The Pandora Sequence: The Jesus Incident, the Lazarus Effect, the Ascension Factor (15 page)

“A clean job. All we get is accelerated growth to maturity. And that kelp isn’t easy to work with. Lab people hallucinating all over the damn place and aging faster than . . .”

“Are you still able to waste lab technicians on this?”

“They’re not wasted!” Lewis was angry, exactly the reaction Oakes had sought.

Oakes smiled reassuringly. “I just want to know that it’s working, Jesus, that’s all.”

“It’s working.”

“Good. I believe you’re the only person who could make it work, but I am the only person who can give you the freedom in which to do this. What is the time frame?”

Lewis blinked at the sudden shift of the question.
Cagey old bastard always kept you off balance.
He took a deep breath, feeling the wine, the remembered sense of protective enclosure which Ship . . . the ship always gave him.

“How long?” Oakes insisted.

“We can continue an E-clone’s growth, the aging, actually, and arrive at any age you want. From conception to age fifty in fifty diurns.”

“In good condition?”

“Top condition and completely receptive to our programming. They’re mewling infants until they become our . . . ah, servants.”

“Then we can restore the Redoubt’s working force rather rapidly.”

“Yes . . . but that’s the problem. Most of our people know this and they . . . ahh, saw what I did with the clones and the sympathizers. They’re beginning to see that they can be replaced.”

“I understand.” Oakes nodded. “That’s why you have to stay at the Redoubt.” He studied Lewis. The man was still worried, still holding something back. “What else, Jesus?”

Lewis spoke too quickly. The answer had been right there in front of his awareness awaiting the question.

“An energy problem. We can work it out.”

“You can work it out.”

Lewis lowered his gaze. It was the answer he expected. Correct answer, of course. But they had to produce more burst, their own elixir.

“I will give you one suggestion,” Oakes said. “Plenty of hard work precludes time for plotting and worry. Now that you’ve solved the clone problem, put your people to work eliminating the kelp. I want a neat, simple solution. Enzymes, virus, whatever. Tell them to wipe out the kelp.”

Chapter 27

An infinite universe presents infinite examples of unreasoned acts, often capricious and threatening, godlike in their mystery. Without god-powers, conscious reasoning cannot explore and make this universe absolutely known; there must remain mysteries beyond what is explained. The only reason in this universe is that which you, in your ungodlike hubris, project onto the universe. In this, you retain kinship with your most primitive ancestors.

—Raja Thomas,
Shiprecords

AS SHE stood frozen in terror of the foul-breathed stranger, Hali tried to think of a safe response. The terrible differences of this place where Ship had projected her compounded her sense of helplessness. The dust of the throng which followed the beaten man, the malignant odors, the passions in the voices, the milling movements against a single sun . . .

“Do you know him?” The man was insistent.

Hali wanted to say she had never before seen the injured man but something told her this could not be true. There had been something disquietingly familiar about that man.

Why did he speak to me of God and knowing?

Could that have been another Shipman projected here? Why had the wounded man seemed so familiar? And why had he addressed her directly?

“You can tell me.” Foul-breath was slyly persistent.

“I came a long way to see him.” The old voice which Ship had provided her sounded groveling, but the words were true. She felt it in these old bones she had borrowed. Ship would not lie to her and Ship had said this. A very great distance. Whatever this event signified, Ship had brought her expressly to see it.

“I don’t place your accent,” Foul-breath said. “Are you from Sidon?”

She moved after the crowd and spoke distractedly to the inquisitor who kept pace with her. “I come from Ship.”

What were those people doing with the wounded man?

“Ship? I’ve never heard of that place. Is it part of the Roman March?”

“Ship is far away. Far away.”

What were they doing up on that hill?
Some of the soldiers had taken the piece of tree and stretched it on the ground. She glimpsed the activity through the crowd.

“Then how can Yaisuah say that you know God’s will?” Foul-breath demanded.

This caught her attention.
Yaisuah?
Ship had said that name. It was the name Ship said had become Geezus and then Hesoos.
Jesus
. She hesitated, stared at her inquisitor.

“You call that one Yaisuah?” she asked.

“You know him by some other name?”

He gripped her arm hard. There was no mistaking the avaricious cunning in his voice and manner.

Ship intruded on her then.
This one is a Roman spy, an informer who works for those who torture Yaisuah.

“Do you know him?” Foul-breath demanded. He gave her arm a painful shake.

