PART THREE
The Emotional, the Rational
Chapter 12
As soon as Kasimir Sukui saw the distorted face on the TV screen, he guessed correctly the origin of the signals. In his youth, reading the archive material his parents had preserved, he had learnt what was known of the history of the Ark Ships. There had been four of them, sent one after the other by an organisation of nations that had spanned the Earth. The Arks had carried representatives of each member of this unity of nations. The colonists and their descendants had grown accustomed to life in the Arks and, when the fourth generation finally arrived in the vicinity of Expatria, they had not wanted to leave the security of their homes. The planetary surface was alien to them, they were people of the interior. It was no great leap for a rational mind to see that, despite the collective decision to land, some colonists may have chosen to stay in the orbiting Arks. Mathias Hanrahan's grandfather had believed this to be so; he had recovered an old shuttle and tried to escape into orbit. The shuttle had failed, but Sukui had viewed intelligence reports on the matter. He had considered explaining the incident to Mathias, but the subject had never arisen.
The pictures on the screen confirmed that the split had occurred. The fact that the signals corresponded with the TV specifications indicated a common technological ancestry.
There were people living in orbital colonies.
The message sparked into greyness and Sukui cleared his throat. 'Play it back and attempt to refine the signal,' he said.
Hanrahan had already started making adjustments and he grunted in acknowledgement.
The words of the message were still seeping through Sukui's consciousness. There were people living in orbit around Expatria. But also, there were more people coming from Earth and they had been in communication with the Orbital Colonies.
Events of the past few minutes would send shock waves throughout Expatria. The situation required careful handling.
The message played again. The face was clearer but still the image was poor. On a second listening, Sukui could make out more of the words, but the content of the message was unaltered.
When the image sparked away for the second time, Sukui rose and stood before the screen. 'Colleagues,' he said. 'We must talk.'
He looked around. Mathias Hanrahan and Lui Tsang sat immediately before him. The others sat back in a loose arc of chairs. Sanjit Borodin, Helena Lubycz, Sun-Ray Sidhu, Mags Sender. All looked serious, all looked excited, all looked eager. They had rapidly become one of his best research teams.
'We live in unsettled times,' said Sukui, 'and we bear a message of great impact. We must consider how best to inform the world.' He looked around, but nobody wanted to contribute. 'Rumours can be dangerous things, they are the fuel of conflict and disruption. Until this news is officially sanctioned we must each agree that it be kept secret. I am a man of influence, I am close to the Prime. Please, let me handle this in my own manner. I ask this of you, I cannot command you—knowledge can only be constrained voluntarily.' He looked around. 'Does anybody have anything to say?'
Nobody did. He asked each of them in turn to keep the secret and, from his experience in the Primal household, he felt that he could trust them.
Now, he had to consider how best to approach Prime Salvo with the matter. His words had not expressed the real cause of his concern: the one person most likely to be disturbed by the message was Salvo Andric. The Prime had so much to consider, Sukui was afraid his master might react hastily to the situation.
He would have to handle it very carefully indeed.
He headed for the door. 'I have matters to attend,' he said. 'We must devise a means of communication. Work on it and keep me informed of everything.'
~
Sukui stopped outside the door of Prime Salvo's High Office. It was three days since he had heard the message from the Orbital Colonies. He would like to have been more involved in the work—he longed to be out of the Capitol and busy in that hut—but he knew that was not possible. Regretfully, he acknowledged that he had become more statesman than scientist. Shaking his head sadly, he knocked on the door and then entered the office.
The Prime was staring out of a tall, leaded window. 'Kasimir, you were right as ever,' he said, without turning. An aide hurried into the room, and back out with a stack of files.
'Sir?' Sukui lowered himself into a seat and leaned back. He had slept little in the past few weeks. The pressures of state were increasing their burden.
