The Sails of Tau Ceti (18 page)

Throughout the hour, the only sound in the banquet hall had been the background noises that accompanied the many scenes. There had been the crash of waves onto beaches, the twittering of children, and the noises of living, breathing cities. Now the hall was silent. It was a silence that filled Tory with a deep sense of loss. The lights came up just as she reached up to wipe away the tears that were moistening her eyes.

Faslorn did not speak for long seconds. “You now know a tiny percentage of what we lost when our star exploded. Over the next several weeks, we hope to show you something of what we were able to save. I think you will agree that it is more than sufficient to repay humanity for the small effort required to make a home for us around your own star. We rely on your good will and your sense of what is right. Our fate is now in your hands.”

CHAPTER 13

Following the banquet, the Phelan conducted their human guests to their quarters. The guest apartments were built at the same level in the end cap as the banquet hall, with each crewmember assigned to an apartment off a common living area. At the far end of the commons was another transparent wall that looked out over the ship’s habitat volume. The scene was considerably changed from what it had been earlier. The sun tube was no longer a bright orange-white. It now put out a soft blue glow as a gentle mist floated slowly from out of the sky. Only the distorted lights of a few villages were apparent directly below their perch.

“It’s raining!” Kit exclaimed as she strode to stand in front of the window.

“Of course,” Rolan, Kit’s guide, responded.

“But why?”

“The storm is scheduled regularly. It cleans the interior, freshens the air, and otherwise makes life more interesting. Don’t humans enjoy weather that changes?”

Tory, who had lived her life beneath the artificial domes of Mars, had never seen rain. To her, weather was a dust storm. Even at the lowest elevations, the Martian atmosphere was so diffuse that its winds were little more than gentle puffs. At the altitude of Olympus Mons, the atmosphere was little thicker than a poor vacuum. As she watched the tiny rivulets follow their gently curving Coriolus paths down the window, Tory understood better the terrestrial prejudice in favor of weather.

When no one answered, Rolan continued his explanation. “We delayed the fall of night and this storm so that you could see the ship before the banquet. We’ve now returned to our normal weather program.”

Faslorn suggested that each guide show their charge to their quarters. Maratel guided Tory to the door nearest the window on the right side. As they entered the apartment, Tory discovered that she, too, had a transparent wall in what she took to be the living room. The other three rooms in the small suite were a bedroom, bathroom, and study. The rooms were decorated in “modern renaissance” style, which, while currently popular on Earth, Tory thought exceedingly ugly. Maratel guided her through her new quarters, demonstrating the hidden machinery that seemed everywhere.

The bathroom was the same low gravity design found on Luna and Mars. The shower was fully enclosed, with a laminar flow grid in the floor that sucked the water out as quickly as it could be injected from the overhead spray ceiling. The toilet, likewise, was a conventional space design.

In the study, Tory found a desk and a full suite of office machines. The workstation, Maratel informed her, had a direct line to the computer aboard
Austria
. It would serve Tory’s needs until the Phelan technicians reestablished her link.

“You can interface with
Far Horizons
’s library using this machine, also,” Maratel said. She showed Tory how to call up the alien database. The work screen suddenly divided into two unequal parts. On the left side of the screen, rows of dots slowly scrolled upward. On the larger right side, sentences and paragraphs were formed from growing letters.

Tory ignored the words and pointed to the moving patterns of dots. “Is this Phelan script?”

“It is. The translator operates on a direct substitution algorithm. That is, it takes specific Phelan phrases and converts them to the closest human equivalent.”

“Then this is all we need to study you!”

“I wish it were that simple. The substitution algorithm does not attempt to explain the background and the unspoken assumptions underlying the data. Much of what you see will appear to be in complete Standard sentences, but will not make sense to you.”

Tory laughed. “I had the same problem when I first began studying computers.”

“We, too, have difficulties with human broadcasts because we do not share the audience’s conceptions. For instance, most of us miss the finer points of certain types of humor that are broadcast late in the night cycle of programming.”