“I think this . . . Yaisuah is related to Ship,” she said.

“Related to . . . How can someone be related to a place?”

“Isn’t he related to You, Ship?” She spoke the question aloud without thinking.

Yes.

“Ship says that’s true,” she said.

Foul-breath dropped her arm and stepped back two paces. An angry scowl twisted his mouth.

“Crazy! You’re nothing but a crazy old woman! You’re just as crazy as that one!” He gestured up the hill where the armored men had taken Yaisuah. “See what happens to crazies?”

She looked where he had pointed.

The two men already hanging there were roped to the cross-pieces and she realized they were being left to die.
That was going to happen to Yaisuah!

As the full realization hit her, Hali began to weep.

Ship spoke within her mind:
Tears do little to improve acuity. You must observe.

She wiped her eyes on a comer of her robe, observing that Foul-breath had moved up into the crowd. She forced herself to climb up with him, pressing in among the people.

I must observe!

The armored ones were stripping the robe from Yaisuah. This exposed his wounds—cuts and bruises all over his body. He stood with a stolid watchfulness through all this, not even responding to the gasp which went up when the mob saw his wounds. There was an unguarded vulnerability to this moment, as though everyone here was participating in his own personal death.

Someone off to the left shouted: “He’s a carpenter! Don’t tie him on!”

Several large, crudely wrought nails were pressed up through that part of the crowd and thrust into the hands of an armored young man.

Others took up the cry: “Nail him on! Nail him on!”

Two of the armored men supported Yaisuah on either side now. His head swayed slightly from side to side, then bowed. Things were being thrown at him from the far side of the crowd but he made no attempt to dodge. Hali saw stones strike him . . . an occasional glob of spittle.

It was all so . . . so bizarre, played in an orange glow of mute sunlight coming through a high layer of thin clouds.

Hali blinked the tears from her eyes. Ship said she had to observe this! Very well . . . She estimated that she stood no more than six meters from Yaisuah’s left shoulder. He appeared to be a wiry man, probably active through most of his adult life, but now he was near the point of exhaustion. Her med-tech training told her that Yaisuah could survive this, given proper care, but she had the impression that he did not want such care, that none of this surprised him. If anything, he seemed anxious to get on with it. Perhaps that was the reaction of a tortured animal, cornered and beyond all will to fight or flee.

As she watched, he lifted his head slowly and turned to face her. She saw then the slight glow about him, an aura such as she had seen around her own body when Ship had projected her away from . . .

Is he also a projection of Ship?

She saw that there was a debate going on among the armored men. The nails were being waved in front of one of them by the one who had taken them from the crowd at the far side.

Yaisuah was looking at her, compelling her attention. She saw recognition in his eyes, the lift of eyebrows . . . a suggestion of surprise.

Ship intruded:
Yaisuah knows where you are from.

Are You projecting him?

That flesh lives here as flesh,
Ship said.
But there is something more.

Something more . . .That’s why You brought me here.

What is it, Ekel? What is it?

There was no mistaking the eagerness in Ship.

He has another body somewhere?

No, Ekel. No!

She cringed before Ship’s disappointment, forcing herself to a peak of alertness which her fears demanded.

Something more . . . something more . . . She saw something then, a significance of the aura.
Time does not confine him.

That is very close, Ekel.
Ship was pleased and this reassured her, but it did not remove the pressure from the moment.

There is something of him which Time cannot hold,
she thought.
Death will not release him!

You please Me, Ekel.

Joy washed through her to be cut off abruptly by Ship’s demanding intrusion:
Now! Watch this!

The armored men had settled their argument. Two of them threw Yaisuah to the ground, stretching his arms along the timber.

Another took the nails and using a rock for a hammer began nailing Yaisuah’s wrists to the wood.

Someone shouted from the crowd: “If you’re the son of God, let’s see you get yourself out of this!”

Hali heard jeering laughter all around her. She had to clasp her hands across her breast, forcing herself not to rush forward. This was barbarous! She trembled with frustration.

We are all children of Ship!

She wanted to shout this to these fools. It was the lesson of her earliest WorShip classes, the admonition of the Chaplain.

