Balance of Power (13 page)

Bernhard Verheyden had altered all that. He had tipped the balance of power and tipped it dramatically. There was a possibility that it could never be recovered.

The men of the city—I say “men” because the Ore’l were not so different as to make the term seem strange—presented a complete cross-section of cultural types. The poorest dressed in loincloths, with only their light fur to protect them against cold nights. There were many dressed like the sailors of
Ilah’y’su
in short skirts and jackets of various kinds. Some wore robes of various designs and color schemes, but the robes were invariably simple, like monkish habits rather than the classical togas of Earth. Curiously—or so it seemed to me—the priests of the city did not wear such robes, but light tunics of a very frail fabric which was often frayed or torn. Most carried satchels of some kind. The various ranks of the army were distinguished by insignia painted on the leathery jackets that they wore; the various ranks of the priesthood by decorations added to the hems and seams of the frail garments.

There are places on Earth now where similar cities still exist—civilizations stillborn because the resources of their various lands were long since plundered by better-established empires. But the Earthly ant heap cities are cities without a future. Ak’lehr still bad its future in hand and all its hopes were possibilities.

As we made our way through the streets from the docks eyes turned to watch us from everywhere. We had an armed escort of soldiers, who were armed with rifles instead of the crossbows which Jan’s crew carried for “protection” against forest savages and dissident tradesmen. Rumors of our coming had flown ahead of us, though not too far. We were hot news. More messengers of god.

Or....

No doubt, if circumstances seemed to warrant it, Piet and the leaders of the church could think of another way to account for us.

In one of the largest buildings in the very center of Ak’lehr—in an enclave that was virtually a city within a city, where the poor thronged the streets by day but were excluded by night—we were presented to the divine king, Ir’is’hesh, son of Ir’ha’ra. The presentation was formal—a mere ritual. The king glanced down at us from his throne, to recognize our presence and to give us his provisional blessing. We did not approach within twenty meters. Once the formality was over we were whisked away, leaving the king to disappear into the House of Ir’ha’ra, returning to his godlike isolation. We were taken to another building, equally impressive and much more extensive than the palace—the temple of Y’su and the college that had grown around and behind it.

Here there was no ceremony. We were taken directly to Piet Verheyden. He received us in his own quarters. Anna and Christian were also there.

Piet was about thirty-three. He was tall, thin-framed, with the same light brown eyes and muddily fair hair as Jan. His voice was rather harsh, as though he had some minor injury or infection in his throat.

Anna was clearly stamped from the same mold. Though shorter she had the same kind of build and the same set to her features, but her eyes were hazel rather than brown. She wore her hair cut short, in the same style as Piet’s, and this enhanced the resemblance considerably. Jan, in fact, looked the odd one of the three because his hair grew longer and his skin was tanned and coarse by comparison.

But Christian was something altogether different. He was short and sturdy, his features much more rounded. His eyes, his complexion and his hair were all much darker than those of his kindred. His oddness was accentuated by an old wound which had left a crescent-shaped scar around the line of the outer orbit of his right eye. There was no solid evidence, but the idea formed in my mind immediately that Christian was the child of a different father.

After the introductions we were offered food and drink, which we accepted gratefully. Life aboard the ship had been far too much like life aboard the
New Hope
, and the food only a little better. Now we enjoyed a meal meant not only to nourish but also to provide enjoyment. I noticed that Jan sat on our side of the table—it was as though he were being required to take some kind of responsibility for us. It was Jan who told most of our story to Piet and the others—Nieland and I interrupted occasionally to correct misleading impressions, or to confirm statements which Jan made, but we made few long speeches on our own account. Mariel, engaged in the business of scanning them minutely, said absolutely nothing. It was not until the meal was completely finished that any real dialogue began.

“I must apologize for Charles’ absence,” said Piet. “I’m afraid that I don’t know when he’ll return. He is supervising the building of a dam in the far southwest. Reports suggest that it isn’t going well. There’s a panic throughout that region because of an epidemic of some kind. We’re even having trouble keeping the roads open.”

“It might be as well to keep the roads closed,” I observed. “It’s roads that spread diseases.”

Piet laughed. It was the laugh of an experienced man of the world when he hears something naively amusing. “There are always diseases in the south. It’s largely a matter of hygiene. The towns along the roads have little to fear.”

“From what I’ve seen of the city,” I said, “hygiene is a big problem even here.”

Piet frowned. “We have excellent hospitals,” he said. “Our influence here has advanced medical practice from stupid superstition to standards which are extremely high. It’s true that the sewage system can’t cope with the problem at present, but it’s only a matter of a few years and tighter controls on the scavengers that flock through our gates. I assure you that we can cope. Our domestic medical problems are being defeated, slowly but surely. As for sickness out of the southern swamps...they’re hot climate diseases. They only thrive in the outlying districts.

“In any case, all this is beside the point. I’d rather discuss your plans. You came here to study the Ore’l?”

“To make contact,” I affirmed. “Or, since contact has already been made, to study the results of the association. We must report back to Earth on the state of affairs that exists on both Lambda and Delta.”

“For what reason?”

“Reason?” I parried.

