Venturi

by S J MacDonald

  Lady Ursele looked amused.

  ‘You had this feasibility study worked out already?’

  ‘Only as an academic exercise,’ Davie replied. ‘I was talking with Silvie, initially, about what it would take to create oceans, rain and rivers on Lundane. She is taking a close interest in the terraforming at Serenity, of course, and we ran up a rudimentary idea just in talking about it. But there are many others on the ship with an interest in such things – geologists, biologists – and they picked it up and looked at it in more detail. Purely, as I say, as an academic exercise. It was not something I envisaged offering to do when we came here. None of my business. And I did not think that such an offer, however beneficial, would be acceptable to the people of Lundane, given its source and their entirely understandable resistance to being dependent in any way, shape or form on the League. But if they are willing to accept it from you, your grace, then I am more than happy to provide.’

  ‘Why?’ Roll’em burst out, unable to contain himself, though as Davie turned a freezing eye on him, hastily adjusted what he had been about to say. ‘Where is the profit in it for you?’

  ‘The profit,’ said Davie, with withering disdain, ‘of knowing that I honour the traditions of my ancestors. The profit of knowing that I have acted in good conscience. And the profit of knowing that my descendants will not be ashamed of the heritage I leave to them. That, Mister President, is all the profit I need or desire.’

  It was interesting, Alex thought, that Roll’em looked first at him and then at Lady Ursele. Both of them nodded confirmation.

  ‘Ambassador Davie North Delaney is of a proud bloodline,’ Lady Ursele said, ‘dedicated to the service of their people. And I believe that Ambassador Davie North Delaney is also impelled by what he perceives to be a failure of care towards your people in the past.’

  She looked at Davie, who seemed about to protest but then sighed, instead.

  ‘I am not going to apologise,’ he said, ‘for the decisions which were made back then. Things were as they were.’ He turned his head, suddenly and spoke to the president in a blunt, but no longer utterly blighting tone. ‘The reason Lundane was never a colony,’ he said, ‘is that the Founding Families declined to support it as such. It had been assessed as having no long-term viability as a colony without extensive terraforming which was, at the time, not practicable. Resources were stretched, seriously stretched, in providing for all the inhabited worlds the Exploration Corps was finding further out and the terraforming, back then, would have been a lot more challenging and expensive than it is now. So we declined to resource it as a colony and that is why it remained a supply base. I will not attempt to justify what happened when the Marfikians attacked and the League pulled out and abandoned all the people here. Relationships since have been understandably complex and difficult. The League doesn’t wish to take any action which might provoke Marfikian invasion here. And what offers of support have been made discreetly by our government and by my family have been vigorously and conclusively refused. I would have offered to help you myself, but I knew what kind of answer that would get. So I am, indeed, grateful to her grace for allowing me to supply her with the water this world needs. I give it to her freely, no strings attached, no ulterior motive. Children are thirsty. Through her grace’s kindness, I can provide for them. And I do not want your thanks, your gratitude, or anything at all from you. Any thanks due in this are due to her grace.’

  ‘And no thanks due to me, either, since it is my function to assist,’ said Lady Ursele and smiled at Davie. ‘Perhaps you will send copies of all the plans to President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret, for the approval of his people.’

  ‘Certainly, your grace,’ Davie said.

  ‘Then…’ Lady Ursele smiled and gave the courteous dismissal, thanking Davie and blessing both him and his family.

  Davie departed and Alex expected to be thanked and sent on his way, likewise. But Lady Ursele hadn’t finished with him yet. She knew that while he had been sitting there, Alex had been thinking and that he had come to a decision. So she merely looked at him with a smile which conveyed an anticipatory warmth, a thank-you for what she already knew he was going to say.

  ‘Regarding the possibility of leaving shuttles here, your grace…’ Alex said. ‘It is possible that we could leave the two cargo shuttles to ensure continuing delivery. I can ask for volunteers to remain in order to operate them. Or we can remove the classified technology and train civilian pilots – whichever you prefer.’

  His gaze, with that, flicked from the chamlorn to Roll’em Moffaret, seeing pleasure on the one face and astonishment on the other. Poker, Alex guessed, was not the president’s game.

  ‘If you could adapt the shuttles for civilian use,’ Lady Ursele said, ‘that is excellent, thank you, Commodore Alexis Sean von Strada. And perhaps,’ she looked beneficently at Roll’em, ‘you would be so kind as to select suitable pilots for the Fourth to train in this endeavour.’

  Roll’em nodded rapidly, a glow of delight rising onto his face.

  ‘Brimming!’ he declared, with such heartfelt emotion that Alex was worried just for a moment that the Lundanian president might reach over and punch him on the arm.

  ‘I believe,’ Lady Ursele smiled upon them both, ‘that it would be beneficial to all parties if you, Commodore Ambassador Alexis Sean von Strada and you, President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret, were to take some time aside, informally, to learn to know one another a little better. Perhaps,’ she looked encouragingly at them both, ‘a cup of coffee on the interdeck?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure, your grace,’ Alex said and looked at Roll’em. He was hesitating, suddenly wary.

