A World Between (16 page)

The prevalent cultural matrix had elevated Carlotta Madigan over him, but Lindblad was essentially a dominant personality—a possible alternate planetary leader— and he had already shown signs of taking an independent position in favor of the Institute.

You’re no woman’s tame yes-man, Royce Lindblad, Falkenstein thought as he led him into the Think Tank room. You may be a boy among the women of this planet, but you have it in you to be a man among men. All of you do. All you buckoa need is a little push in the right direction.

After a full afternoon’s guided tour conducted by Roger Falkenstein and what could almost have been called a state dinner presided over by Falkenstein and his wife, Royce Lindblad felt that he simply had to get away by himself to do some digesting—both of the heavy four-course meal and of all he had seen and heard.

The night air was as cool, fragrant, and heady as a good white wine as he wandered downslope from the lodge toward the lights of Bongo. The pretematurally bright stars of the mountain sky silvered the forest crowns below with pale highlights and gleamed on the snowy mountain peak behind the lodge. Piper-lizards chirped their whistling nightsong, skittering across his path through the soft lawn-moss. Isolated for the moment in the dark immensity of the night, Royce’s mind cleared into that sharp focus he felt as a lone sailor on the open sea.

And the winds of change were blowing at gale force from the Transcendental Science lodge above him.. The human future was sitting up there in an alien building plunked down on Pacifican soil, and there was no doubt about it. That now seemed as clear and uncompromising as the hard pinpoints of light in the clear black mountain sky...

But that sense of clarity began to elude Royce when he reached the edge of Bongo and returned to the world of men. The main street was crowded now, music poured out from the restaurants and cafes, Good Old Mountain Boys sauntering along in shorts and night-cloaks mingled with breakneck demons in Superigs, conflicting food odors wafted on the breeze, and the complexity of a living human culture seemed far removed from mountaintop certainties and metaphysical absolutes.

And this was just one small town in a region of Pacifica only half as complex as the rest of the planet, for this was the world of manos, of men alone. Men walked arm-inarm with men, stared into each other’s eyes across cafe tables, whispered endearments in each other’s ears, fondled each other in the shadows and in the light. All the subtle interplay of lust and love existed here, but not the psychic dialectic between male and female minds.

Royce felt a curious ambivalence toward these manos now, something he had never been conscious of before. The male body held no attractions for him, but the same could be said for a lot of female bodies, too. But beyond physical sex, it was the subtle, fascinating mental differentiation between men and women that had caused him to center his life around women in general and Carlotta in particular. He supposed that he had always pitied manos on some level for this missing thing in their lives, but now, walking down this street where men were men among men and nothing more, he wondered if there wasn’t something to be said for the bucko-to-bucko ties that could not quite exist in the same way among men who competed for the favor of women.

As he wandered down the street, Royce noticed male Transcendental Scientists scattered among the manos of Bongo. They didn’t seem to be engaging in the sexual byplay, but they did seem part of the general man-to-man camaraderie. How weird! Royce thought
They're
the off-worlders, but
Vm
the one who feels like a stranger.

His eye caught the hand of someone waving at him from a sidewalk table. It was Gary, the helicopter pilot, and two other men were sitting with him—a great hulk of a fellow with long black hair and a shaggy beard that merged into a seamless mane, and a slim young man with a shaven skull and a fringe of blond beard. On impulse, and figuring there was safety in numbers, Royce pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Brian and Dave,” Gary said, indicating the giant and the bald man respectively, “and this is—”

“Royce Lindblad,” Brian said, extending a huge hand. “We all know who he is.” He laughed as Royce hesitated, then shook his hand. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

“Not strictly true,” Dave said archly.

“Yeah, well I know the difference between one of these

eastern
boys and your tender buns, Jocko,” Brian said. “This bucko is a lady-lover in his bones:. He’s been having it off with Carlotta Madigan for years, hasn’t he?”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” Royce asked uneasily.

“Do
we
make
you
uncomfortable?” Gary asked slyly.

Royce nodded at a passing Transcendental Scientist. “Not as much as
those
buckos do,” he lied.