Tory considered how she might explain to Maratel that much of human humor (perhaps most) had its basis in sex. Not that she thought Maratel ignorant of that fact. The Phelan had shown far too great an understanding of human beings not to be intellectually aware of it. Still, how much could an alien truly understand? Instead of trying to explain, she pointed to the screen and asked, “How do the dots work?”

“Phelan verbal symbols are represented by a five-by-five matrix of dots. Each word-phrase is a distinct dot pattern, which we then string together into multiple matrices to form complete thoughts.”

“Like we use letters to form words?”

“No, more the equivalent of Chinese ideographs. The full matrix gives us two-to-the-twenty-fifth power permutations, more than sufficient. For common expressions, we use a four by four subset of the full matrix. In your base ten numbering system, that gives us a total of 65,535 separate symbols, not counting the null matrix.”

“How do you remember them all?”

Maratel emitted the barking Phelan laugh. “How do you remember the difference between two, to, and too?”

Tory joined in her laughter. “A good point.”

They continued the tour. In the living room was a refreshment unit identical to the one in the common area. By placing an order, she could have her choice of non-alcoholic and alcoholic drinks, also those containing a mild euphoric.

The bedroom was the last stop on the tour. The bed was a giant fluffy thing that looked as though it had come from the set of an orgy holo.

“Where do you sleep?”

“We have living quarters nearby,” Maratel replied. “Our understanding of the human need for privacy suggests that you would prefer a room of your own. Or are you mated to Captain Van Zandt or Professor Guttieriz?”

Tory hesitated, wondering how she would explain the living arrangements aboard
Austria
. She decided not to. Since the Phelan undoubtedly would monitor their every action, she was not about to seek Garth’s bed while she was onboard the starship. If the Phelan wanted to study human sexuality, they would have to do so from books and recordings like everyone else. “No, we’re not mated…”

“Then you have someone at home.”

“Maybe,” Tory replied. She was surprised to realize that she had not thought of Ben in weeks. She wondered if he had thought of her.

“If you require my services, you need only say so out loud and I will quickly join you.”

The comment confirmed what Tory already suspected; namely that every square centimeter of the apartment was monitored. She wondered idly how many Phelan would be watching her whenever she went to the bathroom, then thrust the thought from her mind, lest dwelling on it give her a serious case of constipation.

“Are the quarters satisfactory?”

“They’re downright luxurious!”

“Faslorn thought that you and your friends would wish to sleep now.”

Tory checked her sleeve chronometer, something that was unnecessary when her implant was working. She was surprised to find that it was approaching midnight. Not only had it been a busy day, but also the long approach had been a series of catnaps. She stretched and yawned widely. “Now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit tired.”

“If you need sleeping attire, you will find it in the locker behind you.”

Tory turned and discovered a disguised door in the bulkhead. She opened it to find a walk-in closet. On three sides were clothes of all descriptions. It did not take long to discover that they were all in her exact size. Now how, she wondered, had they done that?

She quickly undressed and slipped into a sleeping gown that felt like silk. She normally slept in the nude aboard ship — as much a precaution should it prove necessary to suit up in a hurry, as it was personal preference.

She slipped into bed and was asleep in less than a minute.

#

Tory woke to soft music emanating from somewhere. She lay there for long minutes, integrating the events of the previous day. Her overall impression of the Phelan was one of a gentle people who were eager to please. Of course, that was precisely the impression they wanted her to have. She remembered Garth’s comment about maintaining the eyes of skeptic. She had to admit that if Faslorn and his people continued as solicitous as they had begun, it was going to be difficult to maintain the proper objectivity.

Just as she was about to stir, the door opened and Maratel entered bearing a tray on which several steaming plates were piled.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Tory stretched to get the blood flowing, and said, “Better than I have in months.”

“Good. Here, I’ve brought you breakfast.” Maratel sat the tray across Tory’s lap and then straightened the pillow behind her so that she could sit up. Tory picked up a piece of what appeared to be buttered toast and bit in. The taste, she discovered, was very close to the original. She told Maratel to compliment the chef.

