Pock's World Page 8

  “Do your superiors approve of the way you are wearing yours?” Athena asked, for his was presently perched on the back of his head.

  “Is correct this way indoors.” He peered around the store. “We have hats somewhere, but only tourists wear them.”

  “It doesn’t rain all the time,” Brother Andre said cheerfully. “And, as Friend Braata says, this leathery stuff never gets wet.”

  The visitors were assigned thumbprint lockers to hold their off-world clothes. Athena had no compunction about going topless; she was not surprised that Millie did. Brother Andre retained his brown robe, accepting only sandals.

  When they had showered and changed, young Braata reappeared, towering over all of them, even Linn. He produced a box of earplugs. “Translators,” he announced. “Your implants inoperate on Pock’s, but ours will convert your speech for us, and these will serve same for you.”

  “Oh, we know all that,” Millie said. “Off-world implants can’t communicate with local Brains because they process cognition differently.”

  Athena put a plug in her ear, and said, “How do I sound?”

  Braata replied in Pocosin. Inside her ear a thin voice said, “Very good. Nonetheless I shall not sing to you. The speakers are shrill.”

  When he led them back to the lounge, he reverted to speaking his personal version of Ayne. “And now I impart bad news. A solar flare has arrived at Javel, and in this wise at Pock’s. Javel’s prodigious magnetosphere gets most excited at these times. You are completely safe here inside Pock’s Station, but the shuttle is not so well shielded against radiation flux. Is needed to wait.”

  “How long?” several voices demanded.

  He shrugged bony shoulders. “Latest estimate was four hours, so expect eight. Is unfortunate, because my superiors were most anxious to show you something and were urgent that you be brought downworld as soon as possible, but is now likely will be too late.”

  “Do you know what they were to show us?” Linn barked. “Or where it is? Or why we are now too late?” He nodded when the youngster shook his head. “I thought not.”

  Athena said, “We wish to speak with your supervisor.”

  To no one’s surprise, Braata continued to stonewall, insisting he was the only person left on the station, admitting only that he had been ordered to greet a fact-finding panel of exactly five persons and had no knowledge of a planned sixth. He named no names, either. With the quarantine now official, he would be going downworld with them, evacuating Ayne Station completely.

  Director Backet was miffed. “It is very odd that STARS would invite this commission and then not have high-ranking executives here to greet us! But come to think of it, in traveling to eight worlds I have never met anyone in STARS of higher rank than yours!”

  Braata nodded solemnly. “That is most curious, Director.”

  “Why do STARS’s senior personnel never reveal their identities? Why are you all so secretive?”

  “I have no leave to tell you that, even if I knew.”

  Ratty laughed. “That’s a nice clear answer, for once. How about a hot meal?”

  “Expecting there will still be food, but to eat my cooking will indeed be a test of manhood, honored friend.”

  “You don’t have machines to do that?”

  “I am not sure. I have never been in the kitchens.”

  “Oh, you’re doing great, General! You will go far. Come and give us some geography lessons.” Ratty stalked across to inspect the wall screen and the others followed. “Pock’s World is very spotty, isn’t it?”

  Now Braata talked freely. They were viewing dayside, and the white patches were storms, but none were the big Coriolis swirls found on planets with faster rotation. Pock’s he said, in what was evidently a standard joke, had no climate, only weather. The little blue patches were seas. There were no oceans. That pinkish circle was a dried-out sea, a salt bed—probably a caldera, but maybe an impact crater. Blacks and some whites were mountains. Red and yellow were active ones. That one was Volcano Bubinga, very active just then. The honored guests would see more actives on the night side shortly. Very few cities.

  “We have massive contamination with heavy metals, but no ore deposits of any size. Here and there a little is all. Everything gets so mixed up that you can find lead in your well water one day and arsenic the next. Vegetation gets cooked into coal and that’s another source of contamination. We have few metals, so most of our machine parts are grown in vats.”

  There was a lot of green, but a lot of everything else, too. Athena decided she was not surprised that the air stank if all that yellow was sulfur.

