Worlds in Chaos (12 page)

The Kronian mission, along with the security and administrative staff attending them, were on the top two floors of the Engleton, which had restricted access from the general part of the hotel and was one of the regular accommodations for official visitors to the city. In all, there were twelve delegates and eight crew members, the numbers having been kept low to leave capacity for the
Osiris
to carry emigrants back on the return trip. Some of the crew, however, had been left to maintain a skeleton presence on the ship and would get their chance to come down to the surface later.

On arriving, Keene went straight up to the eighth floor as he had been directed and checked with the security people in room 809. A personable young man in a dark suit verified that he was expected and escorted him to one of the larger suites on the floor above, where two more security men in suits admitted them through the doors. From the hubbub of voices, the party was evidently already in progress. Keene recognized the white-haired figure of Gallian, the leader of the Kronian delegation, seated a short distance inside, talking to an Oriental couple who looked as if they had also just arrived—apparently he was greeting everyone personally. Gallian spotted Keene and waved him over, introducing the couple as a Japanese space-technology administrator and his wife. He apologized for the unusual way of receiving guests. “It’s the gravity, of course—and then two days of functions and presentations on top of it. Your people are working us hard already. But anyway, why am I making excuses? At my age one doesn’t need any excuses.” Keene grinned, told Gallian that he didn’t know how many times this had been said already but “ . . . welcome to Earth,” and shook hands heartily. The Japanese couple exchanged pleasantries and were then ushered on to meet others in the room by another Kronian, who Gallian said was Thorel, from the
Osiris
’s regular crew, and who must have stood at around seven feet.

Gallian turned back to regard Keene. He had a crusty, puckish-nosed face with eyes that were clear and mischievous. From their few long-delay message exchanges, Keene had formed an impression of bustling energy and a person who could never be content doing one thing at a time. Already, everything he saw was starting to confirm it. “Well, Lan, hello,” Gallian said. “So here we are. You see, we made it. And so did you. Les Urkin obviously got the message through. I’m glad.”

“I heard they’re taking you off on a tour,” Keene said.

“Yes, New York City to start with, then Niagara Falls . . .” Gallian waved a hand. “I’m not sure where after that.”

“When will this start?”

“Well, it was supposed to be first thing tomorrow . . .”

“So soon? You’re kidding.”

“ . . . but that may have to be postponed.”

“Oh?”

“Allergic reactions,” Gallian said.

“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten about that.” It was a known risk for Kronian-born making a first-time visit to Earth. Keene shrugged sympathetically. “There’s nothing anyone can do?”

“Not much, apparently. Immigrants like me don’t have a problem. We prepared the first-timers with the recommended drugs, but several of them are affected all the same. Two are in bed, knocked off their feet. We’ll know in the morning what the situation is.”

There was a tap on the doors; one of the security men opened them, and two men and a woman were shown in. Gallian extended an arm. “Anyway, I must press on with my hostly duties. Go on in and meet the others. Sariena’s around somewhere. We’re informal tonight. There’s a buffet in the suite. All of us agree, by the way, that whatever its other problems, Earth food is exquisite. And I’m finding that I’m particularly partial to wines. Vineyards are a luxury that we haven’t graced Kronia with yet. Our synthetic efforts really don’t compare. I’ll definitely try to get that changed when we return.” Gallian caught the attention of another Kronian, brown skinned and distinguishable by her tall build and casual, brightly colored trouser suit—distinctly not customary Washington dinner wear. “Polli, this is Landen Keene, an old friend of ours. Look after him and introduce him around, would you?” He looked back at Keene as the three arrivals approached. “I’ll seek you out and pin you down with more serious questions to spoil the party with later, I promise.”

The buffet was set up in the center of the suite, dispensed by hotel staff—a salad bar selection, cold cuts and cheeses, several hot dishes, dessert trolley, and a beverage bar. There were between one and two dozen people so far, Keene estimated, although the far end of the suite had an L-bend so there could have been more out of sight. Sariena was with a group on the far side by the windows, perched on an arm of a couch. And on the far side of the bar, to Keene’s mild surprise—although it shouldn’t have been, given the kind of job he had described—talking with two men, was Leo Cavan.

