The tour ended in the common room, where the captain had arranged to have drinks and snacks laid out. Judy wandered from one conversation to the next, aware that she was having trouble getting the thundering beat of the 1812 out of her mind. She could not resist smiling, standing with MacAvoy and Holder, while the latter went on about the stupidity of administrators at the University of Toronto, where he’d punished their incompetence by leaving his position as leading light in the Sociology Department. As Holder described his vengeance, cannons went off in her head, banners rose through the gun smoke, and saber-wielding cavalry units drove into the flanks of the infantry.
“Why are you smiling?” Holder asked, stopping in midsentence to stare suspiciously at her.
“I was just thinking how difficult it will be for the U. T. to make up for the loss.”
“Well,” he said, not entirely certain whether he had been mocked, “I didn’t really want to do any damage, but at some point they have to come to realize. ” and so on.
When the opportunity offered, she excused herself and went back to the al-Jahani. Despite what they’d been through, she wasn’t anxious to leave the broken ship. They’d accomplished a lot here, had broken into the language of the Goompahs, had mastered it, had read their literature, absorbed some of their philosophy and their ethics.
She sat down and paged through her notebook of Goompah wisdom.
Enjoy life because it is not forever.
There was no indication they believed in an afterlife, or in any kind of balancing of the scales. No judgment. No Elysian fields. They seemed to see the world, the Intigo, as an unpredictable place. But it was their home, as opposed to the idea it was a place through which they were just passing en route to somewhere else.
Therefore, pleasure was a good unto itself.
Regrets usually arise from things we failed to do that we should have, rather than things we have done that we should not.
Accept responsibility.
Enjoy the moraka, which didn’t translate, but which seemed to imply a combination of love, passion, the exotic, intimacy, friendship.
Beware addictions. The essence of the good life is a free exercise of the will, directed by reason.
Beware addictions.
But wasn’t moraka an addiction?
“Bill,” she said, “I want to record a message. For transmission.”
“To?”
“David.”
“When you’re ready, Judy.”
She thought about it a long time. Smiled into the imager, tried to look casual.
“Dave,” she said, “the relief ship got here today. Some of our people are bailing out. Rest of us are headed in your direction. When you get where you’re going, keep in mind things may not work out. If that happens, don’t blame yourself.” She almost thought she could see him, sitting in his cabin on the Hawksbill. Thinking about nothing except the omega. “Have a good flight. I’ll see you in January.”
“Transmit?” asked Bill.
Somewhere, far off, she heard the thundering hoofbeats of Cossacks.
“Send it.”
“Done,” said Bill.
ARCHIVE
(Excerpts from The Book of the Goompahs)
(Translated by various members of the Shironi Kulp)
We exist for the sole purpose of making one another happy.
It is said, with pride, that we are the only creature that looks at the stars. But who knows what the galloon contemplates in the dead of night?
Every advance, every benefit, is the gift of an individual mind. No group, no crowd, no city has ever contributed anything to anyone.
Whatever you have to say, make it brief.
Good advice is always irritating.
Defend your opinion only if it can be shown to be true, not because it is your opinion.
Authors love to be petted.
Integrity means doing the right thing even when no one is looking.
Every good jest contains an element of truth.
The queen of virtues is the recognition of one’s own flaws.
Snatch a kiss and embrace the consequences.
chapter 34
On board the Jenkins.
Thursday, December 4.
MOST OF THE projectors were micros, units ranging from the size of a pen up to a full-scale Harding monitor that came complete with a tripod. Four hundred of them had been collected at Broadside, the majority from their own supply, a few from one of the corporate development groups and independent researchers. They’d been shipped in four containers on the Cumberland. Mark Stevens also brought the two gold rings ordered by Digger. And a cartload of congratulations.
While the Cumberland unloaded its cargo, the Hawksbill arrived insystem. Stevens announced he’d stand by in case needed, which meant he wasn’t anxious to forgo some human company after the long run out from the station.