'This summit.' The Prime turned and rested a shoulder against the window-frame. 'I received word this morning. Edward Hanrahan has agreed to meet. I told him I would blow his balls off if he refused; he said he would blow mine off but there was no harm in talking. We both know that the situation is at a stalemate. We kill some of them, they kill some of us and nobody within kilometres of the borderlands can live in security. Did you know the farmers won't even plant crops in Xiong-si because they don't expect to be there to harvest? It's spread that far!'
Sukui was not accustomed to the Prime talking in such a negative manner. 'The summit?' he prompted. He had seen it as the most likely solution, a meeting of the two opposing Primes.
'It will be here in Alabama City in nine days' time. Full attendance: myself and you and a number of others. See to the details.'
'Do we know who they will send? Apart from Olfarssen-Hanrahan, of course.'
'No.'
Sukui felt a surge of disappointment and cursed himself for letting his feelings have so much influence. Will Lucilla Ngota be there? he had wanted to ask. Ever since he had confronted Ngota in the park, he had been plagued by her memory. She occurred in his dreams, that fierce look cutting him into tiny pieces. She occurred in his daytime thoughts, too, cropping up out of context when he was trying to concentrate on matters of more importance.
'You've not been sleeping.'
'Sir?'
'You were staring.'
Sukui mentally shook himself. He had to concentrate.
'What about matters closer to home, eh? What have you scientists been doing?'
Sukui barely blinked. In that instant he considered informing the Prime of their discovery and in that instant he dismissed the thought. There was too much happening; it would have to wait until after the summit. 'We piece together what we have found,' he said. 'It is a slow process.'
The Prime nodded, accepting Sukui's platitudes. 'Kasimir, tell me: how is my cousin Siggy doing? I have heard conflicting reports.'
So this was what was bothering the Prime. 'Reports about your cousin are bound to conflict, my lord. Siggy Axelmeyer is the site of intense conflict and it is all internal. Until recently he was a model student. He worked hard in the laboratories—I moved him around every so often, to broaden his experience—and he studied hard in his own time. I sometimes wonder when he ever found time to sleep. Your cousin, sir, is very intense. When he works he pours himself into his labours but, apparently, when he pursues other activities he is equally dedicated.'
'He wrecked the Happy Hobo Eaterette, last night. Single-handedly. They served him chilli-dogs when he asked for pepperoni. He broke a few tables and then he threw the Happiest Hobo herself out through the front window. That was the biggest single pane of glass in the whole of Alabama City.'
Sukui had not heard of this latest incident. 'Sir, he is very intense.'
'Somehow he's heard of the summit. He came here and demanded that I change my mind, he insisted that we make guns and bombs, instead. He told me what a wonderful technological base we have, he said we could beat Newest Delhi easily if only we did as he said.' The Prime shrugged. 'I've had him locked up for a few hours. He has to learn.'
'Sir, why do you tell me this?' The Prime would not normally talk of such conflicts. It could be read as a sign of weakness.
'I tell you because Siggy mentioned a friend of his.' He spread his hands on his desk and leaned towards Sukui. 'He said this friend was the only person who really understood him...'
'Sir?'
'He said his friend was Mathias Hanrahan. Siggy—he doesn't amount to anything, he's just an angry juvenile. But Mathias Hanrahan is in the background, stirring up trouble. Maybe it's just coincidence—maybe he's simply "having a good time", as Siggy puts it. But I don't like it when there is trouble and Mathias Hanrahan is involved. I warned him, Kasimir: I will not tolerate interference. You must observe him and report to me. If he deviates by a fraction, then I will have him dealt with. These are dangerous times, Kasimir, we must be harsh.'
Sukui bowed his head. The Prime was mistaken: Mathias had matured into his role in the Project. He was not causing trouble. The final test of Sukui's trust had been in Orlyons, when Mathias had resisted the opportunity to flee and, instead, had returned to the docks at the appointed time. 'I will do as you say, my lord,' he said. It was no lie: he was watching Mathias already, waiting for results from the team on Dixie Hill. Sukui backed out of the High Office; he had much on his mind.
