Venturi

by S J MacDonald

  ‘Well, there’s a bucket full,’ said the president, in his own tongue and evidently as an expression of surprise.

  Alex looked back at him blandly. He would not have laid any claim to being a linguist, but he hadn’t spent all this time with Shion without picking up a few things. And he had found, too, that the more languages he learned, the more easily he understood the structure, the grammar and the similarities in vocabulary of languages with shared roots. And Lundanian wasn’t even a separate language, merely an archaic and derived version of Standard. And he had had four months to get up to speed with it on the way here. To Alex, it would have been surprising if he hadn’t been able to have at least a fair stab at conversation with people by the time he arrived.

  But to the president, evidently, this was a novelty. Few of the spacers coming here from the League bothered to learn much more vocabulary than they’d need to sell their cargo and have a good time afterwards. And the current League Ambassador, like so many at the Embassy, spoke it with a self-conscious diction and lah-di-dah accent which was almost more offensive than not trying to speak it at all. Alex, though, spoke it very naturally, a man accustomed to polyglot communication.

  Alex, though, having said that, looked back at Lady Ursele to see if that would be enough. President Roll’em Moffaret did the same and Lady Ursele smiled gently.

  ‘President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret,’ she said, ‘has been telling me of his grief over the sufferings of his people from the shortage of water, when there is abundant water available in the system.’

  Oh yeah, Alex thought, with a sidelong glance at the man who looked as if he’d never gone short of anything in his life.

  ‘Please, President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret,’ Lady Ursele requested, ‘share your thoughts with Commodore Ambassador Alexis Sean von Strada.’

  Alex looked back at the Lundanian president, who took a minute or so before he spoke.

  ‘It isn’t right,’ he said, ‘the way the corps hold back the water and charge us what they do. They’ve always done it, always, and the rest of us, we’re just about pig sick of it. I’ve got the mark, look…’

  He pushed back the sleeve on his left arm and presented a tattooed wrist. The tattoo was one of Lundane’s most iconic images, so common everywhere that it was part of the cultural furniture. It was a drawing, in outline, of a small child with tear-filled eyes.

  Alex knew about this, or thought he did. In common with many rough, hardy frontier people, the Lundanians had a surprisingly sentimental streak to their nature, as a few hours spent looking at their media content would reveal. They were big on action movies, desert adventures, spy stuff, but they also had a penchant for heartbreak tales of dying lovers and lost orphans. This particular image was supposed to represent a child crying with thirst, the tears in their eyes symbolic of the water they needed so desperately. The Diplomatic Corps had noted long before that this was a symbol adopted, frequently tattooed on the left wrist, by those who objected to the water restrictions and prices imposed on them by the three water corporations – the one which owned all water rights on Lundane itself, the one which owned the water rights on every other planet and moon in the system and the one which owned the water rights to everything else.

  The symbol, however, as the Diplomatic Corps had also noted, was as far as it went. It was not emblematic of any organised protest movement or activism, merely an expression of opinion. And at most, people with that tattoo might push back their sleeve to reveal it during meetings with the water corporations. Big deal, Alex had thought at the time, reading that, I’m sure that has them quaking in their boots.

  Now, though, he realised that it was a matter of importance to Roll’em Moffaret himself and probably to most people who had that tattoo. It was, perhaps, the only statement they felt they could make in so powerless a situation.

  ‘I got myself made Prez,’ said Roll’em, in a burst of frankness, ‘because I thought that I could do something, force them to bring us more and drop the prices. There’s so much water out there, kimdor, enough to make oceans and clouds on five Lundanes. And they could bring more, they could, even with the gear they’ve got, they could bring more and if they upped their gear and tugs, they could be pouring water on us like fountains. But they don’t, they won’t, there’s no moving them, no talking. Logistics, they say. Resources, they say. And that’s all they’ll say and all they’ve said for eight hundred dry bloody centuries… oh, beg pardon, your grace.’ He said it as yugriss, but the deference was apparent.