“Why does Earth want to know what is happening here? Didn’t you abandon us more than a hundred years ago?”

“There has been a long gap between contacts,” I admitted. “But Earth did not ‘abandon’ any of the colonies. That was never the UN’s intention. It was a matter of supplying the necessary help at the correct times. Time had to elapse for the problems of each individual colony to materialize, for the specific kinds of aid required to become clear.”

“And what kind of aid did you bring?” he asked.

“A laboratory equipped for ecological analysis and for the genetic modification of both species originally brought from Earth and those native to Attica.”

“Genetic modification of the
colonists?”
said Christian, incredulously.

“Hardly,” I replied. “That’s too complex—not to mention illegal. Modification of plants...the development of strains resistant to various forms of parasitic attack. The only organisms we can actually
build
are viruses...though we can build single genes or groups of genes to produce specific proteins into most lower animals and plants. Engineering people is a problem of an entirely different order. Basically we eradicate pests and help crops negotiate metabolic bottlenecks. It’s a subtle form of ecological management, but we’re often represented to the vulgar viewpoint as ratcatchers. With our help, the colony should be able to overcome all the difficulties that have hit its food supply.”

“And you think that you arrived at the right moment?” said Piet.

“No,” I said. “We might have done more had we arrived earlier. But we did not realize, on Earth, that the colonies would be so badly crippled by the difficulties of co-adaptation. The UN made a mistake in the general pattern of its thinking.”

“A hundred years,” said Piet, sarcastically. “A little mistake of a few decades, a few generations.”

“Earth has problems too,” I said. “Problems which are much more difficult to solve. We may have underestimated yours...but we’ve never been able to underestimate our own. Yes, help should have come sooner. You have a right to be bitter. But all the colonies had to take their place on a scale of priorities. Men suffered in the colony here for lack of support...but they also suffered on Earth. They still are suffering. And they’re bitter, too. They’re bitter now because help
is
being sent out to the colonies, just as the colonists have been bitter because such resources as there were fifty years ago were being used on Earth. And the Lambda colony has survived. Some didn’t.”

“The Lambda colony was determined to survive,” said Piet, with a sneer in his voice. “So determined that it very nearly didn’t. It drove out the one man who could have saved it. If things had been different perhaps it wouldn’t have needed
your
help at all.”

The element of doublethink in Piet’s logic was clear. He was bitter because Earth hadn’t sent aid to Attica earlier. He was also bitter because the colony had ungraciously rejected his father, who would have brought it through its time of trouble without need of aid from Earth. But human minds can accommodate much more contradictory ideas with ease. There was nothing remarkable about it.

“It appears to me,” I said, trying to sound anything
but
sarcastic, “that
you
’re in an ideal position now to offer aid to the colony. You’ve done a great deal here to help the Ore’l...you’ll go down in history as their benefactors. You could write yourself a place in colony history, too...as the people who secured the future of two continents.”

I hadn’t really intended to put the cat among the pigeons quite so soon. But Piet had seemed bent on cutting right to the heart of the matter and he had dragged me right along with him.

“You think the colony would hail us as heroes?” he said. “They’d curse us as they cursed our father.”

“How do you know?”

He laughed. Again it was the laugh of the worldly wise confronted with the naive. But he didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said: “This is our home. The Ore’l are our people. Our father turned his back on the colony as it turned its back on him. The colony’s troubles are no concern of ours. We have our own work to do.”

He struck me as being a master of unsubtlety. With a little practice he could have doubled for a comic-opera villain. But I had to remember that he was part feral child. He had known only a handful of human beings in all his life—most of them his immediate family. He had never had to learn generalized techniques and responses for dealing with others of his own kind—only for dealing with the aliens, whom he placed in a very different existential category. I knew that it was going to be difficult to talk to him. His mind didn’t have much capacity for flexibility. Even less than Jan’s. The idea of contact with Lambda would make sense to Jan, in the context of trade. But to Piet, it simply sounded like heresy against what he’d been taught to believe. He had no means of access to the idea—it was closed around by walls that Bernhard Verheyden had built.

I looked at the others. I couldn’t begin to fathom what they were thinking, but I knew that Mariel would tell me later. None of them seemed to manifest the open hostility that was in Piet’s eyes and voice. Jan, over the period of the voyage, had grown accustomed to us, and felt a certain responsibility for us simply because he had brought us here. Anna watched me closely, but seemed interested in what I had to say. Christian didn’t watch me at all. He seemed to have other things on his mind.

A long silence developed while I waited. The general atmosphere was uncomfortable. I guessed that there were some tensions here that had nothing to do with us. Old disagreements, temporarily submerged while we were here but not forgotten. Perhaps something to do with the epidemic in the distant provinces. Perhaps something much deeper than any issues of state.

“You’re mistaken about the attitude of the colony’s government,” said Nieland, in the tone of a man who feels duty-bound to speak but doesn’t know how to say what it is he intends to convey. “We would welcome trade with Delta. It could be of great value to both of us. When the Floreat set sail, you know, that was partly its purpose...to establish contact with the aliens and to explore the possibilities of trade. It was part of your father’s mission.”