Two soldiers lifted the length of wood, hoisting the man who was nailed to it by his wrists. He gasped as they moved him. Four soldiers, two on each side of him, lifted the timber on their spear points into a notch on a tall post which stood upright between the other two victims. Another soldier scrambled up a crude ladder behind the post and lashed the crosspiece into the notch. Two more soldiers moved up to Yaisuah’s dangling feet. While one soldier crossed the ankles, the other nailed the feet to the upright. Blood ran down the wood from the wound.

She had to open her mouth wide and breathe in gulping gasps to keep from fainting.

She saw the brown eyes flash with sudden agony as a soldier shook the upright to test its firmness. Yaisuah slumped forward unconscious.

Why are they causing him such pain? What do they want him to do?

Hali pressed forward in the suddenly silent throng, elbowing her way through with a strength which she found surprising in this old body. She had to see it close. She had to see. Ship had commanded her to observe. It was difficult moving in the press of people even with the strength of her inner drive. And she suddenly became aware of the breath-held silence in the throng.

Why were they so silent?

It was as though the answer had been flashed on her eyes.
They want Yaisuah to stop this by some secret power in him. They want a miracle! They still want a miracle from him. They want Ship . . . God to reach out of the sky and stop this brutal travesty. They do this thing and they want a god to stop it.

She pressed herself past two more people and found that she had achieved the inner ring of the crowd. There were only the three timber constructions now, the three bodies . . .

I could still save him,
she thought.

Chapter 28

I play the song to which you must dance. To you is left the freedom of improvisation. This improvisation is what you call free will.

—The Oakes Covenant

“THE MEETING will please come to order.”

Oakes used his wand-amplifier to dominate the shuffling and buzzing in the Colony’s central meeting hall. It was a domed and circular room truncated by a narrow platform against the south wall where he stood. When not being used for meetings, the room was taken over by manufacture of food-production equipment and the sub-assembly operations for the buoyant bags of the LTAs. Because of this, all meetings had to be called at least ten hours in advance to give workers time to clear away machines and fabrics.

He still felt beset by the tensions of moving from shipside to groundside. His time sense was upset by the diurnal shift and this meeting had been rushed. It was almost the hour of mid-meal here. There would be psychological pressures from the audience because of that.

This was the wrong hour for a meeting and there had been some muttering about interference with important work, but Murdoch had silenced that by leaking the announcement that Oakes had come groundside to stay. The implications were obvious. A major push was impending to make Colony secure; Oakes would command that push.

On the platform with Oakes stood Murdoch and Rachel Demarest. Murdoch’s position as director of Lab One was well known, and the mystery surrounding that lab’s purposes made his presence here a matter of intense curiosity.

Rachel Demarest was another matter. Oakes scowled when he thought about her. She had learned things while acting as a messenger between Ferry and groundside.

Sounds in the room were beginning to subside as the stragglers made their way in and took seats. Portable chairs had been provided, many constructed from the twisted Pandoran plant material. The unique appearance of each chair offended Oakes. Something would have to be done to standardize appearances here.

He scanned the room, noting that Raja Thomas was present in a seat down front. The woman beside Thomas fitted the description Murdoch had provided of one Waela TaoLini, a survivor of the original kelp-research projects. Her knowledge might be dangerous. Well . . . she and the poet would share Thomas’ fate. End of that problem!

Oakes had been groundside for almost two diurns now and much of that time had been taken up in preparation for this meeting. There had been many eyes-only reports from Lewis and his minions. Murdoch had been quite useful in this. He would bear watching. Legata had provided some of the data and, even now, was back shipside gathering more.

This meeting represented a serious challenge to his powers, Oakes knew, and he intended to meet it head on. Lewis had estimated that about a thousand people were here. The larger part of Colony personnel could never be spared from guard and maintenance and building and rebuilding. Two steps forward, one step back—that was Pandora’s way. Oakes was aware, though, that most of those facing him down on that floor carried the proxy votes of associates. There had been an unofficial election and this would be a real attempt at democracy. He recognized the dangers. Democracy had never been the shipside way and it could not be allowed groundside. It was a sobering thought and he felt adrenaline overcoming an earlier indulgence in wine.

The people were taking a devilish long time to get settled, moving about, forming groups. Oakes waited with what show of patience he could muster. There was a dank, metallic smell in the room which he did not like. And the lights had been tuned too far into the green. He glanced back at the Demarest woman. She was a slight figure with unremarkable features and dull brown hair. She was notable only for her intensely nervous mannerisms. Demarest had been the instigator of the election—a petition-bearer. Oakes managed a smile when he looked at her. Lewis had said he knew how to defuse her. Knowing Lewis, Oakes did not probe for details.