  Alex looked at him in confusion. He could see that the man was sincere. But he was sitting there, president of his world and actually saying that he could do nothing about a trio of corporations holding his planet to ransom. And that they’d been doing that for eight hundred years. It beggared belief. Such a situation would not have been tolerated on a League world for…

  Carpania, his subconscious nudged him and his thoughts trailed away into the dust.

  Ah, yes, Carpania. A world the League’s corporations had decided to develop as an industrial colony after many of the central worlds were objecting to the foul polluting nature of some of the industries the corporations were operating. They’d all gone to Carpania, all the filthy refineries and plants which churned out toxic waste. And Carpania was a League world whose people had been suffering and dying from pollution for centuries, because the corporations found it economical to operate that way. And the League government had not done anything about it because the League needed those products and the corporations effectively ran Carpania, with their supporters getting voted in there, time and time again, on a platform of near zero taxes for the population.

  So perhaps it wasn’t such a difficult thing to understand, after all, how a group of businesses could get such a stranglehold over a world’s economy and even its government.

  And Lundane, Alex realised, did not even have the resources of a global government. They were only a collective of big business interests themselves and most of what they decided about was financial. They had no armed forces of any kind to call upon, only the police who dealt with public order and crime and could not be called upon for any kind of state takeover of vital resources.

  And the corporations, Alex recalled then, did not even live on Lundane. They – their directors, their employees, the body of people who were the corporation – lived at their corporate headquarters, off-planet. He had known that there was a social dichotomy there, the Diplomatic Corps had gone into that in some depth in their profiling of the planet. The water corporations were a law unto themselves and a community unto themselves, like a class of the super-rich living far away from the grubby plebs. There were moons like that at Chartsey, luxury estates for those who could afford to escape the teeming hordes.

  Families, Alex thought and felt a jolting shock.

  The Founding Families, in the League, owned vital infrastructure – corporations as vital in their way to the League as the supply of water was, here. They owned most of the shipyards, many spacedocks, all of the deep space transit stations and many of the ground-based industries essential for building, supplying and operating ships in the trade links which were the life-blood of the League. One of the most sensitive aspects of the Fourth’s operations at Karadon had been the need to deal with the drug running there without violating the station’s sovereign independence. The last time the League’s government had tried to remove Family holdings in a manner that was admittedly unconstitutional, the Families’s response had led to the widespread economic crash now known as the Little Dark Age.

  Alex had all sorts of issues with that and still did have his doubts about the ethical position of the Families. But one thing he did not doubt and that was that their intention, always, was to give everything they had to supporting the League, upholding its constitution, strengthening its defences and developing its economy.

  Was this what happened, Alex wondered, when a family went rogue? It had happened before – at Camae, indeed. Founding Fami
ly members had gone in there to give what they considered to be the usual package – infrastructure, hospitals, universities, the trio of freebies which most worlds grabbed with delight and which presaged the subsequent arrival of League industry, League shops, League fashions, League media… the homogenisation which would bring worlds into the League themselves within two or three hundred years.

  At Camae, though, the family member had decided that Camae was just perfect as it was, had settled down there and married a prince. And his descendants had been quietly blocking League cultural invasion ever since. One of the Fourth’s tasks there had been to find a way to open up the system to more visitors without overwhelming their unique culture. Alex hoped that he had found a way to do that, but was still not sure, himself, whether the Family at Camae had been right, or not, to act as they did in protection of a very special world.

  But what if a family really went rogue? Separated from the League, isolated, what if they decided that they weren’t the slightest bit interested in serving the interests of their world but were all about gaining and keeping control, power, for themselves?

  Was this what that would look like?

  And if so, why had Davie not said a word about it?

  He was normally pretty forthcoming about the Families’ involvement in situations, but all he had said about Lundane was that the Families had no involvement there and hadn’t since the League’s withdrawal.

  But Lady Ursele was speaking again.

  ‘My heart is open to the people of Lundane,’ she said. ‘I wish to purchase all the ice that you can bring and gift it to the thirsty of Lundane, to be freely distributed.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ Alex said, without hesitation. ‘Now that we have sufficient funds for our needs I would give it freely, too – it is yours, your grace, all the ice we can bring, to do with as you wish.’