  ‘If I leave the Embassy… and board your ship,’ he said. ‘What guarantee do I have that I will be permitted to leave?’

  Alex tried not to look as offended as he felt.

  ‘My word of honour?’ he said coldly. ‘And if that is not sufficient…’

  ‘No,’ Roll’em said, who’d been sizing him up throughout the meeting and had come to the conclusion that Alex von Strada was someone he could trust. ‘That’ll do me,’ he acknowledged and Alex gave a nod in return.

  So, Lady Ursele thanked them and the flower came cruising back across the starpool, upon which President Jilner Roll’em Moffaret was presented with one of the special flowers in crystal, kept for heads of state and their ambassadors.

  This, he handed over to one of his aides once they were out of the ante-room and after a brief discussion about whether he was allowed to bring his security people through the interior airlock, allowed Alex to escort him and two of his bodyguards through the hatch which linked the atrium to the main body of the ship.

  This brought them straight out onto the interdeck, which was deserted at that hour. There was a big push on to get the workshop set up ready to start making satellites and every free pair of hands was helping with that. Seeing the size of the refectory with all the empty tables, the Lundanian president halted.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘We call it the interdeck,’ Alex said. ‘The ship’s social and leisure facility. This is the refectory, where officers, crew and civilian personnel can relax over food and drink. Refreshments are available at the galley hatch, over here… what may I offer you to drink?’

  The president asked for water, so Alex got that for them both and they sat down, the two security personnel remaining, watchful, over by the hatchway.

  ‘So then…’ the president eyed Alex warily once they had both taken a sip of their water. ‘What is it that you want to say, Korm-oh-door?’ He dragged out the rank, deliberately rude, as Alex had already recognised was his go-to defence mechanism when he felt himself to be at a disadvantage.

  ‘Kimdor is fine,’ he said. ‘Or Alex – Mr President.’

  Roll’em grunted. ‘Does she do that on purpose?’ he asked. ‘Her grace? Use your whole name, so, to make you feel like a kid?’

  Alex felt a flicker of amusement and some surprise,
too, at the other man’s perception. Not as bullish as he seemed.

  ‘Possibly,’ he said. ‘It is the Pirrellothian custom, but her grace… well, her grace establishes an atmosphere.’

  The president nodded. ‘She does that,’ he said and suddenly confidential, ‘Reminds me of a teacher I had when I was little.’

  Alex found himself unbending sufficiently to give a brief, cool smile.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed and took another sip of his water.

  ‘So…’ the president said and looked expectantly at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alex said. ‘But I really don’t have anything that I particularly wanted to say – her grace, I believe, merely wanted us to get to know one another.’

  ‘She was serious about that, then?’ He was surprised. ‘I thought you had some big stuff you were going to tell me, like...’ he put on a doom laden tone, ‘You’d better cooperate with us or the next ship that comes here won’t have left their guns.’

  ‘Mr President!’ Alex said. ‘Please!’ He shook his head and now, his tone had a note of appeal. ‘I wish I could convince you,’ he said, ‘that everything we’ve told you is the truth. I am not here on any official mission from my government, neither the Senate nor the Admiralty nor anyone on Chartsey even knows that we are here. We came because I was asked by the Chethari to bring her grace – frankly, I was going to take her to X-Base Sentinel and bring her with advance notice aboard a civilian ship. But her grace wanted to come straight here, with the ship stripped of its weapons, and since her embassy is so obviously the most important thing that’s happened in centuries…’

  ‘These Chethari you go on about are real, then, these aliens?’

  ‘They are,’ Alex said. ‘They are friends of the Solarans. And hearing that the Solarans have withdrawn, they have come forward themselves to make contact with us – and with Pirrell. They have been visiting Pirrell. And the reason they made contact with us was that the Pirrellothians had asked for us to transport their ambassador from as close as the Chethari could bring her to our space, to here.’

  The president made his dubious grunt.

  ‘Never believed in Solarans, neither,’ he said. ‘They never come next nor nigh here. But then,’ he conceded, with an air of magnanimity, ‘never believed in Samartians, either, till they turned up here. More stuff in space, they reckon, than a sane man would want to know about… not if he wants to stay sane. But they reckon that’s what you do – your lot,’ he gestured at the ship, ‘buzz about all over the place meeting aliens. It was your lot, the Fourth, that found Samart, right?’

  ‘Made contact with them, yes,’ Alex agreed. ‘We have two of their officers serving with us now on an exchange programme. We also, of course, have Shionolethe – obviously a key reason why the Pirrelothians were asking for us. We also have Silvie, the quarian ambassador, travelling with us. We are, you see, an exodiplomacy unit, so yes, it has to be said, it is not unfair to say that we spend much of our time buzzing about meeting aliens. That is pretty much what we do.’

