Where the Ships Die (3 page)

There it was, the word "evacuate," which conveyed more urgency than "leave." It was already under way. For as La-Ma spoke, certain relics, artworks, and records had already been removed from altars and were being airlifted to safety.

The audience stirred. Objections were shouted, and some of the more unstable attendees started to panic. The traditionalists, who saw the suggestion as an unseemly departure from past ritual, demanded permission to speak. La-Ma held up her hands. "Yes, there is change, and with change comes danger, but that is the nature of life."

The saying, attributed to one of the sept's founders, had a calming effect, and La-Ma launched into her carefully prepared text. "Listen, my friends, for I bring news of a danger greater than the magma below, or the eruption it might cause.

"While other sentients developed civilizations in which people work together, but pursue personal goals, we evolved from three-person hunting triads. We act as a group. A group having familial
and
reproductive responsibilities. The two-male, single-female configuration ensures that the female has support and protection throughout her yearlong gestation period, and increases the likelihood that the child will survive, even if one of the parents is killed. This was a frequent occurrence hundreds of years ago.

"The two-female, single-male model confers benefits as well. Cubs born into this situation are almost guaranteed to receive sufficient nurturance, and, in the days prior to public education, often received more instruction than their peers."

"What is the point?" a voice yelled from the audience. "We know the history of the Traa race as well as you do!"

Such interruptions were common—and signaled intellectual engagement. La-Ma gestured her thanks. "The point is that the very things that helped our ancestors to survive threaten us today. Time passed, and the individual roles within the triads became more specialized, until the professions of priest, warrior, and business being emerged as separate activities. Each has its own skills, conventions, and traditions. In order to survive, and eventually to prosper, priests joined other priests in the pursuit of knowledge, warriors established alliances, and commercial beings entered into partnerships, and in some cases, cartels.

"A thousand years of anarchy ensued as religions were born and suppressed, city-states rose and fell, and armies conquered each other. Then came the Great Reconciliation during which the three great septs were formed, each a balance against the excesses of the others, each composed of individuals having similar attitudes and interests.

"And the system worked very well indeed until a few hundred years ago when our warrior-explorers made contact with the aliens. They discovered that the aliens number in the
billions
and that they could eradicate the Traa race if they chose to do so. That realization, and that possibility, has caused our loved ones deep concern."

A tremor shook the cavern, and tiny bits of rock showered down on the audience. They shifted uncomfortably and looked upward. La-Ma swallowed to ease her suddenly dry throat, and hurried to finish her speech. "We know the danger is
real,
that evil
exists,
and that some would take what we have. However, that possibility must be balanced against the findings of our social scientists, none of whom predicts war. The same cannot be said for our sister septs, however, since our monitors inform us that they
are
preparing for a campaign of military and commercial conquest, and that their actions could result in the very conflict they seek to avoid.

"That's why we must take a firm stand, not just as a sept, but as members of our individual triads. We must reason with those we love and convince them to abandon this insane drive for power. We can never control the other races, nor should we try to do so. Peaceful coexistence is the best strategy, and even more important, the
right
strategy. Please join me and the rest of the council in our efforts to counsel our brothers and sisters while disaster can still be averted."

The subsequent shouting signaled strong acceptance for La-Ma's point of view. She felt warm inside and exposed her neck in a sign of humility and submissiveness. La-Si, a somewhat chubby female of middle age, approached the platform and looked at La-Ma. "Thank you! Our sept owes you a debt of understanding."

She turned toward the audience. "I know many of you would like to question our speaker, but I request that you hold your comments until tomorrow, when she will make herself available for group interaction. In the meantime, the evacuation will begin at the rear of the auditorium^ and proceed last row first. Transportation coordinators will guide you to maglev trains. Please remain with your row and help those who need assistance. May the truth enlighten and protect you."

