Venturi Read online

  ‘So, let’s move things on now to the present day. State of play pretty much the same, throughout, except that if you look closely you will see that the threads between Prisos and Samart have reversed. Prisos gave up on making contact with Samart and ended up feeling pretty negative about them after so many of their ships went out there and never came back. The Samartians, however, are now emerging and wanting to make contact with Prisos – a delicate situation, there, in which Prisos is being very cautious. Everyone still hating us, too, not much improvement there.

  ‘And – this is the point. Even if, miraculously, all of these worlds could be swept clean of every pathogen, even if they could be made so clean that even the Marfikians no longer saw them as a biohazard threat hanging over their world, that would still not be enough to make them go back to Marfik and stay there. Because they know, they have to know, that if they vanished tomorrow then all the worlds currently supplying Prisos with food and Arak with ores would stop doing it. At best, they would hold them to ransom with extortionate prices, but even if the Marfikians don’t understand that, they have seen enough of human behaviour to recognise that without their compulsion, those supplies will not be delivered. And while they do not have the slightest compassion for the suffering that would cause to those worlds, they do have the logical understanding that neither Prisos nor Arak would suffer it quietly. There would be war, no question, it’s a horrible thing to have to say, but if the Marfikians vanished today there would be war throughout this region and most informed opinion is that that would be kicking off within a year. Such a war would be a threat to Marfik in itself. And they may even understand, possibly, they may realise that if there are wars kicking off we, the League, will not stand by watching so our ships would be coming in as well. So they won’t, you see, logically, they will not be willing to withdraw to their world until they see that the situation on the worlds around them is stable. So they will need double assurance there, first that the biohazard situation is contained, second that there is no threat of war.’

  He looked around the faces and saw a lot of dismay.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘How many of you are thinking, ‘Well, that’s never going to happen.’?’

  Rueful acknowledgement, a few tentatively lifted hands and a few of them, ahead of him, already looking back at the chart with alert anticipation.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought too,’ Alex admitted. ‘Much as I tried to believe that if we keep plugging away at the peace process we will get there one day, it is hard to be at all optimistic. But this, you see, this is the situation which Shion recognised and reported back to her people. Because Shion, see, also knew this…’

  He activated lines from every world to Pirrell. They were hashed, indicating that the worlds were not in contact, but they were green. All green.

  ‘Pirrell…’ Alex said. ‘The Veiled World. The Sacred World, on many planets. And every world out there has legends of them, some of them religious in nature. Images of them are found in archaeological sites dating back thousands of years. They were hugely influential in this region. We believe that they were going about helping with the many colonies as they were established here. On many worlds they are remembered as goddess figures. And in modern times, hearing that Pirrell had been found but that no ships could approach it, that even the Marfikians had been turned away, they acquired an almost magical status. They are myth and they are real. And they are revered. Even in our culture, when people know that Shion is from the Veiled World, quite amazing how many of them get this reverential look, gaze at her in awe… isn’t it, Shion?’

  Shion nodded, resigned. ‘I gave up counting the ‘Oh my Goddess’ reactions,’ she said, raising a few chuckles.

  ‘Very irritating, I know,’ Alex said, with a grin. ‘But it does make the point, Pirrellothians are in a unique position. The only people, frankly, the only ones, everyone will trust and listen to. That is what Shion told them, that they are needed out here. And that is why we are going to get Chamlorn Lady Ursele. And this is why we are taking her to Lundane.’

  He switched the image on the screen and those few who’d been to Lundane made immediate noises of pleased recognition.

  This was one of the sights of Lundane, though admittedly it did not have a great deal of competition. Lundane’s biomass was almost all in its oceans, with the algae which had originally given it a primitive oxygen atmosphere now supplemented by massive air-producing processors. The land mass, however, remained arid; a hot, dry, desert world. It was heavily industrial, basically refineries surrounded by dormitory towns. What passed for its capital city had a reputation as a rough, tough dive full of bars, casinos and less salubrious facilities.

