To Build a World Read online

  “I don’t know, Mr. Norris.” Sevigny hesitated. “This is a serious matter—”

  “Good lord, man! Have you no redeeming vices?”

  “Oh . . . all right. Thanks.” A nearly involuntary smile tugged at the comer of the Cytherean’s mouth.

  Liquid gurgled forth. Oscar sat up, curious. Silky midnight fur tickled Sevigny’s neck.

  “Here’s to our noble selves.” The Buffalo tossed off half a glass in a gulp and resumed puffing on his cigar. “I give up. What is that beastie?”

  “A dirrel. They’re kind of one-man animals, so I had to bring him with me.” That still looked frivolous. “Everyone, almost, keeps a dirrel in the Shaws, my home country. It’d be too easy to get lost in the wilderness without something for a guide that can climb the tallest trees. And then they’re good at finding game.”

  “I thought Venus was mainly desert yet.”

  “Some regions were ripe for ecology as soon as the water had precipitated. Native organic matter in the soil. When life was introduced, it multiplied explosively.”

  “M-m . . . yeah, I remember now. That’s probably the source of a lot of your clan feuds, hey? Squabbles over land that didn’t need so much work before it could be settled. What species did the geneticists makes your pet from?”

  Sevigny shrugged. “I don’t know. Some rodent. They bred to a mass of seven or eight kilos, hands of a sort, and a pretty good brain. Oscar can communicate with me—a little, in a special language.” He rubbed the large, sharp-nosed head between the ears. Oscar arched his back and elevated his magnificent plume of tail.

  “Oh. Sure. I see. His ancestors—but no importe. This is a pleasure, meeting you,” said the Buffalo. “I wish I could get back out in the field myself. Those crews are apt to be weird and wonderful mixtures. I recall one Nigerian—”

  The tension which had been departing returned to Sevigny. He sat straight again and said roughly, “I’m sure your time is valuable, Mr. Norris. What did you want to see me about?”

  “That accident—Now hold on, son. Not so defensive, if you please. By all accounts, you did just fine. I know it was pretty much of a shock, your first job as crew chief going sour that way. But you handled matters better’n a lot of veterans would have. What I’d like is your own story of what happened. From the beginning.”

  “You have my report.”

  “Pretend I haven’t read it. Pretend I don’t even know deeptap procedure. I’ll tell you why later on, but right now go ahead and talk.”

  Sevigny scowled. He didn’t know what to make of this first encounter with his ultimate boss. Okay, he thought, blame yourself for the consequences.

  “We reached Mare Serenitatis Site Four at sunset, as per schedule,” he bit off. “While the drill rig was being erected and started, the rest of the crew made camp. Everything seemed normal until circa 1800 hours of the second day past midnight. We cleared ground and dug channels for the expected outflow of liquid, according to the maps drawn by Survey. At the time of the accident, a work shift was ending. Decker and Leong were at the well, about to change the cutter. The eruption caught them. We managed to rescue Leong—he’s recovering nicely now—but couldn’t find Decker before the lava forced us back. We struck camp and proceeded directly here. R’ku, the Martian on the team, stayed behind to observe. His last radio report to me was the well had collapsed and outflow ceased. I told him to return. He ought to arrive at Little Mars shortly.”

  As he spoke he had a vision of that tall strange figure, imperturbably watching the volcano die, then loading what meager gear he needed on his thorax and soaring off across barrenness, into Lunar day. That was hot enough and bright enough to kill a man who wasn’t careful, the atmospheric blanket was still too thin to moderate the climate as much as Earth’s is moderated. But the Martians never suffered, though temperature rocketed beyond anything they had ever known at home. It was one reason the Corporation paid them so well . . . Somehow, the picture was an eldritch and lonely one.

  Sevigny’s attention switched back to immediacies as the Buffalo asked, “In your opinion, what caused the accident?”

  “Probably failure of the force unit. Survey had warned us, on the basis of sonic probes, that there was a layer of allotropic ice at the depth we were reaching then. Without counter-pressure in the bore, the stuff exploded into the lower density form, and the released energy vaporized it. That left a cavity through which molten rock further down could rise.”