The ensuing evacuation went surprisingly well. Those in the front rows chatted with each other while those toward the back followed coordinators through the exits. Pleased that everything was going so smoothly, La-Ma was turning toward La-Si when the earthquakes began. They came so quickly and close together that seismographs located hundreds of miles away recorded them as one continuous tremor. And as the earth shook, the mountain began to spew superheated gas along with a column of ash. It eventually rose thousands of feet into the air before the wind pushed it toward the east.

But La-Ma knew none of that as the floor pitched and rolled under her feet and she struggled to keep her balance. Some of the audience screamed and rushed for the exits, where the ushers turned them back. They were few when compared with the tens of thousands who remained where they were and closed their eyes in prayer.

A deep, resonant hum filled the chamber but was drowned out by an ominous rumble and a muffled explosion. Rock started to fall, and La-Ma barely had time to think of her beloved Ka-Di and Sa-Lo before a section of roof collapsed and crushed the life from her body.

Meanwhile, up on the surface, the first train to leave the temple shuddered as its single rail strained against its mountings, and rocked from side to side. The operator knew what had happened and hit the manual override button. Even a mile could make a difference. The maglev leapt forward, and might have made it too, if the Mountain of the Moons hadn't picked that exact moment to explode. It took less than five minutes to bury the temple, trains, and landing fields under tons of rock and ash. Afterwards, rivers of hot lava flowed down off the mountain to seal the mass grave.

One-third of the Traa race was dead. It took weeks, and in some cases months, for the news to make its way to all of the Traa-held planets, and the entire race was convulsed with grief. But life goes on, or so the surviving septs told themselves, and there was work to do. Aliens were plotting against them and must be stopped.

3

God gives nothing to those who keep their arms crossed.

Bambara (West African) proverb

Date unknown

The Planet New Hope

Dorn Voss was expelled from the Milford Academy for Young Men exactly one month after meeting with Headmaster Tull. Each day felt like a week. One by one the hours crept by until the two o'clock mail call finally came. Some of the boys shouted with excitement as they tore into long-awaited packages, while those who received something nearly every single day yawned, and the less fortunate shrugged and wandered away. It was a painful process made even more so by the fact that Dorn had more than some stasis-packed cookies on the line. He was worried about his parents, and his concern deepened with each passing day. Nothing came, however, so Dorn stopped attending and made plans for the day when he'd be released.

The headmaster's office was as it had been during his previous visit except that rain pattered against the skylight, rain that would not only fill the city's cisterns but flood the slums as well. Tull was worried, and it showed. "Have a seat, son. The paperwork is ready."

In spite of the fact that the school boasted the latest in computer technology, a necessity if it was to attract students, the rest of the planet used old, frequently outmoded equipment. It was for that reason that Dorn's transcript, personal data, and release forms were issued on hardcopy as well as microdisk. The teenager signed his name in all the right places, pretended to hear Tull's well-intentioned advice, and wished the whole thing were over. The headmaster forced a smile. "It's no secret that whatever 'hope' the original survey team had for this planet was only partially realized. So, in spite of the fact that we have some serviceable hotels, there are many less reputable establishments as well. I took the liberty of reserving a room for you at the Starman's Rest. It's clean and reasonably priced. Here, take this," the headmaster said, handing Dorn some cash. "It'll tide you over."

The teenager knew the money belonged to Tull and felt even worse about the 250 credits he had liberated from his fellow students over the past few weeks. "Thank you, sir. My parents and I will repay the money as soon as we can."

The Confederacy was huge, which meant that all sorts of things could happen to people, even wealthy ones, so there was little chance that Tull would get his money back and they both knew it. The headmaster smiled, said, ' 'Of course you will," and got to his feet. Dorn did likewise.

"So," the older man said, holding out an enormous hand, "while I have no authority over you once you leave the compound, I strongly suggest that you conserve what money you have, obtain any employment that may be available, and stay in touch with my secretary. Word will arrive from your parents any day now—and we must know where you are."

Dorn wanted to believe but couldn't. He managed a smile, shook the headmaster's hand, and left the office. He ignored the rain and made one last visit to the garden. Mud squished beneath his shoes, and branches rubbed his shoulders as the young man made his way out onto the terrace. The city was invisible behind a veil of mist and rain.