~
The signal was still being received ten days after it had been decoded. Sukui sat before the screen, staring at the fuzzy face and listening to the softly accented words. The team had refined the broadcast to a remarkable degree, but Sukui knew that the equipment was capable of yet better results.
Lui Tsang was fussing about, making adjustments that Sukui felt sure were unnecessary. The message had been repeated for so long, Sukui had begun to worry that they were too late. Maybe it was an ancient recording, repeated by the automatic systems of the Ark Ships. Maybe all that remained in orbit were four empty hulks and some computer circuitry.
Or perhaps they were only marginally late and terran ships were, at this moment, landing somewhere on Expatria.
Sukui stopped himself. Such wild speculation was not to be encouraged. He had to stay calm and sift the facts as they were found, he must not let his imagination fill the vast gaps in his knowledge with idle fantasies.
'We're ready, Sukui-san.' It was Tsang, pointing to a muffed panel he had called a 'microphone'. 'Give me the nod when you're ready, then speak into here.'
Sukui had directed the team's efforts into producing a voice-only method of communication. 'It will be quicker,' he had said. 'They will receive it just the same.' Also it would preserve anonymity; he did not like the idea of his image appearing on a screen thousands of kilometres distant before people he had never met. 'Proceed,' he said, and leaned closer to the microphone.
Tsang flicked a switch and nodded.
'People of the Orbital Colonies,' said Sukui, reciting his speech from memory. 'My name is Kasimir Sukui. I speak for the Lord Salvo Andric, Prime of Alabama City. We have received your message. The people of the Andricci provinces extend their comradeship. Please reply, then we will have preparatory discussions of the matters you have raised.'
Sukui nodded to Lui Tsang and the message was over. Then he glanced at Mathias and raised his eyebrows in question.
Mathias nodded and said, 'It's all on disc. We'll play it back until they respond.'
Sukui stood and walked over to the window. 'We cannot be sure they will respond,' he said.
'I know,' said Mathias. 'But at least we've tried.'
Sukui had sworn that he would not wait at the hut but, even so, he found himself doing just that. He did not expect any response to be prompt but he remained, just in case.
He stared at the talking head on the TV screen. It was becoming annoying, the way the head bobbed about, the tone of its voice.
He left the hut and stood outside in the gathering twilight. In two days his time would be occupied solely by the peace summit. Now that it was coming to fruition he was beginning to have doubts about even that, but it was too late now, he would have to let events take their course and guide them if he could. He had to be rational.
He sat down with his back to the hut. He could feel tendrils of sleep tugging at the corners of his mind. He had not slept well for a number of weeks. Affairs of state had been too pressing. He drifted, slowly. Things would work out, although he had not yet computed the probability.
The ground was shaking and his arms were pulling away from his body but then he opened his eyes and it was Sun-Ray Sidhu, shaking him roughly by both shoulders and saying, 'Sukui-san! Quick.'
Sukui was instantly awake. He struggled to his feet and hurried into the hut. Everyone was gathered around the screen.
He pushed through and assumed his place by the microphone. The face on the screen appeared unchanged and, for a moment, Sukui wondered why he had been summoned.
Then he saw that the face was different. It was at a new angle, looking to one side, not out of the screen as it had before. The face was saying something that Sukui could not distinguish. He watched as the face's expression changed and then the head turned to the front and spoke, its voice muffled, saying, 'OK, ready to go.'
There was a pause and then the face said, 'Um, hi. We've just gotten your signal.' The man was looking down at what Sukui guessed was a written speech. 'Oh, Jesus,' said the man in his orbit. He screwed up a sheet of paper and tossed it away. 'You mean there's someone down there? Hey, are you listening down there? Can you say anything? Is somebody there?'
Sukui activated his microphone. 'Of course there is someone here,' he said. 'Why else would we reply to your message?'