MINUTES LATER THE AUTO WAS PUFFING DOWN A LONG SLOPE THAT GAVE AN overview of Freetown. The city was built around a crescent-shaped bay protected on the north by a huge granitic outcropping. Except for that headland, the bay was open to the sea.
“Have many storms?” he said to Martha.
“Dreadful ones,” the woman answered, unsmiling. “But the tsunamis are worse—that’s why the ships you see are anchored so far out. They come in to port only for loading.”
The city rested on a sequence of terraces that climbed steeply up from the water’s edge. Each terrace was split down the middle by a narrow, copper-paved street, while steps and coppered ramps provided communication between one level and the next.
Chente noticed that on the first three tiers the buildings were mostly warehouses and sheds. Nearly all these structures were made of wood and had a brand-new look. But above the third tier, the buildings were of massive stone construction, eroded and weather beaten. The most peculiar thing about the stone buildings was their long, narrow shape, their sharp, pointed ends. The prows of those stone arcs pointed uniformly out to sea.
Martha Blount followed his gaze. “The Freetowners use those wooden buildings for temporary storage of sea freight. They can count on everything in the first three terraces being leveled every two years or so. Beyond the third level, the tsunamis attenuate and the water breaks over the bows of the buildings.”
The auto turned onto the fourth tier’s main street, and slowed even further to get through the swarm of Freetowners moving to and from the stone-encased bazaars.
Chente shook his head in wonder. “You people certainly have managed to adapt.”
“Adapt!” The New Providencian ambassador turned toward him, for the first time showing an emotion: rage. “We were nearly wiped out in the Cataclysm. That computer-driven monster up there on the hill gave us a real prize. With an advanced technology a colony on this planet could get along, but with that technology lost the place is a Hell. Adapt? Look—” She pointed out of the cab. They were passing near the edge of the terrace now, by blocks of gray rubble, stumpy walls. “Life on New Canada is a constant struggle simply to maintain ourselves. And all the while we’re weighed down by those sybarites.” She waved her hand back toward Bossman Pier’s litter, some fifteen meters away. “They drain our resources. They fight us at every turn …” Her voice trailed off and she sat looking at Chente. For a moment some new emotion flickered across her face, but then she became impassive. Chente suddenly realized the reason for her silence: it was the second time around for Martha. No doubt she had sat in this same vehicle eighteen months earlier, and had had the same conversation with his predecessor.
Martha’s hand moved toward him, then retreated. She said softly, “You really are Chente … alive again.” Her tone became businesslike. “Be more careful, this time, will you please? Your knowledge, your equipment … many people would kill to get them.” She was silent the rest of the way into town.
AT SUNSET THE HEAVY LAYERS OF DUST IN NEW CANADA’S ATMOSPHERE transformed the pale-blue sky into orange, red, and greenish brown. From where Chente sat within the Freetown banquet hall, the sky light shone through narrow, horizontal slits cut high up in the west wall to play gentle pastels of orange and green down upon the waiters and chattering guests. It was a most colorful tribute to volcanism.
The sky light faded slowly toward gray as the last unpleasant course of the meal was served. Above them, electric lamps mounted on large silver wheels were lit. Clusters of rubies and emeralds hung like clouds of colored stars around the glowing filaments. Occasionally the earth trembled faintly, causing the wheels to sway as if a slight breeze touched them.
The meal over, Bretaign Flaggon rose to deliver “a few words of welcome to our star-crossed [sic] visitor.” Chente couldn’t decide whether the phrase was a pun or a malaprop. The speech droned on and eventually the Earthman succeeded in ignoring it.