“He will be pleased. Of course, we cheated.”

“How so?”

“Captain Van Zandt gave us permission to sample your food stocks aboard
Austria
. Our synthesists find it much easier to duplicate your food when we have a sample to work with. Is the bed comfortable?”

“Very. The spin gravity helps, too. I have never been to Earth, but I have had the usual centrifuge training. The full 9.8 meters per second squared does pull a person down!”

“In that respect I am more fortunate than you. Phela’s gravity is 87 percent of Earth’s. I, at least, won’t develop fallen arches when we visit humanity’s home world.” Maratel moved to the closet and began laying out a black-and-silver jumpsuit in the latest Earthside style.

Tory pointed. “Those clothes. This food. How many people do you have working at providing us with provisions?”

“A few hundred.”

“You know, it isn’t necessary to wait on us hand and foot. We’ll give you a fair hearing even if we have to rough it and eat shipboard rations.”

“By providing you with these items, we demonstrate our abilities. You could live aboard your ship and take guided tours of
Far Horizons
, of course, but which makes the greater impression on you: Having Faslorn talk while you watch workers performing tasks you can’t possibly understand, or biting into a piece of warm toast you know was synthesized within the past few hours?”

“A good point. Possibly, you people know what you are about.”

Maratel gave her “human smile.” “We have considered how best to approach humans for more than two centuries. I believe there are specialists aboard this ship who could go into practice as human psychologists if they wished to. Who knows? Perhaps they will.”

Tory took a sip of “tea.” Here the taste was not nearly as close to the original as the toast had been. The liquid, while palatable enough, had a slight oily aftertaste. “Have you considered that it might not be wise to let us know how well you understand us?”

Maratel looked genuinely puzzled, which in turn made Tory wonder how she managed to leave that impression since her brow was obviously not suitable for wrinkling up.

“Why?” the guide asked.

“It makes us feel insecure if we think someone knows us too well.”

“Not nearly as insecure as you will feel if you catch us in a lie. As Faslorn explained last night, ‘honesty is the best policy.’”

“That’s one of those aphorisms that is more honored in its breach than in its observance.” There was a long silence while Tory finished breakfast. When she had polished off the tea, she asked, “Is Captain Van Zandt still asleep?”

“He has been awake for several hours. He wished to monitor our technicians when they took your power unit in tow.”

“
Starhopper
’s now attached to this ship?”

“To the light sail,” Maratel said, her head bobbing up and down on her long neck.

“But how can you do that? The light sail is rotating!”

“The rigging is somewhat complex. Suffice to say, we attached towlines to your power unit and then to various shroud lines from the sail. By actively changing the tow line lengths in concert with the sail’s rotation, we maintain a constant tension on
Starhopper
.”

“I’ll have to see it.”

“We recorded the entire operation. You can view it at your leisure.”

“What do we have planned for today?”

“Faslorn thought you might still be weary. He suggested that we tour the habitat level so that you could see something of our people and our ship. Your formal education begins tomorrow.”

“Formal education?”

“We have a full program laid out for you. We hope to teach you something of our culture, history, and science so that you can properly advise your people when you make your reports. You do not have to participate if you don’t wish to.”

“What do the others say?”

“Professor Guttieriz is off with Corwin and Raal. Doctor Claridge is touring a hospital.”

“You mean I’m the only one still in bed?”

Maratel shrugged expansively. It was a gesture that encompassed all four arms. “We thought it best to let you sleep.”

Tory set the tray aside and swung her bare feet out onto the carpeted deck. “I can sleep anytime. Come, let’s see the ship!”

#

Garth Van Zandt was strapped into a chair somewhere near the spin axis. The compartment around him had disappeared, giving the illusion that he and Faslorn were floating in the black firmament. How the Phelan managed the illusion was a mystery. That did not prevent his enjoyment of it.