  “Sounds reasonable. You did damn well to snatch that unit away.”

  “Have your technies learned anything from it?”

  “I’ve had a lab report,” the Buffalo nodded. “There was crystallization in the Terence head. It broke apart under stress.”

  “What?” Sevigny started so violently that Oscar almost fell off. The dirrel chattered an indignant remark and clung tighter with his small half-human fingers.

  “But. . . . how did any such thing get by inspection at the manufacturer’s?” Sevigny choked.

  The Buffalo’s fist clenched on his desktop. “That,” he said, “is what I’d like to know.”

  He leaned over and refilled both tumblers. “Son,” he continued, “we got troubles. That’s why I wanted to see you and listen to you. To size you up. This isn’t the first accident the project ought not to have had.”

  “But—” Sevigny realized he was gaping and drew his lips shut.

  “I’ve QT’d them fairly well,” said the chief. “Can’t go on doing that, though, if the farce proceeds. Oh, there’s been a semi-plausible explanation every time. But the upshot is that I’m not sure any longer who the devil I can trust.” He sighed; then his gaze nailed the younger man and he asked, “How much do you know about the political background of this undertaking?”

  “Why . . . uh . . . the Corporation’s an international venture, chartered under the Commonwealth, with the different governments holding most of the stock.” Sevigny hunted through memories. “That’s about all I know,” he admitted lamely.

  “Guess I needn’t’ve expected more. Where you come from, the clan is the economic as well as the political unit; and with so little to trade thus far, Venus doesn’t have a lot of contact with Earth. Never mind. I’ll try to fill you in.”

  The Buffalo stubbed out his cigar and lit a fresh one. He didn’t speak until several noisy puffs had gotten it well burning.

  “We’re in a funny situation nowadays,” he said. “People haven’t quite realized it yet, but the era of stability has begun to end. (Hey, ain’t that a lousy hunk of rhetoric?) Our hyper-ballyhooed world order was really a peace of exhaustion, following the global wars and their aftermath. Problems weren’t so much solved as swept under the carpet, while the leading countries proceeded with their glorious conquest of space. Now the human race is getting restless again. The fact that nobody resisted much when you Cythereans declared your independence is considered a textbook example of how Man Has Matured and such-like brain grease. Actually, though, if you’ll excuse me saying it, the significant fact was not that you got away with breaking loose, but that you got the idea in the first place. Since then, more cracks have appeared in the system.

  “Well—” He filled his mouth and blew rings. “You needn’t look so alarmed. I’m not about to read you my Lecture Number 27-B, Theory and Practice of Declinesmanship. What matters is that the project of terraforming Luna had enemies from the start. Setting up the Corporation was a necessary dodge. We’d never’ve swung it as a straightforward public enterprise.”

  Sevigny took a long and badly wanted swallow from his tumbler. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why, the Venus project was far bigger and less directly rewarding—”

  The Buffalo shook his massive head. “Nuh-uh, son. The cost was relative peanuts in your case, even with spaceships as crude and expensive as they were then. Those algae only had to be seeded. On, sure, when they’d finished their job, a hellful of work remained. Still does, after all this time. But . . . it can be done pieceme
al, by private outfits. There’s the origin of your clans. And then, too, Venus is quite a ways off. A morning and evening star, no more. It doesn’t hang overhead, it doesn’t rise big as a pumpkin over anyone’s personal hills, to keep him reminded.

  “You’d be surprised how much purely sentimental opposition there was to changing the looks of the dear old Moon. How many older people who remember have stayed resentful to this day. And also, when a world hasn’t got an atmosphere to start with . . . well, you should hear our cost accountants squeal every time the latest budget is presented. Mainly, though, there are interests on Earth with their own sound, cold-blooded reasons for not wanting this to go through.”

  Unnoticed by himself, Sevigny’s hand dropped to the butt of his gun. “Are you implying sabotage, Mr. Norris?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. Still, a series of major setbacks for us would make very nice political ammunition, don’t you think?”

