“It worked. The fighting stopped.
“We had learned another important truth. By being ‘Immortals,’ with a technology and a life pattern that was incomprehensible to the colonists, we could have enormous influence.
“That provided us with our next rule of contact: remain as aloof and mysterious as possible. And if we recruited anyone to join us in S-space — we wanted only exceptional specimens — we would introduce them to our society gradually, through a long and thorough indoctrination.
“Our rules worked very well. People joined us from Maremar and Jade — two other planets settled by Helena — and have been working in those systems and at Headquarters for thousands of Earth-years.
“Finally, there was your world. You probably don’t know it, but Pentecost is a very recent addition to our planetary visits. We found you only a few months ago, as we perceive time in S-space, and it was a minor miracle that we found you at all.
“You see, Eleanora was the unlucky one of the colony ships. The other two arcologies found several planets suitable for settlements. But your ancestors had to wander the interstellar wilderness for over fifteen thousand years, without ever once approaching a habitable world. We know why, now. For the past four thousand Earth-years we’ve been able to predict pretty well the stellar systems and planets likely to support life. And Eleanora just went to the wrong star systems, in terms of our new knowledge. Unfortunately, that same knowledge led us astray in following Eleanora, when our tracking probe finally wore out. As it happens, the Cass system is generally not suited to life, or the occurrence of habitable worlds. The existence of Pentecost, Gimperstand, Fuzzball, and Glug is an accident, the by-product of resonance locks between planetary orbits.
“We could have found you on Pentecost four thousand years ago if we had thought to look. As it was, we only detected your radio emissions a few hundred years ago. And we finally made contact with you.
“We followed our standard rules. Slow and limited involvement, and don’t try to change the government of the world. As it happens, Pentecost has had a classical totalitarian regime ever since first contact — a government more concerned to remain in power than anything else, and sublimely disinterested in interstellar affairs. From our point of view, that was perfect. Everything worked according to plan for hundreds of your years — until this Planetfest, when Headquarters was informed that an unusual group of winners was likely. You don’t know who the winners will be in advance, you see, but our people down on Pentecost had a pretty good idea. We expected trouble, but we didn’t know what. Personally, I think something would have happened even if Wilmer hadn’t taken the action he did on Whirlygig. Your profiles are all too far away from the standard patterns. But that’s my speculation. The main thing is, something did happen. And” — Olivia Ferranti looked at the intent young faces around her and shook her head — “here we are. We have to decide what will happen next.
“I’ll accept that you have control of the ship. And I hope you’ll accept my word when I tell you your control could be dangerous, with the limited knowledge you have. The present situation is bad for everyone, including you. So let me start the ball rolling for more discussions, by telling you that I was sent here with a proposition from all of us — even including Captain Rinker.”
The group around her came to life. They were suddenly fidgeting, looking at each other questioningly. For over half an hour their present situation had been pushed into the background by interest in the fate of others. The return to the present was an uncomfortable one.
Peron met the eyes of each of them in turn. Finally he nodded.
“We’ve nothing to lose by listening to you, so long as you remember that we have physical control of you and of the ship. So all right. We’ll listen. What’s your proposition?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Olivia Ferranti’s eyes were opening. A thin line of white had appeared behind the long false eyelashes. It broadened, to become a slender crescent. The lids crept apart, at last, to reveal dilated pupils and the luminous brown irises, flecked with gold.
“That’s it,” said Peron finally. “She’s in S-space. At last. There’s no way that anyone could fake an awakening like that. Let’s get back to the chamber and talk.”
Every one of the six had known that a discussion was urgently needed; but the urge to watch Olivia Ferranti had been irresistible and tacitly admitted by all. They had gathered around the great tank as she prepared to enter. They watched in silence while she, impressively calm, went inside. And as soon as the heavy casket door slid into sealed position she lay back, stared up at them through the transparent upper surface, and gave a little wave of her fingertips. Then she reached for the interior control panel and hit the key sequence to initiate her return to S-space.
After a few seconds, clusters of contact sprays moved to drift a fine fluid vapor over her limbs and body, while delicate catheters snaked from the casket walls and insinuated themselves gently into the orifices of her head and trunk. A dense yellow-green vapor filled the interior of the tank, rising after a few minutes to hide Olivia Ferranti’s still form in a soft-edged shroud. There was little to see after that, but they had stood waiting for almost two hours, exchanging brief phrases in hushed tones. Only when the air in the casket finally cleared and Olivia Ferranti began to stir again to slow consciousness were they able to think of other matters.
And now, watching her eyes creep open, they all felt a renewed and ridiculous sense of urgency. Logic said that another day or two of their thought and discussion would pass unnoticed to Rinker and the others in S-space, but the sense of haste went beyond logic. That feeling dimmed a little as they moved back to the computer chamber, and found the control settings and service robots exactly as they had left them.
“So what do you think?” said Peron abruptly, as they settled down in a close circle by the gently flickering displays of the main computer console. “I believe her,” said Rosanne at once.
“I don’t,” Sy added promptly. “She was lying to us.”
“Lum?”
“Some of each.” Lum massaged his full cheeks with one hand, and furrowed his brow. “Mostly I believe her. She kept pretty close to the truth, but I think she exercised selective memory. She left some things out.”
“She sure did.” Sy’s thin face wore a scowl. “Things she didn’t tell us. I could list ten of them. What happens if we reject their suggestion? Who makes the rules that decide what we ought to know, and when? What’s supposed to happen if a Planetfest winner doesn’t swallow the party line? Where do they go? One thing’s for sure, they don’t go back home to Pentecost. I wonder if they have convenient ‘accidents’ in the Cass system — we know there’s ample scope for that around the Fifty Worlds.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” said Lum. He wriggled uncomfortably inside his jacket, a brown garment too tight in the chest and short in the sleeves. “Let’s take Ferranti’s story one piece at a time, and see what we agree on. Anything?”
“I thought her history lesson sounded genuine,” volunteered Elissa. “So did I,” said Peron.