The hall’s wide floor was covered from wall to wall with what could only be gold. The soft yellow metal behaved like some slow sea beneath the weight of the banquet tables and constant passage of human feet: tiny ripples barely a centimeter high stood frozen in its surface. New Canada had everything the Spanish Conquistadores had ever dreamed
of. But this virtue was symtomatic of a serious vice. Heavy metals were plentiful near the planet’s surface simply because New Canada’s interior was much more poorly differentiated than Earth’s. The starship’s computer had reported this fact to its makers on first landing here, but had failed to notice that the process of core formation was ongoing. The cataclysm that hit the colony one hundred fifty years earlier was evidence of this continuing process. The abundance of metallic salts on the surface meant that less than one percent of New Canada’s land area could be used for farming. And those same salts made the sea life uniformly poisonous. In contrast to the opulent banquet hall, the food served had been scarcely more than a spicy gruel.
“ … Mr. Quintero.” Applause sounded as Flaggon finished talking. The mayor motioned for Chente to rise and speak. The Earthman stood and bowed briefly. The applause was equally enthusiastic from the three groups seated at the horseshoe banquet table. On his right sat the Ontarian delegation, consisting of Bossman Pier, three associates, and a crowd of scantily dressed odalisques—all ensconced on piles of wide, deep pillows. Chente had been placed at the middle of the horseshoe with the Freetowners, while Martha Blount and her people sat along the left leg of the horseshoe. All through the meal, while the Ontarians caroused and the Freetowners chattered, the New Providencians had kept silent.
Finally the applause died, and people waited. From above them the tiny lights burned fiercely, but the stark shadows they cast held abysmal gloom. Chente saw a certain measure of fear in their attentive silence. No doubt many of them had sat right here less than two years before, and watched a man identical to the one they saw now. Intellectually they might accept the idea of duplicative transport, but historians had assured Chente that without a lifetime of experience no one could really accept such a thing. To his audience Chente was a man come back from the dead. Perhaps he could take advantage of this fear.
“I will be brief, as most of you will have heard this speech before.” There was an uneasy movement and various exchanges of glances. Bossman Pier seemed the only one left with a smile on his face. “Your planet is undergoing a core collapse. A century ago a core tremor sank half a continent and virtually destroyed your civilization. Recently Earth has been able to reestablish communications with the starship on the hill behind Freetown. The link we have established is a tenuous one and you can’t expect material aid. But Earth does have knowledge it can place at your disposal. Ultimately the core collapse will proceed to completion, and about ten million ‘Cataclysms’ worth of energy will be released. If this happens all at once, no life above the microbe level will be left on the planet. But, if it happens uniformly over a million year
period, you would never even be aware of the change. From the frequency of earthquakes, you know that the latter possibility has already been ruled out. My mission is to discover where between these two extremes the truth lies. For it is entirely possible that a future Cataclysm will be powerful enough to wreck your civilization as it is now, yet mild enough so that with adequate forewarning and preparation you can survive.”
Flaggon bobbed his head. “We understand, sir. And, as we did with your predecessor, we will cooperate to the limit of our resources.”
CHENTE DECIDED TO POUNCE ON THE DOUBLE MEANING IN FLAGGON’S INEPT phrasing. “Yes, I’ve heard about the splendid help you gave my predecessor. He is dead, I’ve been told.” He waved down Flaggon’s stammered clarification. “Ladies and gentlemen, someone among you killed me. That was an act that threatened all of New Canada. If I am killed again, there may be no more replacements, and you will face the core collapse in ignorance.” Chente wondered briefly if he hadn’t just invited his assassination with that last threat, but it was too late to retract it.
The distressed Flaggon again pledged his help. Both Balquirth and Martha Blount chorused similar promises.
“Very well, I’ll need transportation for an initial survey. From my discussion with the ship’s computer before this banquet, I’ve decided that the best place to start is the islands that were formerly the peaks of the Heavenraker Mountains.”
Martha Blount came to her feet. “Citizen Quintero, one of our Navy’s finest dirigibles is tied down here at Freetown. We could be ready to go in twenty-two hours, and it won’t take more than another day to reach the Heavenraker Islands.” On the other side of the horseshoe, Balquirth cleared his throat noisily and stood up. Martha Blount rushed on. “Don’t … don’t make the same mistake the first Quintero did. He accepted Ontarian hospitality rather than ours, only to die on an Ontarian ship.”