  “That is Draff Water,” their guide said. “Our largest sea. It extends under that steam. It is most irregular shape, as you can see, because it is subsiding. The bottom is falling out! Then lava rises and you get steam. Ready-cooked fish!”

  “Can you eat the fish?” Ratty asked.

  “Yes. There are no native fish, because our seas do not last long enough to evolve the same, only amphibians, able to cross country. Off-world fish introduced and so edible. Crops also. Earth rice does well, also Ayne water grass, most tasty.”

  After a few minutes the station’s orbit brought it over the terminator, and Braata pointed out the red glow of erupting volcanoes and the flicker of thunderstorms.

  “If nothing is going to happen for a while,” Ratty announced, “I am going to unpeel my eyes.” He stretched out on a bench and in moments was snoring.

  “It’s not even lunchtime!” Backet said. “He must have taken taluqdar training.”

  “More likely a sleep implant in his hypothalamus,” Linn said. “They’re expensive and dangerous.”

  Backet drifted away by herself to listen to her recorded briefing. Braata and Brother Andre disappeared into the gloom without saying where they were going. Athena remained, staring at the screen. Not realizing that Linn was still there, she jumped when he spoke right behind her.

  “You believe me now when I say STARS’s playing games with us?”

  She turned. “I thought that before. Now I think it’s you playing games. That night at Portolan you hinted at something exactly like this—a few days with no aides around, somewhere we would not be recognized.”

  “Athena, I told you!” He looked and sounded exasperated. “It was coincidence, I swear! If I had contrived a sex-orgy getaway, do you think I would have invited that bottom-feeding gossip-shitting Turnsole along? And I would certainly have found a more salubrious planet than Pock’s. You flatter me if you think I can manipulate STARS. I did suggest you, yes. When Sulcus called, I tried to think of people who couldn’t be bought or bamboozled, and yours was the first and last name that came to mind. Will you forget what was said at Portolan? I offered, you declined. Why don’t we go back to being old friends?”

  She smiled. “All right. Pock’s certainly doesn’t sound like a honeymoon heaven. Or smell like it.”

  “They produce some intriguing wines, I’m told,” Linn said. “And several very kinky recreational drugs. If you do change your mind, just let me know.” Chuckling, he walked away.

  Athena stood and stared at a world she might have to condemn to death.

  Toody

  Ratty was awakened by Linn Lazuline’s shouting at him—there was a break in the rad storm, the boat was leaving right now, and Lazuline would like nothing better than to leave him behind. Still groggy, Ratty tumbled off the bench and ran after him.

  Braata was waiting by a small circular hatch. “This is the lifeboat,” he explained, flashing his habitual grin. “Storm is lulled but not stopped, and this gets us out of hot zone faster. Very much faster!”

  The interior was barely large enough for six people in three rows of two. Ratty was the last of the off-worlders to board, and the STARS man squeezed in beside him at the back. The two women had the front seats, but even they had no window. At least Pocosin designers provided ample leg room.

  “We will be making a fast descent,” Control announced
. “Please lean back and place your hands at your sides.”

  “These craft are peppy,” Braata warned.

  Somewhat! The launch felt like an explosion, flattening the occupants against their chair backs. Braata muttered, “Wow!” and Ratty wondered how the kid could manage to say even that with several tons of rock piled on his chest.

  The noise and pressure increased.

  “They aren’t messing around,” the Pocosin mumbled.

  Ratty wanted to ask whether it was it better to be pureed than fried, but he couldn’t move his tongue, and his mouth felt stretched out to his ears.

  After a brief lifetime the awful weight eased briefly. Then it came back, as great as ever. Braking, no doubt. Ratty wondered how old Brother Andre was taking this.

  A deep rumble, vibration. “Atmosphere!” Braata said.

  At last came silence and a great sense of relief.

  “Welcome to Elaterin Landing,” Control said. “None of you received radiation dosage in excess of 2.5 rems, so no treatment will be required.”

  Linn said, “Nice of them to tell us that.”