Polli was also an
Osiris
crew member, she told Keene as he selected a plate of cold assortments and took a glass of wine from the bar. Four of the ship’s eight-person complement had come down with the delegation. The four who had stayed aboard included the captain, whose name was Idorf. Polli was astonished and delighted to learn that Keene was one of the three who had been in the news the previous Friday, and called Thorel over as he passed near after depositing some used plates on a side table. “You know who we have here, Thorel? Landen is one of the Terrans that we saw, who raced with the spaceplane the day we arrived.”

Thorel was perhaps thirtyish, curly-headed, sallow-faced yet hefty, with an open and amiable manner. His field area was engineering too, and for several minutes he and Keene talked technicalities about the NIFTV and its performance. “So how is it you have all this trouble trying to convince your governments of things that should be obvious?” he asked in conclusion. “It seems such a waste of energies. And here you need all the energy you can get, just for standing up.”

Keene had noticed that nearly all the Kronians around the room were sitting. “Is that how you’re finding it?” he asked Polli.

“Also, it is bewildering,” she told him. “Already I have seen more human beings than in all the rest of my life put together. And I still get attacks of . . . What is it when you fear going outside?”

“Agoraphobia?”

“Yes, that is right. We trained for the gravity, but it doesn’t really prepare you for it. But the brilliance of the daylight is the most astounding. Nothing on screens can come close. But then, at night you have hardly any stars.”

Thorel went to collect some more arrivals from Gallian, and Polli took Keene around to meet more of the guests. Besides other Americans, he was introduced to more Japanese, two Russians, and one each German, Chinese, Brazilian, and Australian. Sariena saw him from across the room and acknowledged with a wave. While still tall by Earth standards, she was smaller than average for the Kronian group. Keene remembered her as saying that she had gone to Saturn as a child, with most of her rapid-growth and developmental years completed. The younger ones, born to the environments of Saturn’s moons or the low-
g
orbiting habitats, were uniformly one to two feet taller.

The word went around that one of the space crew from “that thing last Friday” was present, “The one who was on the news this evening—didn’t you see it? That’s him over there,” and Keene found himself much in demand.

“Do you really think it has a future—foreseeably, in the practical sense?” one of the Americans asked dubiously. He was a director of Chase Manhattan, it turned out. “Where’s the payoff? What can you bring from out there that we don’t have already, and cheaper?”

“It iss interesting zat your ship can connect viss der UN shuttle zat brings you down,” Keene overheard the German saying to one of the Kronians, who had a blotchy face and was sneezing intermittently. “Do you build to der same mechanical mating specifications zat you exchange maybe, ja?”

Everything inside Keene wanted to lean in and murmur,
Ve haff vayss of making it dock
. But he behaved himself, bit his tongue, and refrained.

Gallian appeared again and sought him out, accompanied by a man called Druche from an office of the Defense Department that dealt with space matters, whom Keene had met before on one or two occasions. “This is the man you should have building spaceships for you,” Gallian told him. “Landen understands how long-range systems have to work. Lan, you would appreciate a real spaceship. Before we go back to Saturn, we must show you the
Osiris
.”

Keene blinked at him, surprised. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t play jokes on my friends. We’ll sort out something for you, don’t worry. Make sure you talk to me later about it,” Gallian told him.

Gallian and Druche moved on, and Keene was promptly buttonholed by three more Japanese who seemed to be together. “Who are the other companies partnering Amspace?” the one who appeared to be the senior asked when they had been talking for a few minutes. “We could be interested in discussing further funding. How can we get in touch with the correct people?”

Keene mentioned Marvin Curtiss and offered to arrange an introduction. The Japanese seemed pleased. As Keene detached himself, Cavan drifted by, nursing a glass. “Just doing my job, you see,” he murmured. “ ‘Pump them when they don’t suspect it,’ is what I was told. A tacky world we live in, Landen. Tacky world.” And then he was gone again.

Before anyone else could pounce on him, Keene made his way over to Sariena. They had managed to exchange barely a few words so far. She was sitting on the arm of one of the couches, still managing to do justice to the unpretentious but stylish dress that she was wearing—black and sleeveless, with a high, oriental-style neck and just the right touch of trim—but closer he could see that weariness was beginning to show. A slim woman in a light green dress, with graying hair tied high, was standing talking to her. Keene remembered her being introduced earlier as with the Smithsonian but couldn’t recall her name. Sariena smiled as he approached.