  Sevigny shook his head. “Sorry, but I should think Earth is committed. I mean, uh, with the enormous investment already made—that can’t simply be written off. Can it?”

  “One of our own best talking points,” the Buffalo agreed. “Please don’t think I’m being paranoid. Just because everybody picks on me . . . I only thought I’d mention the general background, and ask you to read a few books and articles I’ll list. They’re kind of interesting in their own right, regardless.”

  “Frankly, what little I know of politics bores me like an auger.”

  “Which shows how little you know about politics, son. It’s the only game in town. I do wish you’d study up a bit before you go to Earth.”

  “What?”

  “Would you pick his jaw off the floor, please, Oscar?” The Buffalo grinned. “Sure. After what you did at Site Four, you rate a vacation. Need one, too. Human nerves don’t unstretch overnight, and that was a rough cob for you.”

  “But I hadn’t planned—”

  “Eh? You didn’t mean to drop in when your contract expires, at least? See the green hills of Earth, the ocean Columbus sailed, Westminster Abbey, the Taj Mahal, the Brisbane Follies?”

  “No. Why spend a lot of money on tourism when what I want is heavy reclamation equipment to use at home?”

  “If you’d let me show you some pictures from the Follies, you’d know why. But no matter.” The Buffalo jabbed his cigar in Sevigny’s direction. “You’ll go at Corporation expense, and we aren’t gonna look too squinch-eyed at your accounts.”

  He grew serious. “I can’t leave right now, with everything there is to do,” he explained. “And as I told you, I’m no longer sure who I can trust. But you’re outside these fractions, you’re a bright boy, presumably a tough fighting man, and the Treaty of Toronto gives you the right to bear arms anywhere. All I want you to do is convoy that force unit you rescued to World Safety Corps headquarters, and then ride their tails to make certain there’s a thorough investigation. That crystallized metal looks mighty like sabotage to me. A heavy dose of radiation ’ud cause it, and how could that happen by chance? I could ask the Corps to send someone here, but the evidence would have to go Earthside anyway. And without one of my boys riding along. Not that I don’t think the Corps is honest—however—if the news is simply that I’ve sent an engineer to discuss possible changes in machine design, then no one will be tempted to try some fancy stunt. You’ll have an easy trip, a couple of weeks’ layover, a chance to wash some of that damned Swede-faced seriousness out of your system—and serve the project better than you could here. How’s about it?”

  III

  “Oh!” exclaimed the girl.

  “I beg your pardon.” Sevigny held stiff the arm against which she had stumbled until she regained balance. Her floor-length gown and curl-toed silver shoes were made to throw anybody.

  So were their contents. She was bronze brunette, with spectacular half-Oriental features, and the decollete dress fitted her like another skin. He had spent several seconds after he stepped out of his room, admiring her as she undulated down the hall. “Quite okay,” he said. “In fact—frankly, a pleasure.”

  She laughed. The synthodiamond necklace sparkled no more brightly than her teeth. “I didn’t know a wild Cytherean warrior could turn so pretty a compliment.”

  In spite of what the Buffalo had said, Sevigny had a normal capacity for fun. But to maintain

  his clan’s good name, he responded, “Is that what they believe on Earth? Not true, my lady. We work hard and don’t fight except when we have to.”

  “Poof.” She wrinkled her nose. “There goes another illusion. Did you arrive today? I’m sure I would have noticed otherwise.”

  “Yes, on the Lunar packet.”

  “The Moon?” She widened an incredible pair of eyes. “Then you must be connected with the terraforming.” He nodded. “But this is wonderful. How long will you be here?”

  “Only till tomorrow, my lady. I’ve business elsewhere.”

  He had intended to go directly from Pacific Spacedrome to Paris. But for some reason no transplanetary flight was available for days which could accommodate the ponderous engine he had in charge. Swearing, he had gotten a surface boat to Honolulu and arranged a private charter. Now the crate rested in a hotel storeroom and he had a loose evening.