Dorn stepped into the dilapidated hothouse, leaned on the doorjamb, and listened to the rain drum against the plexiglas. He knew he shouldn't cry, knew it wouldn't do any good. But he cried anyway. He watched the plants dance and sway to the rhythm of the rain and lit a stim stick.

The hotel was at least five miles away, a somewhat unpleasant march under the best of circumstances, and completely out of the question for someone burdened with two heavy bags. Besides, Dorn had never wanted for anything, not before today anyway, and the idea of walking to save money never even occurred to him.

A wave was sufficient to summon the least damaged of the three cabs waiting at the gate. The bags went into the trunk, and Dorn entered the worn but air-conditioned interior. Plastic, covered with official notices, separated the driver from the passenger compartment. It was difficult to see the cabbie, but the teenager had the impression of a small man with black hair and a nose stud.

Dorn looked out the back window as the hover car rose off the ground, swiveled to the left, and headed toward the flatland below. Rivulets of water divided the academy into mismatched chunks that were swallowed by the mist. He wondered if he would see it again. He hoped he would.

The rain slackened as the vehicle reached the bottom of the hill and vanished a few minutes later. A broad, four-lane boulevard had been established back in the early days of the planet's settlement, before the development grant ran out. By then it had become clear that two lanes would be sufficient. The road was awash in rainwater mixed with human waste. Children from the slums waved from an armada of crudely constructed ships. Dorn waved in return, knew his mother would disapprove, and did it again.

The children vanished behind a curve. An army of ragtag day workers appeared on the left. Two or three hundred of them lined the top of a levee, snuggling to make repairs that one or two pieces of heavy equipment could have finished in an hour. But they were happy to work.

The taxi paused to allow a heavily laden wagon to pass, took a series of turns, and flared to a stop. Sunlight forced its way down through the clouds and speared the hotel. It was a modest structure by most standards but stood high above those around it, a sure sign that steel had been used to reinforce the concrete walls.

Dorn opened the door and felt warm, humid air flood around him. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and looked out at ankle-deep water. The hotel's entry way was more than two steps away and he was preparing to wade when a half-naked street urchin plopped a homemade stool in front of the door. She had black hair, big eyes, and a slightly protruding stomach. A sure sign of malnutrition, a fact that Dorn would have missed had it not been for Halworthy and his lectures.

Dorn smiled at the child, gave her a one-credit coin, and stepped on the stool. The curb was an easy jump. He turned and watched the waif scamper away. The sun had emerged by then, and the city started to steam. The cabbie, a quick, energetic man with half-rotten teeth, smiled and placed the teenager's bags on the curb. "That will be ten credits, young sir."

Dorn paid the man, added a two-credit tip, and turned to find that a young boy had taken charge of his bags. The ten-year-old, for that's the age he appeared to be, wore a none too clean loincloth and bore a striking resemblance to the stool-girl. He left a trail of feces-contaminated water behind him as he half dragged, half carried the suitcases across the hotel's gray synthimarble floor.

The desk clerk was enraged by this violation of his private sanctum—and the theft of his gratuity. He uttered a long string of obscenities, circled the chest-high reception desk, and hit the child with a stick maintained for that very purpose. The boy, fearing the loss of a much-needed tip, put his head down and forged ahead. Dorn stepped between them, smiled indulgently as the stick hit his arm, and felt for a one-credit coin. He found one in his right-hand pants pocket and tossed it into the air. The youngster caught it, flashed a thankful grin, and skittered out the door.

The clerk apologized profusely, launched into a diatribe against the local street children, and asked Dorn for a thumbprint. The teenager rolled his thumb on the registration plate, allowed the clerk to collect his bags, and followed him upstairs. The room was on the second floor and looked out on an alley. The clerk opened drawers, mumbled something about room service, and held out his hand. Dorn tendered another tip, waited for the door to close, and scanned his surroundings. The furnishings were worn but clean. Not what he was used to ... but acceptable under the circumstances.