“Lan, do join us. Have you two met yet?”

“Oh, we all know who he is,” the woman said.

Keene smiled uneasily for a moment. “Smithsonian,” he managed.

“Catherine Zetl,” the woman said, getting him off the hook. “I’m the historian.”

“Oh, right.”

“Ancient—the history, not me. Well, I hope not too much, anyway.”

“Catherine has been telling me some fascinating things,” Sariena said. “She’s just back from Arabia—involved with the Joktanian discoveries there.”

Keene searched his memory. There had been a stir in the news a couple of years back, and occasional mentions since in the scientific literature. “Some civilization they found from way back, isn’t it? Caused some surprises for the specialists.” Which about exhausted his knowledge of the subject.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Zetl said. “It’s turned all our ideas upside down. The Sumerians and Babylonians were supposed to have been the earliest to settle and build, but these people date from much earlier. Yet some of their architecture and workmanship appears more sophisticated. And there’s no obvious relationship to the cultures that came later. It’s as if they represent some lost age that flourished long before it should have been possible. For some reason it ended abruptly, and then what we’ve always thought was the beginning of civilization was a second start that came much later.”

“Isn’t it fascinating, Lan?” Sariena said again.

“So do we know what ended it?” Keene asked, getting more interested. “Was it your Kronian supercomet again?”

“Oh, I’m impressed by the Kronians’ arguments, but I refuse to be dragged into any of that tonight,” Zetl said, holding up a hand. “In any case, it couldn’t have been the comet, Venus, or whatever. This race existed long before the Egyptian Middle Kingdom and the Exodus. And I use the word ‘race’ deliberately. They were large—comparable to the Kronians around here.”

“The name Joktanian comes from Noah’s grandson,” Sariena informed Keene. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s who the ancient Arabic legends say the first people of the southwest peninsula were descended from,” Zetl said, nodding. “Their word is Qahtan.” She glanced away. “Oh, there’s somebody about to leave that I must catch. Excuse me.” She laid a hand briefly on Sariena’s arm. “Sariena, we do have to talk more about all this. Do call me when they give you a moment—if they ever do.”

“I certainly will.”

Zetl excused herself again and hurried away.

Sariena looked at Keene, sighed, and rotated her face slowly to stretch her neck. “Oh my. Is this what it’s like to be what you call a celebrity? You do it all the time? Where do you get the stamina? What’s the secret?”

“Not really,” Keene said. “Most of the time I deal with reactors and engines. This is just temporary, since Friday. Attention spans on this world tend to be short.” He looked at the glass that Sariena was holding. “Want me to get you another? Save your feet.”

“Oh, please. Any kind of fruit juice with a touch of vodka. . . .” She handed him the glass. “Do I look unladylike up here on the arm like a bird on a perch? If I sit down in this couch I can’t get up again. It digests you.”

“I don’t think you could look unladylike in a boiler suit,” Keene replied. “Something more to eat?”

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough.”

He went over to the bar and got a refill, along with a straight Scotch for himself. He wasn’t driving tonight. Might as well make the most of it, he figured. “Anything else for you, sir?” the cocktail waiter tending the bar asked. He peered at Keene more closely. “Say, aren’t you one of those three guys who—”

“You’ve got it,” Keene murmured, covering his mouth and slipping a ten into the glass set aside for tips. “But don’t spread it around.”

He went back, handed Sariena her drink, and looked at her while he sipped his own. There had been so many things he’d listed in his mind that he wanted to ask her when they finally met. He wanted to know about her world and what it was like to live out there; how it felt to be without a planet that automatically self-renewed and replenished everything necessary for life; to be totally dependent for survival itself, every moment, on machines. He wanted to know how a moneyless system could function and still sustain—evidently—all the complexities of a technological society. What motivated people to provide for each other in place of the penalties and rewards that just about every authority on Earth insisted were indispensable? . . . So many things. And now here they were, and suddenly none of it felt appropriate.