Tales of the Flying Mountains Page 12

  She squeezed his hand and thought how lucky she was. Oh, yes, she recognized for an instant, I was on the rebound, hurt, embittered, come to Flora in search of a new job, and I don’t know which of us seduced the other, but I know how we quarrelled the first few years. His flamboyance, his recklessness, his almost compulsive gambling, his repeated failures to hold down steady work, agaist my … well, my unconfessed memories of someone else, which made me prim, overcautious, often shrill with him, much too often concerned with the children at his expense.… The admission was unremorseful. Avis Page had long since become a stranger, as had that early Avis Bell. After Don had gradually accepted some domestication, and she some liberation …

  Thought faded to nothing before the reality of him. He was big, dark, trim, usually smiling, always gracious, with a lingering trace of New Orleans accent to evoke girlhood days within her. In the elegance of black tunic and trousers, white lace, discreet gold arabesques, diamond rings, silver shoecaps—none of which he imagined might look “prosperous”—he was too handsome to be true.

  “Pardon the interruption, Dave,” he said, not breaking the light contact of his fingers with hers. “Please go on.”

  “Well, I really have little to tell,” Mayor Pirelli answered. His tone was not glad. “My office has received nothing since that short-notice message.” Bitterness tinged his quoting: “‘The President has dispatched a commission, now en route, for the purpose of investigating conditions in the Trojan colony and making recommendations as to desirable changes—’ Not so much as their names. It’s a flat-out insult.”

  “Suggests they’ve already made up their minds what to do about us,” growled Pete Xenopoulos, who owned a fruit ranch, “and they don’t give a curse how we feel.”

  “Ladies, gentlemen,” Bell said. “Let’s not borrow trouble. The interest rate is so high. Let’s begin, at least, with speakin’ softly, and listenin’ more than we speak, and instead of arguin’, just pointin’ out how matters look to us. Now what occurs to me along that orbit is, we’ll put them up in the hotel as planned, but we’ll invite them to our homes, individually, and give them the grand tour individually. Can’t hurt none, and it might win our side some friends.”

  “Hm-m … maybe,” said Roth, proprietor of the community’s largest machine shop. “We can try. But in that case, Don, Avis, you two better take charge of the leader. You put on a fancier spread than anybody else can, and … uh——”

  “And he’s likely to be the most obnoxious of the lot, and we’re the most used to handlin’ difficult customers, eh?” Bell stroked his mustache. “Yes, reckon so.”

  The speakers woke with announcement and the transport ship, which had crossed space in days but was awkward near soil, lumbered down out of the sky.

  The Bell house stood atop Mount Ida, where the air was too thin to breathe. You took a liftshaft straight up through the rock and emerged in a sealed complex of rooms, pools, conservatories riotous with color. Most spectacular was surely the living room. Besides its spaciousness, its furnishings, its imported hardwood floor, its central hearth of copper where a genuine fire burned synthetic but realistic logs, it had a vitryl dome for the roof that began at waist height. Thus you could look from the peak in one direction to see the gaiety and frail beauty of Dingdong; in another direction for a glimpse of an ice mine, machines, buildings, unending energy; and elsewhere down a sheer cliff to a country still raw and dark and empty of life. When the sun happened to be away, as it was at the moment, every spot overhead was diademmed with stars, nebulae, Milky Way and sister galaxies.

  The butler set coffee and liqueur on a table carved from a single great quartz crystal. The three diners took their places in armchairs around it, and he left them on cat feet. Music lilted forth, not loud, meant for a pleasing background to conversation—something by Haydn, Avis seemed to recall, though she lacked Donald Bell’s ear and memory.

  “Cigar?” The host offered a silver humidor.

  “No, thank you,” James Harker said. His voice was not really stiff, nor was his seated posture, but they gave that impression. “Do smoke yourselves if you wish.”

  “Thank you, I will. I hope you enjoyed your dinner?”

  “Why … yes, of course. I’m sorry, Mrs. Bell. I should have expressed my pleasure earlier. Frankly, I never expected a gourmet meal in these regions. You’re a superb cook.”

  Avis overcame her dislike of her guest sufficiently well to smile. “Actually,” she said, “my cook is.”