  This, though, was something quite special – almost a town in its own right. Lundane had got fed up of all the bickering amongst the various diplomatic contingencies about the accommodation available to them and had settled the matter in their usual practical, no-nonsense way. They had picked a region right out of the way, marked it out with lots, all exactly the same size, and had designated them for embassies. Any world which wanted one could have an embassy there, the land grant freely given and what they did with the plot after that entirely down to them.

  There were currently ninety seven plots occupied at Embassy Avenue, ranging from a very modest bungalow occupied by a lonely consul to the twenty eight storey building of the Prisosan Embassy. Facing it, two hundred metres across the broad avenue itself, was the Araki Embassy. They had not gone for vulgar size – a mere ten storey mansion in the ornate Araki style. But they were making a lavish display of wealth with their fabulous gardens – and that really was ostentatious display of wealth on Lundane, where a litre of water cost as much as a labourer would earn in an hour.

  ‘Embassy Avenue,’ Alex said. ‘The biggest assembly of Embassies anywhere, as far as we know. This does not represent every world within the Marfikian hegemony, of course. There are forty eight systems with green world indicators which other ships have been forbidden to approach and it is believed that they are pre-industrial worlds which the Marfikians have decided not to be a threat and so keep isolated. There are fourteen other worlds which are in contact but have chosen not to send representatives here for a variety of reasons. But most worlds do maintain an embassy here. In theory they send delegations here to communicate, to build trade links, even to sound out others on the possibility of standing together against the Marfikians. In reality they spend nearly all of their time either arguing or refusing to speak to one another at all. And that includes our guys. This is our embassy… we have number 76 because we were fairly late on the scene and the lots are allocated strictly in turn as people come along and ask for them. And no swapsies. Seriously, it caused massive offence when our original diplomatic team there tried to do a deal with one of the smaller embassies so they could swap plots and be nearer the big guns up there at the top. Anyway there we are, a classical Cartasay building stuck in the desert on Lundane.’

  The background was, indeed, bleak. The name of the region the Lundanians had chosen to pack off the diplomatic crowd to was actually Cactus Valley, but nobody had ever seen a cactus there and it hardly seemed like a valley, either. There were some cliffs, way off in the distance, but the so-called valley was a dead flat plain stretching for hundreds of kilometres of parched rock, littered with rubble and rather grubby looking sand. Scenic, it was not. And the League Embassy did look even more bizarrely out of place than the rest, with its white marble façade, classic columns and high windows. It had gardens, too, trees in tubs and formal flower gardens just like they included at all their embassies.

  This,’ Alex pulled back the image to show the long parade of buildings, most of them competing for grandeur, ‘is where we are going. We have, so far, been discussing big picture – history, politics, the current state of play. But this, right here, this is the reality of what we are trying to achieve. We have to get Chamlorn Lady Ursele to Lundane and give her whatever support she requires to set
up the Pirrellothian Embassy. And we have to do that, obviously, without taking a warship into Lundane. We’ll be making our way to X-Base Sentinel, where we’ll acquire a suitable civilian ship and make whatever modifications it needs. A mission-crew will then take Ambassador Lady Ursele through to Lundane while the ship remains at X-Base Sentinel. Very frustrating, of course, for those left behind, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate we’re not here on a jolly. You know what we are doing, now. You know why we are doing it. Nothing is going to change overnight, of course. We know that. But Ambassador Lady Ursele’s arrival may, we hope, we really hope, be the catalyst that starts to change things. And I hope, too, that this has clarified that we are not merely…’ he looked pointedly at Ali Jezno, ‘giving Shion’s Aunty a lift to Lundane’.

  Ali chuckled, raising a hand in acknowledgement. He had said that in a well-intentioned effort to calm an anxious crewman. Now, it was clear, Alex did not want to minimise the importance of the mission. He needed them all giving it a hundred per cent.