Brian frowned. “What do you have against the space-eaters?” he said.

“Maybe he listens to his lady more than he should,” Gary suggested. “A common easterner weakness.”

“You
like
them?” Royce asked.

“Why not?” Brian answered. “They’re
real men
, not mama’s pets.” He smiled fatuously at Royce. “Nothing personal.”

“And they’re giving us plenty and taking nothing in return,” Dave said. “What’s not to like?”

“You’re not worried that they’ll upset our way of life?”

“Woman’s talk!” Brian said.
"Whose
way of Ufe? Aside from the way they’re going to update this planet, it might do you boys good to listen to
men
for a change. You won’t take it from us because we’re not lady-lovers, but the space-eaters know how to be men and have it off with women at the same time. You might ponder that, Jocko.”

“I have...oyce muttered. “But you mean they’re not...”

“Mono?”
Gary said. “Oh, there are a few bigmouths who claim to have climbed a few space-eater trees...”

“But they’re full of jellybelly oil,” Brian said. “You think we all think with our wongs, like you boys? We don’t have to climb a man’s tree to
like
him, Jocko. And those space-eaters are as bucko as you or me. Maybe a little more so than some easterners I could mention...

“Such as certain lady-lovers who let their women do their thinking for them,” Gary said.

“You mean
me?”
Royce snapped.

“If the rig fits...

Does it?
Royce wondered. If it came down to a split between Carlotta and me on this thing, what would I do? He didn’t know. He didn’t even want to think about it. “I haven’t really made up my mind,” he said. “And neither has Carlotta,” he added lamely. “All she’s done is set
Pacifican
terms for establishment of an Institute.”

“And you think
Roger Falkenstein
is going to take crap like that from Carlotta Madigan? And risk having the effing
Femocrats
getting their claws into Transcendental Science?”

“He hasn’t said no ..

“And he hasn’t said yes,” Brian snapped. “Shit, Lindblad, you’re an effing lady-lover, but you’re still a
man!
Would
you
fake a chance like that?”

“So you think Falkenstein is going to end up dictating his own terms?” Royce asked.

“For sure,” Gary said. “It’s the only bucko thing to do. And then you lady-lovers are going to
have
to speak for yourselves, or admit that you’re hanging it up.”

“What about it, Royce?” Brian said. “You man enough to tell us where you stand without waiting for clearance from the great Carlotta?”

“I’ve seen what they have, and I know we’ve got to have it one way or another,” Royce blurted. “I’ll go that far.” “Well, well,” Brian said, “a lady-lover with balls! Maybe there’s hope for you boys yet.” •

“Maybe we could even teach him to climb trees,” Dave said.

‘Torch it, Dave!” Brian snapped as Royce flushed with embarrassment. “This lady-lover is a real bucko, and that’s more important than cooling your effing rod. Days to come, we manos and the lady-lovers are gonna have to learn how to be buckos together without letting our wongs get in the way. Whatever we like to prong, we’re all
men,
and .we’ve got to be brothers if we want to keep our spheres. Isn’t that right, Royce?”

“Maybe it is,” Royce said slowly. These buckos believed that Falkenstein was going to insist on his own terms, and so, ironically, did Carlotta. If it came to that, where would the true betrayal lie? In opposing the woman he loved, whose wise policies he had faithfully executed throughout his political career? Or in opposing his own instincts in the service of the woman he loved, who, wise as she was, was not only a fallible human, but seemingly blind to the vision he shared with these men, and perhaps with Roger Falkenstein as well?

Let it not come to that, Royce thought, rising from his chair. It was definitely time to demand Falkenstein’s unequivocal answer. He was beginning to dread what he was going to hear, but waiting to hear it had suddenly become exquisite torture.

“I’m overdue for a meeting,” he said. “It’s been enlightening, buckos. I just hope you’re wrong about what’s going to happen.”

“We won’t be,” Gary said.

“Leave the man alone,” Brian snapped, standing up and offering his hand. “Can’t you see he’s got a personal conflict here?” He smiled warmly at Royce. “It’s not exactly my vector,” he said, “but I can feel for you.” Royce shook his hand. “Thanks brother,” he said, feeling a surge of genuine warmth pass between them, even as a shadow of impending sadness drifted like a stormcloud across his heart. How are you going to tack across
this
stretch of sea, Jocko? he wondered.