Chente looked at the Bossman.
“Her story is true, but misleading,” Balquirth said easily. He had the air of someone telling a lie that he expected no one to believe—or else a self-evident truth that needed no earnest protestations to support itself. “The first Quintero had the good judgment to use Ontarian transportation. But his death occurred when the ship we assigned him was attacked by the forces of some other state.” He looked across the table at Martha Blount.
The Earthman didn’t respond directly. “Mayor Flaggon, what’s the weather like along the Heavenraker chain this time of year?”
The mayor looked to an aide, who said, “In late spring? Well, there
are no hurricanes likely. Matter of fact, the Heavenrakers rarely get any bad storms. But the underground ‘weather’ is something else again. Freetown alone loses three or four ships a year out there—smashed by tsunamis as they sail close to shore.”
“In that case I’d prefer to go by aircraft.”
Balquirth shrugged amiably. “Then I must leave you to the clutches of Mistress Blount. I don’t have a single flier in port, and Mayor Flaggon doesn’t have a single flier in his state.”
“Your concern is appreciated in any case, Bossman. Citizen Blount, I’d like to discuss my plans in more detail with your people.”
“Tomorrow?” She seemed close to a triumphant smile.
“Fine.” Vicente began to sit down, then straightened. “One more thing. According to the starship’s computer, all nine communications bombs are missing from their storage racks up on the hill.”
In order to generate ultrawave distortions matter must needs be annihilated. Chente referred to the specially constructed nuclear bombs whose detonation could be modulated to carry information at superlight speeds. Such devices lacked the “band width” to transmit the pattern of a human being—Earth’s government used the tiny star that orbited where Callisto had once been for that job. Nevertheless, each of the communication bombs could be set to generate the equivalent of ten megatons of TNT, so they could do considerable damage if they were not hoisted into space prior to use.
The silence lengthened. Finally Chente said coldly, “I see. Your nation-states are playing strategic deterrence. That’s a dangerous game, you recall. It cost Earth more than three hundred million lives a few centuries back. Your colony is in enough trouble without it.”
His listeners nodded their agreement, but Chente saw—with a sick feeling—that his words were no more than platitudes to them.
THE NEW PROVIDENCIAN AIRSHIP
DILIGENCE
FLEW SOUTH FOR A DAY AND A half before it reached the first of the Heavenrakers. Chente saw a small village and a few farms in a sheltered bay near the coast, but the rest of the island was naked black rock. This was the first stop on a tour that would take them over 2,700 kilometers to the East Fragge, the Greenland-sized island that had once been the eastern end of the largest New Canadian continent. Chente had chosen this course since he wanted a baseline of observations along the planet’s equator, and the Heavenrakers were the most convenient landmasses stretching along such a path. The survey went quickly, thanks to the help of the islanders, though they seemed happy only when the
Diligence
and its guns were preparing to depart.
Three days later the dirigible hung in the clear blue sky over the west
coast of the Fragge. All around them thunder sounded. For hundreds of kilometers along the coast they could see tiny rivulets of cheery-colored molten rock dribbling off into the surf, converting the water into a low-lying fog beneath them. Looking inland at the extent of the frozen lava, Chente could see that the land-forming process had added thousands of square kilometers to the area.
Quintero turned to his companion at the railing. Martha Blount hadn’t really changed in these last four days, but she had been revealed in a new aspect. For one thing, she had traded her full-length dress for a gray jumpsuit that covered her but hinted at a lot more than the dress had. From their discussions on the journey out he had found her to have a quick and lively mind that belied her outward reserve and convinced him that she had earned her high position. At times he found her interest in his equipment and plans somewhat too intense, and her political views too rigid, but he knew better than to expect anything else under the circumstances. And the more he knew of her, the more certain he was that her presence here was not motivated strictly by political interest: there had been something between Martha and the first Chente.