  ‘Got it, skipper,’ Ali confirmed. Alex gave him a friendly grin and a nod for the ship’s company, too, as they relaxed at this amicable exchange.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘I will leave you with this evening’s thought for discussion. We are unlikely to see the outcome of this mission in our own lifetimes. But our great great grandchildren might. So what legacy are we hoping for and working for, for them?’

  They went out talking about hope for the future and Eldovan came over to talk to Alex and Buzz.

  ‘Complete turnaround of four hundred people’s view and understanding of a situation, overturning some of their most fundamental, identity-core beliefs,’ she observed. ‘Five days.’ She held out her hand, shaking first Alex’s hand and then Buzz’s. ‘Boy,’ she said, ‘you’re good!’

  Eleven

  The following day, Alex ran into a diplomatic sticky, the first serious difficulty encountered with Trilopharus.

  Alex had gone up to the dome facilities to show him the leisure facilities they had created, but Trilopharus seemed more puzzled than impressed.

  ‘But why are you doing that here, where you have to wear suits?’ he asked. ‘You could just run around on the planet.’

  Alex started to explain about the Excorps’ procedures requiring a month of remote observations, but he didn’t get very far.

  ‘But we told you,’ Trilopharus said, ‘the planet is safe. We brought you here because it is safe for you. And we did check all the things that are harmful to you.’ He tipped his head to one side and regarded Alex with a degree of doubt. ‘Don’t you trust us?’

  The only honest answer to that was no, not where environmental risk assessments were concerned.

  ‘It’s just,’ Alex said, apologetically, ‘the rules we have to…’

  ‘And now you’re lying,’ Trilopharus seemed more bewildered than offended, but it was clear that there was a breakdown in the friendship they had been forging. ‘Don’t do that,’ he requested. And with that, he was gone.

  Dismay surged and in some cases, shot towards panic. If Trilopharus had taken such offence that the Chethari didn’t come back, they could be stranded here.

  Alex, though, was reassuringly calm about it.

  ‘I should know by now,’ he said, with a wry grin for Buzz. ‘It only goes wrong when I try to be diplomatic!’

  They went back to the ship and after about three hours, working on instinct rather than any plan, Alex had comms send the blast of signal which alerted Trilopharus to the fact that they would like to speak to him.

  He appeared almost at once, looking warily at Alex.

  ‘You’re not going to apologise again, are you?’

  ‘No.’ Alex grinned back frankly. ‘Just going to say, you’re right. Shouldn’t have lied. And no, Trilopharus, I don’t trust you to do environmental risk assessments. I trust you with my life and that of my crew and with the safety of my ship in transporting us around. But I don’t trust you to test the environment here for us, no.’

  ‘That’s insane!’ Trilopharus said, but he was laughing, now. ‘Why would you trust me with your ship, but not believe me when I tell you that the vegetation is safe?’

  Alex spread out his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’m human.’ He said. ‘We’re not always logical!’

  ‘You’re telling me.’ Trilopharus shook his angelic head. ‘Now I understand why the Perithin say you are an irrational species! But you are,’ he allowed, ‘quite entertaining!’ And with a friendly wave, he was gone again.

  That evening, it was Shion who gave the lecture, which as it turned out was a lot shorter than people were expecting. A lot of people had been asking if they were going to have training in Pirrellothian protocols and hearing that Shion was giving a talk on that topic that evening, they’d come prepared to take notes and to pick up whatever reading and coursework she’d prepared for them, too.

  Shion, though, told them not even to attempt it.

  ‘It would take me a week,’ she said, ‘to go through the protocols even for serving Her Grace a cup of tea. You can have no conception of how formalised, ritualised, every aspect of every moment of every day is for a chamlorn. It takes attendants born and raised in that culture at least ten years of training before they are ready to attend Her Grace in person. So no, guys, I cannot ‘Do you a Pirrell 101’.’ She smiled broadly. ‘And I wouldn’t want to, anyway. Nobody, least of all Her Grace, would want to see people trying to mimic our culture and inevitably getting it very embarrassingly wrong. So if you are invited into Her Grace’s presence, be guided by the attendants, okay? And just be courteous, as you would be with any VIP. Though she certainly won’t be coming around the ship, so you don’t need to worry about that.’

