful silence which Kati decided it was better part of wisdom not to break. He would speak when he was ready.

  “There’s absolutely no good reason not to tell you,” Mikal sighed at last. “We get to Lamania and you can look up the records of the divorce—they’re public. I’m just trying to hang on to what I imagine to be scraps of dignity, here. I was such an idiot. Of course, so was Lashia. But she has the excuse of naiveté; I don’t.

  “If you’re to understand this, I’ll have to tell you a bit of old history, Lamania’s history.

  “A long time ago, before Star Federation, before the events leading to the formation of the Federation, Lamanians did some experimental breeding of human beings.”

  “What? That’s crazy!” Kati gasped, appalled.

  “My mother’s people had to grow and gain wisdom like all humans do. They went through their periods of strange behaviour, and in their case the insanity often had a scientific angle to it, since as a people they have a strong scientific bent, and perhaps have given it more credence than they should have. So someone, or more likely a bunch of someones, decided that it would make sense to scientifically breed a class of people who would be more suited to run governments than the run-of-the-mill Lamanians were. They would be people who were without some pesky human drives, such as greed and lust. It seems that they had the genetic know-how to do this—I suppose the information about how they did it is still around somewhere, buried deep in some archive which no-one has wanted to touch for millennia.

  “You see, they succeeded in the breeding project. Only, as usually happens, they quickly found out that they had bred themselves as many problems as they had solved. Yes, these new people who were intended to become the governing elite were not interested in accumulating wealth at the expense of their neighbours, or of their inferiors; no, the men of this class had no interest in raping or seducing women, any women, and no, the women did not use their wiles to gain advantages from the men. But, and this is what the breeders had forgotten, they had no understanding of these matters, and without understanding there is no compassion or mercy. For either the perpetrators, or the victims, of such crimes.

  “So, this new class of people did not, after all, a good governing class make. They made decent administrators, and excellent scientists. But they were hobbled by their lack of certain emotions in their relations with the rest of the planet’s population. And that is, more or less how things still stand; they are a sub-group of the general population which does some excellent work for the society at large, but whose members mostly relate only superficially to others.”

  “Am I being stupid here, but how do they manage to reproduce themselves if they lack sexual desire?” Kati asked.

  “They don’t lack the desire for children. As a matter of fact, to make up for the lack of sexual desire, a strong urge to parent was bred into both men and women—at least that’s what we are taught in history classes. So they will have sex to procreate, or get artificial insemination done if the couple prefers that; and the women carry their babies to term bodily, unlike some Lamanian women who prefer to move their offspring into artificial wombs as soon as that can be safely done.”

  Kati opened her mouth to comment on this; then shut it, shook her head and let it pass. Questions about artificial wombs could wait.

  “For obvious reasons there is not much intermarriage between the two types of Lamanians, but it does happen, just often enough that no-one can claim that it’s not possible. The children of such pairings are usually like regular Lamanians, so I would imagine that once enough generations, only it will have to be very many, have gone by, this particular forced mutation will simply disappear from the face of the planet.

  “Anyway, when I was studying at the Prime City University for my General Knowledge Examinations, which I was required to pass before I could start the courses that would lead me into the Peace Officer Corps, I met a lovely young woman--sweet, intelligent, funny--who was doing her General Knowledge before entering Sciences. We started hanging out together, and before long were in love. And then she told me that she was an Omeg-Lamanian, which is what these people call themselves. It was a shock, although if I hadn’t been young and naive, and half-Borhquan, I should have picked up on it right away; there are signs, and most Lamanians know them.

  “Well, we didn’t stop seeing one another, which is what sane people would have done. We thought that we’d get married and work it out somehow—after all, marriages between Omegs and other Lamanians did occasionally happen. I was half-Borhquan and had been trained by a Borhquan woman in the arts of love, and I was a fool enough to believe that it would make a difference; I thought that I could somehow draw out of her a response that did not exist.
And Lashia, I’m not sure what she thought, perhaps she believed that the love she felt for me would be enough to make sexual expression unnecessary for me. In any case we agreed to marry when we both had finished our education and to remain in a non-physical—well except for hugs and kisses—relationship until then. I was finished first, so I was already employed with the Peace Officer Corps by the time we finally did go through the formalities. And while I waited, impatiently, for Lashia, I listened to all kinds of people tell me what a fool I was, how I had set myself up for a heartbreak, and what the hell did I think I was doing? My mother tried to talk me out of the marriage; she got my step-father to talk with me, to plead with me to see reason. My boss at the Peace Officer Corps, ‘the amazing Maryse’, as we underlings refer to her behind her back, took the time to try to talk sense to me.”

  Mikal stopped to run a hand over his face.

  “As I recall it, she wanted to know how someone so smart could insist on doing something so ‘shatteringly stupid’. How a fellow who was fast becoming her best operative could be such an idiot when it came to the affairs of the heart. I was insulted of course, and, if anything, more determined to show her and everyone else that they were wrong.

  “They weren’t wrong, of course. Lashia and I finally registered our marriage about two years ago. We took a short vacation and went to a rustic resort for our honeymoon, complete with a secluded cabin. Well I’d been waiting for years for our wedding night and I wanted nothing but to tear Lashia’s clothes off and make love to her. And she, she wanted to talk. She wanted to talk about our future! It was bad; I was horrible, I don’t deny it. She tried to accommodate my needs, but damn! It was still rape. I sure as hell felt like a rapist, and afterwards she just lay there like a broken thing.

  “In the morning she was gone and there was an ‘I’m sorry’ letter on the dresser. She said in it that she realized that she could not give me what I wanted, that she hadn’t understood that before. She actually used the word ‘wanted’, which perhaps tells you how wide the chasm between us was. She filed for divorce before the week was out; she got it without so much as the officials contacting me to hear my side of the story.