  “You seem to have quite a large personal staff,” Harker remarked.

  Bell shrugged. “About a dozen. Place this size; and then we do a lot of entertainin’.” He lounged back and streamed a blue cloud out between appreciative lips.

  “Live servants are scarcely to be had anywhere at home,” Harker said. “Scarcely anywhere on Earth, I believe.”

  “In spite of mass unemployment?” Avis asked.

  Harker frowned. He did not look like a stereotypical puritan. His garments, while modest in hue and cut, were of good material, and his middle-aged features were blobby and undistinguished till you noticed the big chin and the hard eyes. He had been polite, in a noncommittal fashion, when the Bells escorted him around. But it was not possible for the head of the Presidential Investigating Commission to hide altogether his disapproval of unabashed luxury.

  “Americans traditionally consider that kind of work degrading,” he said.

  “Well, we’ve developed a different tradition in space,” Bell drawled. “That was necessary, back in the days when people used their hands because they hadn’t any machine to substitute, maybe no machine’d been designed for a particular job yet … except man himself, the all-purpose gadget. And then, well, look at it this way. The pioneers had to be self-reliant, or they died. But they also had to be mutually helpful, or they died. So they evolved, more or less unconsciously, the notion that anyone who did well was morally obliged to find jobs for the less fortunate; and that there was no disgrace in takin’ those jobs, because every erg of work contributed to improvement. The disgrace would lie in freeloadin’.”

  “You have no unemployables?” Harker sounded sarcastic.

  “Oh, some, sure,” Bell said. “A few extremely handicapped—though in this day of prosthetics and regrowth, those’re mostly mental cases. Otherwise our philosophy of public assistance is the same as our independent neighbors’. Give the deservin’ person a leg up, no more. Like, say, a widow with young children to look after and no close relatives to help her. But cases like that are rare, most families bein’ large and close-knit.” He took a sip of Drambuie. “I don’t imply we’re saints, Mr. Harker. We’re everything but. In the usual blind, blunderin’ human style, we’ve developed institutions that serve our needs. Nothin’ fancier’n that.”

  “If you will forgive my outspokenness,” the man from Washington said, “I am not convinced they do serve your needs, at least not any longer. And they certainly are counterproductive for the country as a whole.” From the way in which he raised his coffee cup to his mouth. Avis could see how tense he was becoming.

  “M-m-m, yes, now the Social Justice party is back in power. …”

  The dilute acid in Bell’s voice did not escape Harker. “Sir,” he replied, “—and madame, of course—you’re both intelligent, well-informed people. You may have voted for the opposition, but you must know that the Essjays won by better expressing the popular will.”

  “Reaction to defeat,” Avis said. “Let’s be honest. In spite of every face-saving formula, the asterites beat the Americans.”

  “If you wish to put it that way,” Harker said testily. “I’m inclined to credit their diplomats more than their naval men. Asians, Russians, even Europeans didn’t mind at all if North America lost its best spatial possessions. They weren’t hard to talk into putting on pressure, giving clandestine aid.… They’ll be sorry when the example gets imitated.… But besides that, the game stopped being worth the candle. Too much that was too expensiv
e was too badly overdue at home. And that’s what Social Justice is all about. Rebuilding the country, first internally, afterward in its foreign relations; regaining our position as a first-class power.”

  A silence followed.

  “More coffee?” Avis lifted the pot.

  “Yes, thank you,” Harker said. “It’s good.”

  “Kona,” Avis told him. “From one of our experimental plantations.”

  “You’ve been generous to me,” Harker said. “I would almost feel guilty if—” He paused. “I would, if each of us didn’t already bear a greater guilt: that we are glutted while others are poor.”

  “If they’d bred a little less eagerly, they wouldn’t be so hard up today,” Bell said. His tone stayed mild.

  “Perhaps,” Harker answered. “But we’re confronted with a fact, not a might-have-been.”

  “I didn’t think anybody in North America was starvin’.”

