16
THERE is a question to be asked concerning the purpose and putility of these "town meetings"—
No, hold it a minute. Please?
I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask me any new questions right now. I'm getting to the important part—well, the part that's important to me, anyway. You see, I was finally beginning to wake up.
What I mean is, I guess it's pretty obvious that for the first few weeks I was on Pava I was pretty much just letting things happen to me. That's not my nature. Honest. I'm not usually so passive. I'm more the kind who makes things happen. I'm not making excuses for myself, but I did take a real mean hit when I woke up in Tscharka's freezer and discovered I had become an involuntary Pavan. It took a while to get over that.
I probably wasn't really over it by then, either, but Dr. Billygoat had got me mad and the town meeting was that night, and by the time I got to the supper tables I had figured out what I wanted to do.
The place was crowded. Almost every human being on Pava was there. People from the outside crews, like the woodcutters and the maintenance workers at the hydrogen-fuel plant, had been drifting into town all day for the meeting. A dozen loud little knots of people were getting a head start in arguing out their personal priorities. Theophan Sperlie's table was the closest, and I sat down next to her. She was, naturally, with whom I expected her to be with—Marcus Wendt—and the two of them were bent head-to-head over a portable screen, hardly remembering to eat as she added up the list of tools and instruments she could not live another day without. She looked up absently as I sat, then zeroed in on me. "Oh, it's you, Barry. Hi. Listen, take a look at my requisition list, will you? I really need everything there—you know that—but the meeting isn't going to approve more than ten percent of the list. They never do, but I'll have to fight for even that much. Can I count on your vote?"
I caught a whiff of that sweet scent that hung around her, partly perfume and partly Theophan, but for once I didn't let it distract me. I went right into my pitch. "Sure, but tell me something. Why are you willing to settle for a lousy ten percent when you really need it all?"
Marcus gawked at me over Theo's shoulder, and Theophan gave me the kind of scowl you give to the willfully obtuse. Irritably she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and said, "What are you talking about? This isn't your damn Moon. Resources are limited, you ought to know that by now."
"They don't have to be this limited, Theo. There's plenty of fuel on Corsair. I'm willing to go up to the factory and see how much of a job it will be to install it."
Marcus chose to put his two cents' worth in then. He said forgivingly, "I guess you just don't grasp the problem, Barry. Fuel's one thing. Raw materials are another. We don't have them. The orbiter can't manufacture Theo's instruments out of nothing."
"It won't have to." I was talking to Theo, not Wendt. "There's a couple years' supply of raw materials sitting out there in orbit already. Think about it. They tell me the colony cannibalized one ship to use its materials a while ago. What's wrong with doing the same with Corsair?"
Marcus only looked both baffled and insulted—mostly insulted—but the stare Theophan gave me was stricken. "Oh, Jesus, Barry! You don't care whose toes you step on, do you? If we only could! But there's no way Garold Tscharka is going to agree to letting us take his ship apart."
"Well," I said, trying to sound apologetic, "I know I'm just a new boy here, but doesn't it seem to you that that ought to be up to the meeting to decide?"
She tugged that strand of hair loose again, curling it worriedly around a finger to help thought. "I don't know. Maybe, I guess. We've never voted on anything like that as long as I've been here."
"So maybe it's about time we started," I said, getting up, and at last her face lit up.
"Barry," she said, "what the hell. It's worth a try. We're with you all the way." And she caught my hand and pressed it to her cheek to show she really meant it.
That quick touch of fingers to flesh felt nice. Really nice, nice enough to derail my thoughts for a moment. Maybe that's not surprising, considering how long it had been since the Moon; I briefly considered punching Marcus Wendt in the face and dragging Theophan off to my bed.
That little aberration didn't last, though. What I actually did was to shake her hand, and Marcus's, and start looking around for other people to persuade.
The way I looked at the people there was that every one of them was a vote. I went after them like any politician. I table-hopped. By then I knew a fair fraction of Freehold's adult population, and I stopped for a moment to plant some seeds in the minds of as many of them as I could—Jillen Iglesias and Dabney Albright and Lou Baxto and—well, just about everybody whose name I could remember. Not quite everybody; Madeleine Hartly didn't seem to be there, though I did have a word with her great-granddaughter. And I skipped Becky Khaim-Novello. She was sitting quietly and thoughtfully by herself at the end of one table, eating as though it were a penance. I started toward her, all right, but then I turned away. She didn't look like a very distraught new widow, but it seemed to me that if I were in her shoes I'd really rather be left alone.
I told them all the same thing. I told them that I thought there was a good chance the orbiter could use the antimatter in Corsair's hold—as an expert in the subject, I was willing to go up there and check it out—and then I told them that it probably could use Corsair itself, too. As I went along I got more and more creative about the kinds of things the factory could make for them: a new power plant; air-conditioners; a helicopter or two to explore more of Pava. I sketched out how it would even be possible to build a small space tug out of pieces of Corsair so we could go out and harvest more material from Delta Pavonis's skimpy asteroid belt, so that even after Corsair was used up there'd still be materials to sustain the colony indefinitely.
I got all kinds of reactions. Some were skeptical. Dabney told me flat out that I was wasting my time; he pointed out that a lot of people, mostly Millenarists, would never vote to cannibalize Corsair simply because Captain Tscharka would be against it, and a lot of others wouldn't because they had other plans for the ship—like using it for a ride back to Earth. Jillen looked surprisingly worried—there'd been some upsetting news from Earth, she said—but she listened to me. So did everybody else. They did more than that, too. I could see some of them talking thoughtfully to others when I left.