Presently, Rachel Demarest came forward on the platform. Leaving her wand-amplifier on its clip at her wrist, she raised both arms, twisting her palms rapidly. It was interesting that the room fell silent immediately.

Why didn’t she use her amplifier?
Oakes wondered.
Was she an anti-tech?

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. Her voice was high and squeaky with a whine at the edge. “We won’t take much of your time. Our Ceepee has a copy of your petition and has agreed to answer it point by point.”

Your petition!
Oakes thought.
Not my petition. Oh, no.

But evidence from Lewis and Murdoch was clear. This woman wanted a share in Colony power. And she had managed most cleverly to say
Ceepee
with an emphasis which made the title appear foolish. Battle, therefore, was joined.

As Demarest stepped back, glancing at him, Oakes produced the petition from an inner pocket of his white singlesuit. Making it appear accidental, he dropped the petition. Several pages fluttered off the platform.

“No matter.” He waved back people in the front row as they moved to recover the pages. “I remember everything in it.”

A glance at Murdoch brought him a reassuring nod. Murdoch had found chairs for himself and Demarest. They sat well back on the platform now.

Oakes hunched forward toward his audience in a gesture of confidence, smiling. “Few of our people are here this morning and you all know the very good reasons for this. Pandora is unforgiving. We all lost loved ones in the four failures on Black Dragon.”

He gestured vaguely westward where the rocky eminences of Black Dragon lay hidden beyond the mists of more than a thousand kilometers of ocean. Oakes knew that none of those failures could be laid at his hatch; he had been very careful about that. And his presence permanently groundside imparted a feeling of excitement about Colony prospects here on the undulating plains of The Egg. That sense of impending success had contributed to the confrontation brewing in this room. Colonists were beginning to think beyond the present state of siege, rubbing their wishes together, shaping their desires for personal futures.

“As most of you know.” Oakes said, lifting his amplifier to make his voice carry, “I am groundside to stay, groundside to direct the final push for victory.”

There was a polite spatter of applause, much less than he had expected. It was high time he came groundside! He had loyalties to weld, organization to improve.

“The Demarest petition, then,” he said. “Point One: elimination of one-man patrols.” He shook his head. “I wish it could be done. Perhaps you don’t understand the reason for them. I’ll put it plainly. We are conditioning the animals of Pandora to run like hell when they see a human!”

That brought a rewarding burst of applause.

Oakes waited for it to subside, then: “Your children will have a safer world because of your bravery. Yes, I said your children. It is my intent to bring the Natali groundside.”

Shocked murmurs greeted this announcement.

“This will not happen immediately,” Oakes said, “but it will happen. Now—Point Two of the Demarest petition.” He pursed his lips in recollection. “ ‘No major decision about Colony risks or expansion shall be made without approval by a clear majority of Colonists voting in Council. Do I have that right, Rachel?” He glanced back at her but did not wait for her to respond.

Glancing once more at the scattered papers of the petition on the floor below him, he looked hard at the front row and swept his gaze across the audience.

“Putting aside for the moment the vagueness in that word ‘clear’ and this unexplained concept of ‘Council,’ let me point out one thing we all know. It took ten hours to clear this room for a meeting. We have a choice. We keep this hall clear and ready at all times, thereby putting a dangerous strain on production facilities, or we accept a ten-hour delay for every major decision. I prefer to call those survival decisions, by the way.” He made a show of looking back at the large wall chrono, then returned his attention to the audience. “We’ve already been here more than fifteen minutes and obviously we will use more time on this.”

Oakes cleared his throat, giving them a moment in which to absorb what he had said. He noted a few squirmers in the audience sending signals that they would like to comment on this argument, and he had not missed the fact that Murdoch had taken Rachel Demarest’s arm, whispering in her ear and, incidentally, keeping her from interrupting.

“Point Three,” Oakes said. “More rest and recuperation back on the ship. If we . . .”

“Ship!” Someone in the middle rows shouted. Oakes identified the speaker, a guard on the hangar perimeter squad, one of Demarest’s supporters. “Not the ship, but Ship!” The man, half out of his seat, was pulled back by a companion.

“Let’s face that then,” Oakes said. “I presume that a Chaplain/Psychiatrist has a modicum of expertise with which to address this question?”