  “No, they aren’t. However, when a person’s grown accustomed to an ever-mounting standard of living, and suddenly it not only stops rising, it takes a sharp downturn—that’s a hardship and a cause for grievance. You may have seen 3V replays of the marches and riots, but believe me, they’re quite different from the real thing. Then we must also take account of more conventional political forces. The discontented command a majority of votes.”

  Bell puffed for a moment before asking almost lightly, “What do you aim to do?”

  “The war was costly,” Harker replied. “The loss of most of our asteroids, with their resources and tax revenues, is proving costlier still. We’ve got to work together, mobilize what we have left, organize our efforts, in space as well as on Earth.”

  “No doubt. I was just wonderin’ what you, specifically, have in mind. Maybe we locals could offer you an idea or two.”

  “That’s one of the reasons for my commission.” Fervor bloomed in Harker. “You realize, my group has a strictly fact-finding assignment. Our report will be one element among many in reaching a decision and writing new legislation. But we do want to learn the wishes of you residents.”

  M-m-m … a million or so American asterites, three hundred and fifty million Americans at home. … I doubt if our wishes will butter many parsnips. And I do think—considerin’ the distances involved—your recommendations will count mighty heavily.” Bell drew breath. “Now I’m aware you haven’t yet seen everything or interviewed everybody you’d like to on Odysseus, let alone the rest of the cluster. Please don’t think I’m askin’ you to commit yourself right off. On the other hand, y’all must’ve studied a lot of material about us before leavin’. And livin’ in the middle of things, y’all must have a lot better feelin’ for what policy’s likely to be, than we can have at this far end of yonder.” Bell refilled his liqueur glass. “I’d appreciate gettin’ some notion of what to expect.”

  “Yes. Quite.” Harker stared at his own knees. “Well, it’s a hard thing to say, after you’ve been so hospitable.”

  “I understand you don’t make policy by yourself. I’m only askin’ for your prognosis.”

  “Well, then.” Harker straightened and met his host’s glance squarely. He has manhood, Avis admitted to herself. Her hands tightened against each other till the fingertips hurt. “I’m afraid you won’t like what you’re about to hear. Let me begin by underlining that no one wants to ruin you. The President and Congress agree that reward should be proportionate to public service, within decent limits, of course.”

  And who decides what those limits are? Avis thought.

  “You’ve proved, Mr. Bell, that you’re potentially capable of rendering valuable service. It’s simply a question of finding a socially useful place for your talents.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Bell smiled.

  Put more at ease, Harker continued: “In better times, you could carry on what you are doing. I don’t deny your, ah, entertainment industry has brightened lives, though I must say, ah”—he pinched his lips into a line—“gambling and certain other things—but let that go for now. The point is, at this time of crisis …”

  … when the home country is starting to run short of 3V sets, Avis thought, and air conditioners, and machinery to do the jobs that everybody on the public assistance rolls finds are too degrading…

  “… we can’t afford frivolity, not to speak of vice. I make no accusations, Mr. Bell. But that’s how your enterprise looks from across four or five astronomical units. And, frankly, in my personal opinion … well, for a fraction of the labor and resources used in your park, we could put taped entertainment—the same shows, the same number of choices that they enjoy on Earth—into every home in this cluster. Do you follow me?”

  Avis smothered a curse and half rose to her feet. Bell waved her back, caught her eye and shook his head slightly. Turning to Harker he said, unruffled, “In other words, you feel Dingdong Enterprises ought to be closed down. You’ll recommend that in your report, and the recommendation is sure to be taken.”

  “You’d not be required to liquidate overnight,” Harker said, “except perhaps for, ah, those certain operations I mentioned. You’d be given time to dispose of your holdings. I suggest you use the proceeds to invest further in the waterworks. Of course, it appears likely that Congress will put a legal ceiling on personal incomes and fortunes. But for you, enough comes under ‘business expenses’ that you’d remain comfortable.”

  “No doubt.” Bell stroked his mustache. “You’d better talk to some plain, everyday workin’ people, though. The Trojans are kind of harsh—which means you can barely survive—except for here. I’d say recreation, pressure-ventin’, ‘vice and frivolity’ if you like, I’d say those’re just about necessities of life hereabouts.”

  “I spoke of wholesome taped entertainment.”