  Lady Ursele gave him a warm smile, conveying I knew I could rely on you without the need for words.

  ‘That is… generous…’ Roll’em was uncertain, glancing from Alex to the chamlorn and back again. ‘Why would you do that?’

  Alex looked calmly back at him. ‘To please her grace,’ he said and the way he said it made it very clear that if Lady Ursele wanted the galaxy spinning the other way Alex would dedicate his life to figuring out a way to make that happen, or die in the attempt. ‘I would offer the water directly,’ he said, ‘as a gift from my people to yours. But you would not, I think, choose to be indebted in the slightest to my people. So I give it to her grace and if it is her grace’s wish to gift it to you, that pleases me too.’

  ‘You will not refuse me, President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret?’ Lady Ursele asked softly and when he turned his head to look at her he actually looked quite shocked, himself, at the idea of refusing her anything.

  ‘No, yugriss!’ he said and after a moment, ‘I thank you, from the bottom of my belly, I thank you – on behalf of my people.’

  ‘It is not as much as I would wish to give,’ Lady Ursele said. ‘I understand that you cannot leave the shuttles here when we depart, Commodore Ambassador Alexis Sean von Strada.’

  She did not pause when she said that, nor was there anything so definite that Alex could have described it as a hint. But all the same, her gaze rested on him momentarily and he knew that she was wondering… just wondering and asking him to consider whether something might be possible.

  ‘But some longer term provision should be made for the comfort of these people,’ she continued. ‘So perhaps we might, now, invite Ambassador Davie North Delaney to join us.’

  Alex saw Roll’em Moffaret stiffen, but after a moment the president gave a short jolt of his head, in evidently reluctant assent, while Alex himself murmured agreement and sat there, wondering what the chamlorn was up to. He could feel himself being moved around like a game-piece on a board. And they were literally moved around, too, as attendants came over, asked them courteously to stand and moved their seat-cushions so that a third could be introduced, leaving the central one empty for Davie and the other two angled into a semi-circle. They were, evidently, to have a meeting under the chamlorn’s guidance.

  Nothing was said while they waited for Davie. The tranquillity of the room did its work, allowing Alex at least to clear his thoughts and wonder again, the big question now blazing in his mind. Who owned those corporations? They were apparently owned by a bunch of wealthy shareholders. But then, many of the Family’s holdings in the League appeared to be public-shareholder companies, with tens of thousands of minor shareholders unaware that their vote carried no weight at all against the man or woman who owned, very discreetly, a controlling majority. So there might, indeed, be some shadowy figure behind the water companies, living as the Families did in complete seclusion. But in this case, a predator rather than a symbiont.

  Davie appeared, showing no surprise at being called in like this, but interested, sitting down and greeting the chamlorn courteously, then waiting till she felt the situation had settled sufficiently for her to tell him why he had been summoned. And this, eventually, she did. She wanted to purchase sufficient tugs, she said, to bring sufficient ice from the neighbouring system to provide for all of Lundane’s domestic water requirements. Did Davie know how many tugs that would require?

  Davie did know. Davie had all the facts at his fingertips for setting up a company here which would wipe the water corporations out of business. And he would be very happy indeed, he said, to set up such a company here with all the equipment required, as a gift to Lady Ursele.

  ‘Why would you do that?’ Roll’em Moffaret was looking at Davie as if he stank of toxic slime and there was a venomous note in his voice as he demanded, ‘To take over from your cousins the Delanceys, I suppose.’

  Davie went white. Alex had never seen him so angry. Fury was arcing in him with such intensity it was a miracle the air around him wasn’t crackling with sparks.

  He gave the president one look and started to get up, clearly with every intention of walking out of here right now, meeting over. Even the presence of Lady Ursele wasn’t going to stop him.

  ‘Davie.’ Alex used the magic word. He and Davie North had made a point of not being on first name terms ever since they’d met, for a complexity of reasons which had evolved into mere habit. This meant, though, that on the rare occasions they did go for first names it was always a moment of crisis.

  Davie stopped, froze and looked back at him.