He glanced at Rachel Demarest who still was being held quietly but firmly by Murdoch. You want to use titles? Very well, let us put this title into its proper perspective. Not Ceepee, but Chaplain/Psychiatrist. All the traditions of THE ship stand behind me.

“I will spell it out for you,” Oakes said, turning once more to the audience. “We are a mixed bag of people. Most of us appear to have come from Earth where I was born. We were removed by the ship . . .”

“Ship saved you!” That damned guard would not stay silent. “Ship saved you! Our sun was going nova!”

“So the ship says!”

Oakes gave it a bit more volume by a touch on his wand’s controls. “The facts are open to other interpretation.”

“The facts . . .”

“What have we experienced?” Oakes drowned him out and then reduced the volume. “What have we experienced?” Lower volume still. “We found ourselves on the ship with other people whose origins are not clear, not clear at all. Some clones, some naturals. The ship taught us its language and controlled our history lessons. We learn what the ship wants us to learn. And what are the ship’s motives?”

“Blasphemy!”

Oakes waited for the stir of this outcry to subside, then: “The ship also trained me as a doctor and a scientist. I depend on facts I can test for myself. What do I know about Shipmen? We can interbreed. In fact, this whole thing could be a genetic . . .”

“I know my origins and so does everyone else!” It was Rachel Demarest breaking away from Murdoch and leaping to her feet. She still was not using her wand, but she fumbled with it as she moved toward Oakes. “I’m a clone, but I’m from . . .”

“So the ship says!”

Again, Oakes hurled that challenge at them. Now, if Lewis and Murdoch had read the Colonists correctly, suspicions had been placed like barbs where they would do the most good when the vote was called.

“So the ship says,” Oakes repeated. “I do not doubt your sincerity; I merely am aghast at your credulity.”

She was angered by this and, still fumbling with her wand, failed to give herself enough amplification when she said: “That’s just your interpretation.” Her voice was lost on all but the first rows.

Oakes addressed the audience in his most reasonable manner: “She thinks that’s just my interpretation. But I would be failing you as your Chaplain/Psychiatrist if I did not warn you that it is an interpretation you must consider. What do we know? Are we merely some cosmic experiment in genetics? We know only that the ship . . .” He gestured upward with his left thumb. “. . . brought us here and will not leave. We are told we must colonize this planet which the ship calls Pandora. You know the legend of Pandora because it’s in the ship’s educational records, but what do you know about this planet? You can at least suspect that the name is very appropriate!”

He let them absorb this for several blinks, knowing that many among them shared his suspicions.

“Four times we failed to plant a Colony over on Black Dragon!” he shouted. “Four times!”

Let them think about their lost loved ones.

He glanced at Rachel Demarest, who stood three paces to his left, staring at him aghast.

“Why this planet and not a better one?” Oakes demanded. “Look at Pandora! Only two land masses: this dirt under us which the ship calls The Egg, and that other one over there which killed our loved ones—Black Dragon! And what else has the ship given us? The rest of Pandora? What’s that? A few islands too small and too dangerous for the risking. And an ocean which harbors the most dangerous life form on the planet. Should we give thanks for this? Should we . . .”

“You promised to take up the entire petition!”

It was Rachel Demarest again and this time with her amplifier turned up too far. The intrusion shocked the audience and there were clear signs that many found the shock offensive.

“I will take it up, Rachel.” Very soft and reasonable. “Your petition was a needed and useful instrument. I agree that we should have better procedures for work assignments. Calling this deficiency to my attention strengthens us. Anything which strengthens us meets my immediate approval. I thank you for it.”

She got her wand under control.

“You imply that the ’lectrokelp is the most dangerous . . .”

“Rachel, I already have started a project which will try to determine if there is something useful to us about the kelp. The director of that project and one of his assistants are sitting right down there.”

Oakes pointed down at Thomas and Waela, saw heads turned, people craning to see.

“Despite the dangers,” he said, “very potent and obvious dangers, as anyone will agree who has studied the data from these oceans, I have started this project. Your petition comes after the fact.”

“Then why couldn’t we have learned this when . . .”

“You want more open communication from those of us making the decisions?”

“We want to know whether we’re succeeding or failing!” Again, she had her amplifier turned too high.

“Reasonable,” Oakes said. “That is one of the reasons I have moved myself and my staff permanently groundside. In my head . . .” He tapped his skull. “. . . is the complete plan to make Pandora into a garden planet for . . .”