  It didn’t worry him. A few dollars to the service captain had let him leave Oscar on guard. The dirrel was quite able to chatter an alarm into a short-range sender, in the unlikely event that something suspicious happened; and the receiver lay in Sevigny’s tunic pocket. He hadn’t told the quarantine inspector about that piece of equipment. It might be illegal—and he didn’t intend to do without it.

  “Damn,” said the girl. She frowned, charmingly. Then: “Please don’t think I’m forward. The mores on Venus are probably different from here. But . . . are you busy tonight?”

  “No. I was about to have dinner.” Sevigny’s pulse quickened. “Is there a chance of your joining me, my lady?”

  “More than a chance, thank you. I know this looks like rushing matters, but you see, the whole interplanetary situation fascinates me. One hears so many arguments and, oh, there are documentaries on TriV and so forth, but all second hand. This is my first encounter with someone who’s actually lived it.” Sevigny managed to harness his delight and say in an academic tone, “That’s surprising. I thought you upper level people knew everybody.”

  Her lashes fluttered. “I’m not upper level, if you mean the ten or twenty per cent who keep civilization running. My father has money, yes, but he got it in entertainment.” She laughed anew. “So I’ve a date with a man whose name I don’t even know. I’m Maura Soemantri—born in Djakarta, educated in Chicago, and here for the surf riding.”

  “Donald Sevigny, Clan Woodman of the Shaws, at your service.” He made a formal bow.

  Her hand rested lightly in his before she said, “I was supposed to eat at the Kamehameha tonight with my club. Nobody will be mad if I don’t show, but I’d better call to tell them. ’Scuse. I’ll be right back.”

  With conscious pleasure, Sevigny watched her walk off. He had grown used to Earth weight faster than expected, but had forgotten how much it added to the female gait.

  The analytical part of him considered ways and means. She could prove expensive. Still, he had a goodly piece of cash on him, and had been told to indulge himself a bit . . . Why not? He hadn’t relished the idea of a solitary evening. Now, with luck, he might have company till his jet took off tomorrow. Judging by how gracefully she moved, she hadn’t tripped against him by accident.

  Maura returned in a few minutes. She took his arm and they strolled to an elevator. “I suppose I ought to decide where we’re bound,” he said, “but as a complete stranger—”

  “Don’t worry about clothes,” she said. “On Earth a uniform is correct any place, from the Imperial Saturn to a Subchicago pot mill. And that outfit of yours is really a uniform, right? I like the Moon Room here myself. The view is gorgeous.”

  “Quite,
” he said, looking downward.

  At the top of the elevator’s range, they were met by an expertly obsequious headwaiter and conducted to a table next the glasolite dome. Sevigny had stopped being surprised at the amount of live service in an automated society. What else was the bulk of the population able to do? He was also getting used to being stared at. The stares were discreet here, and largely veiled by dimness, but he knew he was a conspicuous object.

  Seated, he turned eyes away from the shadowed people, and caught his breath.

  Left and right at the foot of the Goldwater’s soaring skyscraper, Honolulu stretched further than he could see, a galactic sprawl of light, ruby, old gold, topaz, emerald, turquoise, sapphire, amethyst, flashing and glistening across night-purple hills. Southward the ocean sheened beneath a sky crowded with softened stars, and a lowering second quarter Moon turned the Waikiki surf to what he guessed a snowstorm must be.

  Maura regarded him gravely. “Yes,” she said, “old Earth is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Here, at least,” he answered. “M-m-m . . . all right, I daresay you’ve seen pictures and statistics. Most of the planet has become rather awful. Too many people, too little opportunity. Your ancestors were right in going to Venus. But will you ever make it over into this?”

  “Some day.” He thought, with an uninvited pang, of forests that roared in the wind, leaves that gleamed with raindrops, and a wild bull shaking his horns against nacreous heaven. “Here and there, in its own way, it already is—no, not the same. Can’t be. But we’ve got room.”

  He pointed at Luna. Atmosphere fuzzed its edge, made the dark part glimmer and the bright part shine as men had never seen it before. “You Earth people, though, will have the same thing, yonder, in not too many more decades,” he said. “Do you really believe that?”