“Fm sorry, Royce, that’s just the way it is, I have no discretionary power in the matter,” Roger Falkenstein said.

“Really?” Lindblad said, eyeing him narrowly. “Or is this the way you planned it all along? At the moment, I feel like a monumental asshole. Carlotta was sure this would happen; even some buckos I just talked to on the street knew it would happen. I seem to be the only one stupid enough to have given you people the benefit of an honest doubt. I don’t like being made a fool of, Roger.” They were sitting alone in the indoor balcony of the habitat. Down at the end of the meadow, the lights of the town had already dimmed. It was the tag-end of the night; soon Lindblad would retire, Falkenstein thought, and then it would be morning, and he would fly back to the capital, out of immediate reach. It’s important that he not go to bed angry. If he can’t leave here
for
us, at least he shouldn’t leave
against
us.

“I can sympathize with your anger, Royce,” Falkenstein said. “Policy often conflicts with personal feelings, for me as well.”

Lindblad cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. Good.

“Perhaps I’ve been less than honest,” Falkenstein said.

“Perhaps I really knew all along that the Council would insist on its own terms.” He smiled ironically at Lindblad. “And perhaps you were practicing much the same selfdeception, and for similar reasons.”

“Oh really?”

“Come now, Royce, we both know you’re at least as intelligent as Carlotta, and you must have known on some level that it would come to this, just as I really knew I had no real chance of persuading the Council to accept your terms. So we both double-thought our way around the inevitable as long as we could because we both really want the same thing and we both have policy problems with our superiors.”

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Lindblad said, in a tone of voice that seemed to indicate that he did, “We both understand that the forces of human evolution can’t be stopped in the long run, that your planet must have our knowledge simply because the knowledge exists, that we must give it to you because to withhold it would be a futile attempt to hold back our common destiny.”

“I guess I can agree with that,’’ Lindblad said. “But—” “‘But politics. But the inevitable fear of ongoing change. Your political superior is concerned with preserving your planetary culture against transformation by outside forces, and I can respect that. My political superiors are concerned with keeping our knowledge and power from falling into the wrong hands. I hope you can respect that, too.”

"Yeah,” Lindblad said, “I see your point”

Falkenstein shrugged. “If it were up to the two of us, there wouldn’t be any problem,” he said. “Our priorities are the same; I think perhaps we even trust each other, and we don’t have the pragmatic political responsibilities.” “But that’s not reality, Roger,” Lindblad said sympathetically. “Reality is that our governments are now going to insist on conflicting policies.”

Falkenstein nodded. “And I must implement the policy of the Council while you must do your best to thwart it...”

Lindblad looked away, out over the darkened meadow. “Maybe...” he said slowly. “But maybe not. Your Council may dictate policy to you, but Carlotta and I are a team, we listen to each other, and beyond us is a Parliament that can overrule our decisions, and a populace that can overrule Parliament. So our positions will be thrashed out between Carlotta and me, subject to what we think Parliament will accept, subject in turn to the Delegates’ estimate of the will of the voters, which in turn will be influenced by your own media blitz...”

“Which Carlotta will attempt to remove from the net?” Lindblad eyed him ironically. “No way,” he said. “You know damn well you’ve already made that politically impossible, and besides, I wouldn’t stand for that myself. Cutting off media access to preserve our way of life would be a contradiction in terms, and unconstitutional as well.” “You mean you’re going to support us?” Falkenstein asked hopefully.

Lindblad laughed. “I mean I’m going to try to keep an open mind and support your right to make your case,” he said. His eyes suddenly became shrewd and measuring. “And realistically, that was the purpose of this artful little conversation in the first place, now wasn’t it, Roger?” Falkenstein laughed spontaneously, without calculation. “Perhaps we both understand each other better than we like to pretend,” he said. “Perhaps that makes us friends.” “Maybe we like each other,” Lindblad said. “But as things stand now, we can’t afford to be friends.”