  ‘Please.’ Alex held out a hand, asking Davie to resume his place. For me.

  Davie sat down again, very slowly and without looking in the president’s direction. As he sat, his gaze turned back to Lady Ursele, who was watching with calm interest.

  ‘There are no relatives of mine in this system,’ he told her, with a harsh note. ‘None. Those people who call themselves Delanceys are nothing to do with the Founding Families whatsoever. And anyone who could think that they are for one moment knows absolutely nothing – nothing – about us, our history, who we are and what we stand for, what we do. They are criminal shysters operating a brutal monopoly to feed their own greed for money and power. Anyone who associates me with such behaviour is giving me the grossest insult imaginable. So I would ask your grace, please, to clarify for Mr President…’ the words dripped acid, ‘that the so-called Delanceys are no cousins of mine.’

  ‘I think, perhaps, that a moment to calm ourselves might be of benefit,’ Lady Ursele said, entirely unruffled by Davie’s fizz-popping rage.

  Davie bowed his head in acknowledgement and the three of them sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, until Davie’s breathing was slow and steady again and he lifted his head, then, looking ruefully at the chamlorn.

  ‘I regret,’ he said, ‘if I spoke harshly, your grace. These are matters of profound importance to me.’

  ‘Thank you for sharing your heart, Ambassador Davie North Delaney,’ Lady Ursele said kindly. ‘And I am sure that President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret did not mean to wound you so
.’

  President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret made an awkward grunting noise which might have been halfway to an apology. He was looking troubled, though – probably, Alex realised, wondering whether that ill-timed barb had cost his planet the gift of free water Lady Ursele had only just secured.

  Lady Ursele, however, soon set his mind at rest on that score.

  ‘So, Ambassador Davie North Delaney,’ she said. ‘Are you able to say when the new water supplies will begin distribution?’

  ‘It will take four months for the orders to reach suppliers at Mandram,’ Davie said. ‘And a further five months for them to bring all the tugs and gear out. Another month to establish operations. So, in ten months, your grace, the water will start to arrive.’

  ‘And we will do our best,’ Alex added, ‘to provide as much as possible before we leave.’

  ‘My thanks to you both,’ said Lady Ursele and to the president, ‘I trust that is satisfactory, President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret?’

  ‘Very kind… very generous,’ the president mumbled, not quite glancing sideways at the other two.

  ‘Though the provision of drinking water in itself is only a short term solution,’ Davie went on, as if he hadn’t heard the Lundanian. ‘And it still leaves Lundane vulnerable to future exploitation. Long term, ideally, you should be looking at a terraforming level of water provision. A group which looked into this aboard the ship agrees that the best long term solution would be a triad of oceanic enlargement, atmospheric seeding and evaporation lakes.’ Lady Ursele’s look of keen interest encouraged him to explain, so he did, still addressing everything he said to her and blanking the Lundanian president entirely. ‘Icebergs can be lowered into the ocean at north and south poles, not only increasing the amount of water but also generating currents which will promote the growth of algae. Atmospheric seeding is extremely cheap and easy, since it involves shattering ice into fragments in low orbit and allowing the combination of gravity and atmospheric friction to turn the ice to vapour. This, over time, will build atmospheric humidity. At the same time, depositing ice in shallow declivities will create evaporation lakes, also building atmospheric humidity. And if the evaporation lakes are sited close to or even with run-off canals into cities, the micro-climate cooling would be of immediate benefit. There is a feasibility study which goes into it all in detail, establishing the minimum water provision to make it work and how much water would have to be provided in order to generate a viable water cycle within a reasonable timeframe of, say, between two and three hundred years. That would require an impractical number of tugs if they have to go to another system every time, but I believe that once the stranglehold of the water corporations has been broken they will be more amenable to discussing terms for the provision of terraforming quantities of ice from within the system. And in the meantime, to get things started, I will, if you wish it, order additional tugs to provide for fifty two evaporation lakes, for the immediate environmental benefit that will bring to the cities. And that can, also, if you wish, be incorporated into the global water distribution plan.’