  Braata laughed uneasily. “That was probably a record descent, honored friends. Any faster than that and they award certificates posthumously. I have never heard of Elaterin Landing, so welcome to Pock’s World.”

  Andre twisted around to frown at him. “You charge extra for heart attacks, my son? If so, I owe for four.”

  The boy chuckled. “Normally we administer extreme unction before takeoff, Brother.”

  Something bumped against the hull. The door opened, admitting a blast of choking, sulfurous steam. Ratty puzzled over the deep roaring sound and realized that it was raining enthusiastically. Coughing and choking, he followed Braata out and staggered under the impact of the deluge. Handheld lights glimmered through a silver mist, but otherwise the night was pitch black and hot as a shower; it was also swarming with lofty half-naked people, all trying to help. With needles hammering into his back and drops drumming on his visor, he was hurried across what seemed to be a wooden bridge to a doorway cut through a wall of cut stone blocks, shining glassily in the rain.

  In spite of Pock’s low gravity, heavy rain could hurt just as much as it could on Ayne; the drops must reach about the same terminal velocity.

  Then he was standing in a stark, bare room, no longer being rained upon but having trouble breathing air so wet. Apparently total saturation was normal on Pock’s, for no one mentioned towels. Four other drenched emissaries joined him, with Brother Andre coming last.

  Across from the visitors stood a score or so equally soaked men and women in shorts and visors. None of the women wore tops; low gravity was wonderfully supportive.

  Between the two groups stood three armed men with their backs to the visitors. Guards? In a flash of alarm, Ratty registered danger. These strangers had come to help decide whether this world should be destroyed. It made sense that the inhabitants must resent that prospect and might try to take out their anger on the commissioners. Braata had vanished. The three muscle-bound red men were not STARS, but they might as well have had cop tattooed all over them.

  Smiling welcome, a wrinkled man limped forward with a bunch of trumpet-shaped blossoms that glowed fluorescent silver. He shouted something over the waterfall boom of the rain on the roof. Ratty had removed his earplug and had to hunt for it. He was handed a blossom anyway.

  When that ceremony had been completed, the visitors were escorted down a long stone staircase—no moving ramps here—and out once more into the pounding, needling downpour. A strong hand emerged from the darkness to grip his arm and help, almost lift, him up a couple of steps into a wagon. A wagon! What sort of historical pageant had he fallen into? But at least it had a thatched roof to keep the rain off, and the bench was comfortably padded. He could see almost nothing outside through the sheets of water streaming off the top. The others were boarding, and so were the cops.

  A sodden Brother Andre squelched down beside him.

  “Did I miss the briefing on time warps, Brother?”

  The old friar laughed as if he were enjoying himself hugely. “I forgot to give it, I’m afraid.” He raised his voice to include the others. “Pock’s World is chronically short of metals, which makes powered machinery expensive, but it will grow a forest in an afternoon, so they use a lot of wood. They have some aircraft, but whenever possible they prefer the slow life. They seem to find the best of both high and low tech. It’s only a short ride to the inn, they said.”

  “Elaterin is an emergency landing,” said one of the cops. “We are not on main commercial routes.”

  Glad to hear it. The wagon began to move—rocking slightly, but not bumping much. Not going very fast, either. The rain dropped to a drizzle and stopped. Everything was still dark, still hot. Ratty could not see what was pulling the wagon, except that they were big, there were two of them, and they had antlers.

  * * *

  The inn was a collection of sheds with thatched roofs and wicker walls, all of them shining a bright welcome in the dark. They were lit by globes hung on ropes from the rafters, and those were certainly not candles. Human servants, mostly children, were running back and forth between buildings, fetching covered dishes, and making Ratty realize that he was starving. His companions seemed to feel the same way, for they all quickly found seats around a table, overly high seats for off-worlders.

  “I suggest you try a little of everything first,” Brother Andre said. “That’s pickled sparge, a carnivorous plant. Most dishes are spicy, but that looks like scrob, which is bland. And I suspect that’s talion. If you would pass it…” He tried it. “Mm, yes! Talion is an acquired taste.”

