His Majesty's Starship (11 page)

“Too true,” Peter said, smiling again. “Let me guess. It translates our words for you and plays them direct into your ear? Cochlea stimulation, or something.”

“So I believe.”

Peter looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, we’re at a disadvantage. I’ll never know exactly what you say. You could deliver the vilest First Breed insult every time you refer to me, and you could set your unit to translate it as ‘Peter’.”

“And why would I do that?” Arm Wild asked.

“No reason,” Peter said.

Arm Wild brought the conversation round to the subject of Lieutenant Peter Kirton.

“I wanted to be an engineer, I suppose,” Peter said. “Get my hands dirty. But have you ever been on Mars? Of course you have, silly question, sorry. What I meant was, did you absorb the atmosphere? The scene? The society?”

“As much as is possible for an alien. Why do you ask?”

“Because every other Martian is an engineer! We have to be. We live in a totally artificial world. Mars is still one big spaceship where a million little things can go wrong every day that could wipe a lot of people out.”

“We were surprised when the government of Mars showed no interest in this delegation,” Arm Wild said.

Peter laughed. “Come on! They’ve already spent a century trying to make Mars habitable, they’ve committed themselves to a programme that’ll last centuries more, and then you lot turn up and announce that there’s another Earth-type planet ready-made for us. They’re annoyed.”

“You evidently do not share this opinion.”

“No, but I can tell why they do.”

Arm Wild nudged the conversation back to its original course. “You said every Martian is an engineer.”

“That’s right. A hardware engineer. So, I decided to be different. I got into software instead. But since on Mars, that means studying the code for the air conditioning plants and not much else, I broadened my horizons.”

“To the Royal Space Fleet.”

“They were the only ones recruiting at the time. This job came up, I could do it, so ... here I am.”

(Comments of Arm Wild: this interview I found the most disquieting, through no fault of Peter Kirton’s. This human is in charge of the ship’s software, and that includes the ship’s artificial intelligences. Speaking to it reminded me that as long as I am on board
Ark Royal
, I am surrounded by disembodied minds in the ship’s fibre optics – entities that can only be discoursed with through mouthtalk or even written language: no possibility of fulltalk at all. It must be like a pride of cripples. It is not satisfactory simply to say that humans are used to it – how are they used to it? How can such a society exist?)

*

Adrian Nichol, Assistant Engineer and Chief Pilot

After much cogitation, I am still not convinced that Adrian Nichol’s arguments actually make sense. Adrian Nichol is plainly convinced that they do. I present them for consideration.

“I’m here because what human wouldn’t be?” Adrian said. He was leaning forward eagerly, twirling his thumbs around each other without realising it.

“Many are not,” Arm Wild said.

“Yeah, but I bet they wanted to. Everyone from His Highness the King down. I heard your embassy got thousands of begging calls from people who wanted to go, even though they didn’t meet the requirements?”

“There were many such requests,” Arm Wild agreed, “even though we had stipulated that interested parties must have their own ship. Incidentally, I had understood that the correct designation for King Richard is His Majesty.”

Adrian winced. “Yeah, I should remember that. The point is, you can understand it, right? I mean, explore a new world? Yeah, yeah, it’s not new, your people are there already, but it’s new to us. It’s engrained in the human psyche – explore!”

“From our own observations,” Arm Wild said, “that seems only to be true of a handful of humans, even though it is a trait to which many might lay claim. The fact appears to be that explorers are a tiny minority in your race.”

“Well, okay,” Adrian agreed. “Okay, there are a few billion people on Earth who don’t want to explore, who never have explored, who never will ... it’s lack of opportunity, is all. Most of them are tied down with the necessity of making a living, and I think that kind of drains your ambition away. House, family ...”

“So an explorer must not be tied down?”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m a spaceboy. My grandparents came from Australia but my parents were born on a habitat in Earth orbit and I was born on UK-1. I’m not tied down to a world or to a place and that means I’m free to go where I want.”

“Within reason,” said Arm Wild.

“Within reason, yes, I could get seriously yelled at if I made the ship go somewhere it wasn’t meant to, but the point is I’m free. The ambition is there, given the opportunity, and here it comes!”

“If I may say so, you appear to be the only crew member with this kind of wanderlust.”

“Maybe,” Adrian said. “But listen: the last guy to have a continent named after him was someone called Amerigo Vespucci and he died in the sixteenth century. I looked it up. I’m not saying I’ll get a continent named after me, but I have a chance ... along with the couple of hundred other humans on this mission, of course.”

(Comments of Arm Wild: several times Adrian Nichol emphasises its freedom. It clearly cherishes its status as a self-determining, individual, adult human. Yet, like Julia Coyne who seeks individuality in space, it is consciously part of a social organism in which it cannot operate independently. It is difficult for the First Breed to conceptualise this, yet the humans find no inconsistency. This is not a recommendation that we dispense with their services – far from it. I am more and more of the opinion that the human mind may be just what is required.)