By that time people were beginning to leave the tables, and the cleaning party was hurrying the laggards away. I packed it in then. I considered I'd done a good evening's work. The only thing I hadn't managed to do that suppertime was actually get anything to eat for myself.
I didn't mind. I guess I was already beginning to get a little bit hyper by then, but I didn't feel particularly manic. I just felt good.
When I stopped back at the apartment to clean up before the meeting, even Jacky Schottke was playing a list of supplies from his own screen into the central processing file. "What's the matter, weren't you hungry?" I asked him.
He looked up abstractedly. "Oh, you mean about supper? I guess I forgot. I was busy."
"Busy writing your letter to Santa Claus?"
"Well, I suppose you could call it that. It's just a shame that I don't have decent preservation facilities for type specimens, at least, but they always say it isn't really high-priority stuff. . . . Uh, Barry? While I think of it, there's a favor you could do me if you wouldn't mind—"
I didn't let him finish. I said, "Sure. The answer's yes. I'll vote for everything you want. I'll vote for everything everybody wants." And when he gave me a look, partly hurt because I didn't seem to be taking him seriously, partly puzzled, I laid it all on him.
If I expected him to jump with joy I was disappointed. He listened quietly while I spelled the plan out, then he sighed. "Poor Garold," he said.
"The hell with Garold. He'll just have to get used to it. Everybody's got to make a few sacrifices for the common good. Anyway, there's supposed to be another ship coming along pretty soon."
"Of course. Well, perhaps we'd better get over there. I'd like to get a good seat."
The good feeling was still with me as we cut between buildings on the way to the meeting place. Jacky wasn't talkative. I noticed clouds building up overhead and tried some neutral conversation—"It's a good thing we're getting the meeting in now, looks like we're due for some more rain"—but he just sighed again. He was looking at a group of three or four people talking earnestly together: Captain Tscharka, Tuchman, Jimmy Queng. They glanced at me, then turned away.
"What's the matter?" I asked Jacky.
"I think it's that story from the Moon," he said.
"What story?"
Jacky shook his head. "You don't follow the news from Earth much, do you? Well, never mind. Maybe it's not important."
I let it go at that. I shouldn't have, of course, but I wanted to be up front, while Jacky's idea of a good seat was something inconspicuous in the background.
The place was all set up for the meeting. All the tables had been carted away, and most of the benches were already full. I took an open seat next to Theophan Sperlie, who gave me an encouraging wink and patted my hand. That seemed promising, too, especially because, for a wonder, Marcus wasn't with her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him hurrying in a moment later; but then he came to a stop, looking chagrined. If Theo had been saving the seat next to her for him to occupy it wasn't saved anymore.
Things were looking up in more ways than one. I kept her hand in mine, but I had other things to deal with. I marshalled my arguments in my mind: the fuel; the plan of scrapping Corsair to feed the orbiter's production machines; the possibility of exploring for asteroidal metals and ending Pava's dependency on Earth once and for all. It all made sense to me. I was ready to get up in meeting and propose it for everybody.
I didn't even notice that Jimmy Queng had taken his place on the tabletop that served as a platform until he began to speak. "Quiet down, please," he said, looking somber and angry. "Reverend Tuchman has something to say to you."
That was when I began to realize that something was going wrong. So did most of the Freeholders at the same time; there was a buzz all around the audience as Friar Tuck climbed up on the table. He looked even more grim than Jimmy Queng while he waited for the noise to die down. Then he said:
"I speak particularly to our penitential brethren, but I fear this affects everyone here on Pava. As some of you know, we have had saddening news from Earth. We cannot let it pass unobserved. So, in mourning for our martyred brothers, I am declaring a retreat for three days effective at once. The congregation is asked to return here in one hour to proceed to the retreat site."
That made for some real muttering in the crowd—surprised, angry, generally upset. The only ones who seemed to know just what to do were the well-disciplined Millenarists, all of whom stood up and began to leave to get their possessions for the retreat. Jimmy Queng pounded the seat of the chair next to him for silence. "I think you'll all agree that it wouldn't be fair to continue with the meeting when so many must leave. Under the circumstances, this meeting is canceled. We will reschedule it as soon as possible."
That was that.
Five minutes later the Millenarists were all gone and most of the rest of us were just standing around trying to make sense of what had happened. "The bastards," Theo said, but without much emotion—as though she'd expected something of the kind.
Marcus nodded. "I knew it. I bet it's because of those two Millenarists on the Moon."
I blinked at him. "What two Millenarists?"
"The ones that were arrested and deported. What's the matter, Barry? It was all on the news reports; haven't you seen them?"
I hadn't, of course; I'd been too busy with my own worries and plans. Theo patted my hand again. "This whole thing is just a pretext, of course. Tscharka must have known what we were going to propose, so he wanted to stall as long as he could. 'Martyrs,' for God's sake. Nobody but Tuchman would have the nerve to call those two creeps martyrs."
She gave me a curious look, as though I were looking unusually stupid. As I guess I was.
"Well," she said consolingly, "we'll just have to take it up when the meeting's rescheduled. Don't worry, Barry. Our time is going to come." And she gave my arm a friendly squeeze . . . before turning away and leaving with Marcus, hand in hand. It was beginning to rain again, too.
And that's what happened that night. Now you can ask your question if you still want to.