  She saw and heard, their disappointment and laughed. ‘Seriously?’ She said. ‘You think that Her Grace is going to stroll around the ship, maybe have a cuppa in engineering or have a go at piloting the ship? You need to understand this, if nothing else – there is no such thing as a moment of informality in a chamlorn’s day, in a chamlorn’s life. It is not something she can step out of, put shipboard rig on and go for a stroll. When a chamlorn leaves her quarters she does so in a litter, veiled from public view. The only people who get to see her, speak with her, are those invited into her presence in a Hall of Veils. So no, she will not be strolling around the ship having a chat and a cuppa. So there you are, Pirrell 101 – you’re not likely to see her anyway, but if you do just be yourselves and don’t worry about it.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Briefing dismissed!’

  A week later, though, she was in a rather more serious mood as she took Alex on a tour of the Pirrellothian quarters, now completed.

  Alex was impressed. Shion had not attempted to recreate the environment of her homeworld, as she knew from experience how ludicrous that would be on a starship. Even the smallest Hall of Veils on Pirrell was bigger than an entire deck of the Venturi.

  Here, they had only an encounter zone and the converted transit shaft. It was elegant, though. Instead of the marble bench a chamlorn would normally recline on, there was a stylised chaise, a curve of matt steel. And instead of the long rectangular pool which would normally be between the enthroned chamlorn and her visitors, there was a large holoscreen fitted into the deck, showing a real-time view of the stars outside the ship. And that was it, no other furniture, though Shion showed him that there were flat rectangular air cushions under several of the deck plates, which could be rotated to bring them into use as required.

  And there were, also, the wall hangings. These were a nod towards the traditional Hall of Veils but, as with the chair and screen, modified for the shipboard environment. So instead of masses of gauzy material trailing across the room, there were softly draped panels hung like tapestry against the walls. These gave the impression of very gently moving and shimmering with light and colour. They were actually showing the starfield in the holoscreen pool, captured and reflected on to them by a stylised mirror-prism on the ceiling.
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  ‘I have set it to do this…’ Shion knelt at the visitor end of the pool and placed her hand on the surface of the screen, moving her fingers as if she was swirling them slowly in water. A holographic flower appeared, something like a white water-lily, which floated slowly across the starfield. It looked strange, Alex thought, but quite mesmeric, as if it really was moving through space. ‘Quarantine barrier, of course.’ Shion indicated where the forcefield barrier would cut down across the middle of the room, separating the air processing. ‘And then...’

  The ramp into the shaft had been cleverly done. Spacers might be able to cope with a ninety-degree step-over from one field of gravity into the next, but that moment when you felt as if you were stepping over and looking straight down a steep drop could be unnerving. So Shion had created a spiralling ramp from the back of the encounter room, fully enclosed and so angled and curved that you went from the horizontal to the vertical gravity zone without any obvious transition. It felt, in fact, as if you had just walked along a normal corridor.

  ‘Oh!’ Alex had seen the work being done but not the finished décor, and it startled him.

  Here was a more Spartan simplicity, even, than that in the encounter zone. They had entered midway down a long, thin, rectangular space, perhaps twenty metres long and just two and a half metres wide. It had just three apparent items of furniture. To the right-hand side of the entrance was a bed, which was nothing more than a platform jutting out from the wall. Angled across the corner at the other end of the room was an armless, backless bench, with a low table set a couple of metres away from it. Bed, table and chair were of the simplest forms and of plain white siliplas. The flooring here was a shadowy powder blue, the walls were a paler infinity shade and the ceiling…