[Report ends]

- 9 -

27 April 2149

Solitude at last! Strange, for a member of the First Breed to welcome it so. Since coming on board
Ark Royal
, Arm Wild Timbre Grey Wood Temple Southern Plains had worn small gas cylinders that released First Breed pheromones into its nostrils to give the sense of a crowd, and eye-surrounds that flashed subliminal images to give the impression of other First Breed in its peripheral vision. None of the humans had commented on the attachments, perhaps out of politeness.

Now Arm Wild was in deepest space and the nearest ship was hundreds of metres away, yet it was happy. The suit was full of pheromones, it was away from the humans and it was heading back to its own kind.

The fleet had finished boosting and for the time being it was in free fall again, climbing high above the plane of the planets and moving through the solar system’s gravitational field to find the correct solar alignment for the journey to the Roving system. Michael Gilmore had offered Arm Wild the use of the boat Sharman but it had politely declined, citing the incompatibility of docking mechanisms as a veiled excuse. Now its suit was pushing it on its own through space towards the First Breed prideship. The only sound was the hiss of the thrusters and the hum of the suit’s air conditioning.

A voice sounded over the speakers. “This is the prideship to Arm Wild. Your suit’s beacon is registered and we are bringing you in.” A proper voice! Not that horrible, over-loud barking of the Ganglies but the gentle, cultured tones of the First Breed; straight out of the speaker’s throat, not filtered through its translator’s circuitry. Mouthtalk only, of course; still inferior to the fulltalk that came from face-to-face contact, but infinitely better than nothing.

“Thank you, prideship.” Arm Wild suddenly could not bear to be formal any longer. “Thank you, sibling!”

“Our pleasure, Arm Wild. Welcome home.”

There to greet it in the airlock (a proper size! Gangly rooms were so cavernous!) was the Pride Senior itself, Timbre Grey. It came forward and extended its graspers, and Arm Wild twined its own graspers round them. Now they could actually see and smell each other, they could communicate properly.

<> [Welcome], the Pride Senior said. A gentle whiff of pheromones reinforced the sincerity of the greeting.

How could any race rise to civilisation depending just on verbal communication? Arm Wild had often wondered. Humans recognised the existence of bodytalk but how could they relegate it so to such negligible importance? The Pride Senior’s legs were properly positioned; the slightly emphasised posture of its body showed that its welcome was genuine and glad. Arm Wild took care that the precise strength of its grasp and lowered position of its head emphasised its acknowledgement of the other’s seniority.

I am noticing First Breed fulltalk! Arm Wild thought in sudden horror. I have been among the Ganglies for too long!

<> [sincere, concern] the Senior added.

<> [feeling] said Arm Wild . <> [pure frustration, verging on madness; subtle hint of self-control to show semi-jest]. <>

[Amusement] <>

<> [sincerity]

[Pleasure] said Timbre Grey. [Polite concern] <>

<> said Arm Wild. <>

Timbre Grey [amusement]

<> [grudging respect] Arm Wild added, <>

<> [approving].

Arm Wild [true].

They met in the commune-place; the First Breed liaisons from all the ships and as many of the prideship’s crew as could be spared from duties. The First Breed always felt the pain of separation and the tales told by those liaisons who had already returned meant that by the time Arm Wild arrived, the commune-place was resonant with sympathy and healing love. Arm Wild fell into it like a fish returning to water, and for the first hour that was it. It suspected that a human watching would have seen the First Breed milling around, apparently without aim, and the first word to come to mind would probably have been ‘cattle’.

At long last, Arm Wild and the others felt clean again; they were back in the pride. Food were served in small piles around the floor, beverages flooded into the drinking basins and the proceedings finally took on a form that the humans would have recognised, as small clusters of First Breed formed out of the mass to chat amongst themselves.

[Cheerful curiosity/interrogative] <> That was Tree Bright, the First Breed assigned to the Euro ship, Bruxelles.

[Approval] said Arm Wild. <Ark Royal
’s Michael Gilmore is a dedicated Pride Senior->>

[Scorn/horror] <>

<>

[Uncertain challenge] <> Tree Bright said.

<> [Interrogative] <>

[Grudging admission] <> Tree Bright said. <>

[Resignation] <>

[Resignation reinforced] <> said Tree Bright. <>

[Interrogative]

<>

[Loathing] Arm Wild said. <>

[Minor remonstration] <>

[Doggedness] <>

Tree Bright changed the subject. <>

<> Arm Wild said. <> [Interrogative] <>

<>

[Understanding] Arm Wild said. <Ark Royal
’s weaponry came to light. Michael Gilmore was not aware of this->>

[Contempt] <>

<<-and was most upset to hear this from a comparative stranger>>