  ‘The Samartians,’ the president was looking at him closely, ‘say your lot are really, really smart – got to be a genius even to get a job working in the galley, kind of thing.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Alex. ‘But we are an elite unit, no denying that, places with us offer both unlimited training, no limits on how many courses you can take, and unrivalled opportunities for the kind of adventure most spacers can only dream of. So this is, yes, the most highly qualified crew in the Fleet. We also have a sophisticated laboratory aboard and a team of civilian scientists carrying out a variety of research projects. And if it’s geniuses you want, we certainly have a few. See that gallery up there?’ He pointed out the Donuts gallery at the other end of the refectory. ‘That is our academic hangout, where people gather to share research and discuss the latest big ideas. And that, for sure, is where the terraforming plan for Lundane would have been worked out, just by people working on it as an interesting project. When Mr North sends it to you, do, please, take a moment to read through the list of contributors, with all their professorships and doctorates. These are not some bods just tossing ideas around; they are amongst the leading people in their fields. I’m not a genius myself, by the way – not even close. Above average IQ but nothing special. I don’t have an eidetic memory, I’m not empathic or anything like that – no special skills, really. Other than, maybe, an ability to stay calm when things are going totally bonkers, as they so often do in exodiplomacy.’

  ‘Bonkers?’ the president queried. ‘How?’

  Alex looked at him and a small but definite grin crept onto his face. ‘We could be here for a week,’ he observed. ‘But let me just tell you how I met the Chethari…’

  So he told him how he’d been woken one night in his cabin by a noisy fanfare and an angelic figure clothed in blinding light and how he’d groaned, ‘Oh, not now,’ and gone to turn over and go back to sleep. And as he talked, the president sat forward avidly and then started to chuckle…

  The security guards watched, uneasily, as the president guffawed and slapped the table with his hand, then sat forward again and began questioning Alex with eager fascination and Alex, laughing too now, began talking to him as if the two of them were friends. Was there something in that water, the guards wondered?

  But there was only the magic Lady Ursele had known perfectly well would happen if the two of them could take some time out and just chat, dropping their prejudices and their guard sufficiently to recognise in the other somebody that they could get along with.

  She really was, as Alex was coming to appreciate, very very good.

  Twenty Two

  The day after that, Fourth’s shuttles landed at the Samartian embassy, offloading two metal cases, each about the size of a small aircar.

  Every member of the Samartian embassy was there, consisting in its entirety of their ambassador, Dakael Duvant, and seven subordinates, all of them military.

  Theirs was not, in fact, the smallest embassy on the Avenue. That distinction belonged to an ambassador who’d ended up here more or less by accident. He had ventured out from his far-distant homeworld aboard an ore-carrier, armed with letters of accreditation, a quantity of gems and other small items of large value, on a mission to make friends. Two years later he’d arrived at Lundane with just enough funds left to have a domestic-style bungalow built on his embassy plot. He eked out his funds working as a translator for some of the other embassies, who found him work out of sympathy rather than necessity.

  The Samartians, though, were not too far above that degree of penury, themselves. Their tiny delegation was housed in a building modelled on a Samartian barracks block; a stark, uncompromising cuboid stuck at the front of the plot with no attempt whatsoever to landscape the rock and sand around it. The large swathe of land behind their barracks hut was fenced off but disused.

  At least, it was until the Fourth arrived. Within minutes of landing they had placed one of the cases in the middle of the empty space, made sure that everyone was standing well back and activated it.

  The dome appeared, inflating so fast that if you’d blinked you might easily have missed it. One second there was a sealed case sitting there, the next there was a crack like thunder and there was a dome. It was one of the Fourth’s thirty-berth survival domes, sixty four metres in diameter and around twenty high at its apex. The surface still looked shiny, slightly greasy, for the few seconds it took to harden upon release from its highly pressurised near-liquid state. It was a particularly garish orange, with several clear-view panels around it and three airlock-style entrances.

  Nobody had known that they were going to do this, or it would certainly have been a rabnak event. Even as it was, it was astonishing how many denizens of the Avenue felt it necessary to walk along and see what that weird crack had been – some kind of detonation?

  It had, in fact, been a combination of the dome unit firing rock-bolts to secure itself in the nanosecond before it inflated and the air
-pop caused by the inflation itself.

  As the Fourth’s team moved the second case into position and connected up the cables, more and more people were coming down the street. It had appeared quite deserted just a few minutes ago, but there were already at least a couple of hundred.

  One of the Samartian delegates went to where they were massing on the street outside and invited them to come in and see. The Fourth, they explained, was setting up a landing zone and facilities here as the guests of the Samartians.

  Bewildered questions very soon resulted in indignation on the Fourth’s behalf, as the Samartians let it be known that the League’s own embassy had refused to allow the Fourth to have any office space there, or the use of their hospitality facilities for entertaining guests groundside.