  “I wonder. If a man, or a woman, has the blood to come to these parts and buck for a better future, will ‘wholesome taped entertainment,’ from an Earth that’s hardly relevant any more, will that fill leisure time? I can foresee a lot of trouble.”

  “I don’t set policy,” Harker repeated.

  Avis could hold herself back no longer. “At least you can listen!” she exclaimed. “You can go home and tell them the truth. What about our ecological research, for instance, if we must show some humorless public service? Is it worth nothing?”

  “Pardon me?” Harker asked.

  Avis was breathing too hard to speak further, in this moment when she saw her universe crumbling. What will become of Don? He can’t sit in an office playing with stupid numbers, no matter what sums of money they stand for. He’s a warhorse, not a plowhorse. What saved our marriage—what saved him, which is more—was that we did start making real and firm-foundationed the glamour, the merriment, the make-believe he’s always needed around him. O God Who plays dice with the world, help us!

  Her husband remained as cool as if he sat in a table stakes game with a busted flush: “A sideline, but interestin’. I meant to show it to you tomorrow. Some while back, a couple of scientists talked me into it, and I’m glad they did. Idea is, we theorize about self-maintainin’ ecologies like Earth’s; but Earth is a mighty big piece of real estate. We can recycle air and so forth, in spaceships, in dome bases; we can grow food usin’ biological wastes for nutrients; but all material doesn’t get back into circulation. Trace products like acetone pile up, slow but steady. And things like, oh, fingernail clippin’s, skin sheddin’s, woody parts of plants—do you track me? Earth’s an entire planet. It can absorb those wastes and take its time, maybe centuries, about breakin’ them down. A ship can’t. Nor can a terraformed asteroid thus far. The cleanup job has to be completed artificially.”

  “So?”

  “So, long’s I’m buildin’ these gardens and plantations and such, the scientists might as well experiment. What is the minimum size for a wholly balanced biosystem? Could be useful to Earth itself, like in ocean bottom colonies, if we find an answer.”

  Harker shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I c
an tell you at once, Mr. Bell, that argument won’t work. If the problem in question becomes urgent, the government can do the R and D on it. We need our spatial resources now. And the ice of Odysseus will be a huge help in developing them. We must maximize production.”

  “Do you mean,” Avis whispered, “everything else has to go? Every blade of grass, every flower, every forest we’d planned, where you might stroll off to be alone in greenness—we’re not to have anything except ugly industrial buildings?”

  “You overstate.”

  “I don’t. I come from Earth myself, and I’ve been back on visits. You’ve gone far toward that kind of hell. Must you drag us along with you?”

  “Our guest—” Bell tried to interrupt.

  She couldn’t help herself, it burst from her: “Why didn’t the asterites take us into their Republic?”

  “Both sides settled for what they could get,” Bell reminded her.

  “Just Odysseus. They could have traded something else, some lump with nothing but minerals, for Odysseus. All parties would have been happier.”

  “Excuse my wife,” Bell said to Harker. “She’s a tad overwrought.”

  Surprisingly, he smiled. “I understand. No apologies needed. As a matter of fact, I happen to know that that very proposal was made at the peace conference.”

  “What?” The Bells spoke together.

  “Briefly and informally,” Harker said. “I was there in a secretarial capacity. It never got to the floor because—actually, a Republican delegate pointed it out—serious difficulties would have been caused.”

  Avis settled back with her despair. Bell, anxious to clear the atmosphere by a discussion of something impersonal, said, “Do go on. I’m intrigued. As I remember the law of sovereignty that the Convention of Vesta established, long before the war … uh … possession of a body depends on the nationality of whoever first lands and files a claim with Space Control Central, unless other arrangements are made like purchase.”

  “True,” Harker said. “But how is an asteroid, one among countless thousands, to be identified except by its orbit? Which the law does. And the members of a Trojan group have essentially the same orbit. Or so it was agreed, for legal purposes, in order to avoid pettifogging debate. Either side wanted a positive end to hostilities more than it wanted an enclave in the other fellow’s space. So everything in a particular Trojan position is considered part of a single body.” Again he made his stiff smile. “I hope we North Americans can be that sensible in our family squabbles.”