  “Where does talion come from, Brother?” Linn inquired suspiciously.

  “Ask me after you’ve tried it.”

  “I want to know before I try it.”

  “Rotted tree octopus.”

  “I shall never know what it tastes like.”

  Ratty declined the talion, but he did try half a dozen other dishes, found two he liked, and heaped his plate with more of those. The pitchers held a green liquid that tasted like a dry wine and was actually cold. This world was starting to show a more hospitable face.

  The cops still stood guard, most of the servants departed. Rain was falling again, although not so hard, and a faint light under the eaves heralded dawn. The elderly man of the blossoms reappeared, this time accompanied by a younger man whose standard garb of shorts and visor was augmented by an elbow-length green-and-blue cape, a gauzy cloth pinned at his neck and draped over his left shoulder. Since it served no purpose, it must be important.

  “Live and die happy!” he said. “Please continue eating. I welcome you to our world. I am Treddle, gownsman for Gule County. I see our reeve has made you as comfortable as possible on such short notice.”

  “Very comfortable, thank you,” Millie said quickly. “I am Director Backet, of the Sector Council, pleased to meet you, Gownsman, and now I should introduce my fellow commissioners—”

  Intercepting a surprised glance from Treddle, Ratty realized that he had been grinning. If this circus did not quickly become known as the Backet Commission, it would be over Millie’s dead body. She introduced Athena and Linn, and the Pocosin responded warmly, but when she named Brother Andre, Treddle’s reaction was coldly polite.

  “You want your co-religionists informed of your arrival, honored friend?”

  “If you would be so kind,” the friar said. “Cardinal Phare. Pray inform him I am sent by the pope.”

  Treddle closed his eyes for a moment, cognizing. Then he nodded to Andre. “He greets you in Christ’s name and will hasten to meet you. And last but, I am sure, not least?”

  “Friend Turnsole,” Backet said apologetically.

  “A mere reporter,” Ratty explained.

  The Pocosin smiled again. “Not mere! Even on Pock’s we follow your work and admire it, although much subtlety is lost in translation. You are most welcome. I wish your vis
it could have been for a happier cause.”

  He was smooth: Ratty thanked him.

  “Please excuse my ignorance, gownsmen Treddle, but will you explain what a gownsman is and does?”

  “Happily.” Treddle chose a seat with a good view of Athena. He was older than Braata, but not much bulkier. His neck was extraordinarily thin. “Governments on Pock’s World are mostly democratic, although we have a few kingdoms, one small empire, and some other oddities. All recognize Monody’s overall authority. She appoints the priestesses, who tend our spiritual needs, and gownsman, who are her representatives in worldly matters. That’s what I am. What I do is a little less clear. Most of the time I’m a father, a lover, and an agrologist, in about that order, but as a gownsman I’m a general wiper of noses. If Reeve Votal starts oppressing the people of Elaterin or a judge gives bad rulings, then people complain to me. I investigate and try to mediate. If my advice is not accepted, I report the matter to Her Holiness. Your visit is a planetary matter, so I have assumed jurisdiction from the reeve. I will see the village is reimbursed for the costs of sheltering you.” He flashed his winning smile. “That sort of thing. I have already reported your presence to Her Holiness. Your arrival here at Elaterin took us by surprise, but her officials are on their way. If you wish to take a few hours’ rest, they should be ready to meet with you when you awake.”

  Backet opened her mouth, but Linn was faster. “How about STARS? Will it be sending someone? It invited us! Do we get to see the evidence that has upset it so much?”

  “STARS is far above and beyond my jurisdiction,” Treddle said sadly. “I suspect it does not even take orders from Monody. As for the evidence, I am told that it will be shown to you.”

  “Then it exists?”

  The gownsman looked startled. “Oh, yes! Why would you have come so far if…” He peered at their faces. “We do not deny that there are cuckoos loose on Pock’s World, honored friends! We just ask for time to hunt them down before you put us all to death.”