Back | Next
Contents

31

Societies are dynamic things, feeding on inputs from outside. There is no such thing as a stable society any more than there is perpetual motion.


From: Elementary Societal Psychodynamics.
2089. James R. Grey (ed).
New Harvard Library (Pub.)

 

There was a knock on the door. Zoë went to open it. "We have some people who wish to meet your guest," said the elderly flier who was standing there. "Zoë, you know flight cooperative chief Gersholm of the Goshawks and flight cooperative deputy chief Karasoff of the Falcons."

Amber saw how Zoë's eye's widened. "Come in," she said. "What brings the heads of the two other biggest flight co-ops into Osprey sky?"

"I think you know the answer, test pilot," said Karasoff, waving a hand at Amber. "The Matriarchy of Diana wants her back. And we're not too sure we want any of them here in Icarus."

"That's too bad. You know they've fulfilled the basic requisites for citizenship, don't you?" said Zoë, putting a hand on Amber's shoulder. "They volunteered, in the presence of witnesses, to fly. No one has yet said it was 'too dangerous'. "

"Yes," said the older man who was plainly the senior Osprey. "I told them. But we're talking a lot more about practicalities than four-hundred-year-old idealism here, Zoë. The status quo isn't that bad."

Zoë exploded. "Like hell, Cremer! You know as well as the rest of us that the Icarus cooperative was formed to get out from under the 'status quo.' We're heading into our dream—dangerous and unpredictable times—they're less than eighty years off and suddenly you want to start living safe. Get out of here. I'm calling an Osprey general meeting and we'll vote ourselves a new MD."

"Calm down," said the third man. "I'm with you. And if Chief Cremer doesn't like it, I am formally mandated to give you and your guests entry to the Goshawks. I'm of the firm belief that your visitors should be shared among all the flight cooperatives, and not just Osprey."

The Osprey chief gaped at him.

He held up his hand soothingly. "Anyway. Just hear us out, please. Diana says they've got vat problems. You don't want people to starve, do you?"

"How do you know all this?" asked Amber suspiciously.

"There are comm lines in the cable," explained the Goshawk. "We have occasionally spoken to other habitats in the past, although we are not intended to. They were meant for major disasters affecting the whole train. We suspect that computer records of current status of all the beads are also sent to the last habitat, to be returned to Earth. They get their data on all of us serially, that way. Anyway, the Matriarchy picked up a radio broadcast on a frequency set onto a transmitter in your lab. They worked out that it could come from here. They're begging."

Amber bit a knuckle. "I'll tell you bluntly, there are at least five others in the Matriarchy that could do my actual job from the biochem or the micro side. If—and this is a big if—they have a real problem, it is likely to be engineering or computer support. I'm better with computers than most. I'm no engineer. I think they want me back for political reasons. But—I've got biochemical expertise that you need, and they are in no position to make you hand me over."

"We know that," said the Falcon. "They claim that you were kidnapped and that the others of your party are criminals. Is this true?"

Amber looked at the three: two men and a woman, and knew her future and her happiness hung in the balance. "No," she said. "If anyone was kidnapped by anyone, I kidnapped them. The others aren't criminals either—or at least they wouldn't be, here, by your laws. Howard—the big guy—his crime was wearing clothes and being out in public without a woman." That produced a stunned chuckle. "If you'll sit down, I'll tell you as much of the story as I know. Then you can decide for yourselves. To my mind, the best thing you could do would be help this poor alien to reach his ship."

They listened.

"These uThani—they want to invade? And you brought them here?" asked Karasoff.

"Be reasonable," said Amber. "What else could we do? And how practical would an invasion be? But they're going to be alone in space soon. At least this way . . . well, they have some idea what they'll face, and how to face it. Sending them out here was little more than genocide, actually. We ought to help them."

The trio looked at each other. "Actually, that seems to be the weakness of the whole Slowtrain," admitted the Osprey leader. "We all need some kind of help by now. Humans were designed to cross-pollinate, not to be self-fertile. Look, Dr. Geriant, I would be lying if I said the Osprey wouldn't like you to stay here, at least for some teaching-time. And as for the rest of your group, well, I'd say that if this is all true, the best we can do is, as you say, export them to the next bead. That might just be terminal, though. They've been lucky so far . . . but the next bead is another matter."

He grimaced. "Do you know that it was planned that the bead-societies would provide isolation buffers? The next bead is supposed to be a militant one. We're supposed to be untraversable. That's why the co-op got a reduced rate for our passage on the Slowtrain. We apparently couldn't afford anything nearer the tail. It has meant a long wait." He rubbed his chin. "Will you at least talk to the Matriarch? She genuinely seemed to be close to panic. Talked of sending a force out to fetch you if need be."

"The uThani would kill them . . . if they ever got that far."

"It does sound like it," said the Goshawk chief. "I might tell you that I envy you, Dr. Geraint. I'd like to see that place."

"You might be able to organize it. Going in uninvited would be fatal. I wish I could talk the Matriarchy out of this stupidity. I don't even know—without Kretz's ship—if we can get back. Going through the uThani habitat without their say-so would be impossible."

"We could organize comms right here," said the Osprey chief.

Amber nodded. "I suppose I'd better."

"You don't have to do anything for them," said Zoë firmly.

"I know. But a bit of talking might save some lives."

It didn't take very long. Nor did the Matriarch beat about the bush.

"Dr. Geriant, the Matriarchy needs you. We want you back. We're happy to let bygones be bygones. We're prepared to offer Matriarchal pardons to you and to all your associates, with any guarantees you want. Or name your terms." The woman cleared her throat. "I also have to tell you that Jean says she'd be prepared to try again."

A week ago that would have been all Amber Geraint needed to hear. Now all it said was that huge pressure had been brought to bear. She could—now—look at that last argument—and the ones that led up to it, and be dispassionate. It had all been about dominance, really. A relationship between two equals—both masters of separate fields and not competing—might just work better.

"Tell her she can sleep easy and alone. And then let me have a technical report on the problem. It sounds to me as if it's an engineering one, and we may just have a solution for you here. A real, long-term solution. One that actually doesn't involve me."

 

When the full report came through, Amber was pleased to see that her guess was right. The temporary answer Melanie had come up with was not a bad solution, really. But manual mixing of nutrients just wasn't going to work as well or in the long term. She showed it to Zoë who giggled a lot, and not just because she was being tickled. She couldn't show it to the Osprey, Goshawk and Falcon chiefs, because they had gone to meet the other travelers. Probably to see how their stories corroborated with Amber's. It certainly looked like the others would have their free passage soon.

"We will have to see what we can charge for fabrication and fitting," said Zoë.

"We should get the uThani to bargain for us about it. They're selling off feathers from some dead birds—that they would have thrown away—for a fortune."

 

Zoë winning the championship with her new tail mods, while sweet, was almost anticlimactic.

 

Back | Next
Framed