The micros would be placed at strategic sites, then could be activated from the Jenkins, and would relay whatever visual image, and spoken message, was fed into the system. All that remained was to get them in place. And prepare the message.
The omega dominated the night sky. It was a great black thundercloud twice the size of the bigger moon. And it grew visibly larger each evening. The Goompahs saw it clearly as an approaching storm, one that refused to behave like ordinary storms. They were terrified. The talk in the streets was that when it came they would all hide indoors, with the shutters drawn. But they were still thinking exclusively of heavy rains and a few lightning bolts. Maybe over an extended time. Several days or so. There was no sense of the enormity of the thing, or of the damage that hurricane-force winds might do. Digger wondered whether the Goompahs had any experience with tornadoes or hurricanes.
They were approaching a part of the operation that Digger didn’t like. He had known the plan for months, that when the Hawksbill got there, Kellie and Julie Carson would switch places. Julie would take over the Jenkins, and Kellie would switch to the Hawksbill, which she would command during the decoy operation. That was happening because she wasn’t licensed to pilot the AV3, the heavyweight lander that would be used during the cloud-making effort.
It hadn’t seemed like anything to worry about several months earlier but as time passed, and the cloud grew bigger, and somehow more unnerving, he found himself increasingly unhappy. They’d talked about it, he and Kellie, and she had explained there was no alternative, and not to worry because she’d be careful, and nothing was going to happen. So he let it go and said no more.
THEY’D PATROLLED EACH of the cities, making charts, watching to see where the crowds were, where the show would be most effective. It was late autumn in the southern hemisphere, and the nights were getting long. The weather wasn’t cold, by Digger’s standards. It never got below fifteen Celsius, and rarely below twenty-five. Kellie commented that you could tell when it got really cold in the Intigo because they had to move the drinks indoors.
Picking the public sites for the projectors had been easy enough. They’d concentrate on areas close to the cafés and meeting halls. And the temples would be good. They weren’t crowded at night (when the performance would be most effective), but there were inevitably a few individuals enjoying the sacred atmosphere.
The Goompahs seemed not much given to organized religious ceremony. The only ones Digger had seen were the exorcisms, and the prayer for assistance, which had been followed by the sacrifice of the prelate. The temples drew reasonably sized crowds every day. But they were subdued crowds. They wandered separately among the figures of the gods, and if they prayed, they did it quietly. There would have been no chanting or weeping or collapsing in the aisles in a Goompah temple.
THE HAWKSBILL WAS about three hours behind the Cumberland. It was a big, boxy vehicle, with eight cylinders lashed to its hull.
The ship itself was a series of progressively longer oblongs, just the sort of thing the clouds seemed to like. There’d been a couple of experiments years ago in which derelicts that looked not too different from the Hawksbill had been allowed to sink into omegas. Unlike rounded vehicles, which had simply dipped into the clouds and come back, the derelicts had inevitably ignited fierce electrical storms, and on one occasion, a ship had been blasted apart on approach.
The entry locks of the Jenkins and the Hawksbill weren’t compatible, so Collingdale and his people had to come over in go-packs. As much as Digger liked having Kellie to himself, it was nice to see somebody new. There’d been no one other than Stevens for months.
Unless you counted Macao.
He still felt discouraged about his evening with her, and wished there were a way to hold a normal conversation with her. Wished he could do so without scaring her. Hi, Macao. I’m from South Boston. Long way from home. How’s it going?
For all the talk about opening their minds and not jumping to unwarranted conclusions, Think for yourself, the Goompahs weren’t as bright as he’d hoped.
He’d seen Judy’s translations, segments of the Book of the Goompahs, and he wished he could find those who had been writing the maxims. They were the people he needed to talk to.
Judy had told him the work was attributed by name and by epoch, although they hadn’t figured out the system of dating yet or, for that matter, where the epochs all fit. “They’re probably all dead,” she’d added cheerfully.
He watched the Hawksbill’s airlock open, a tiny hatch up on A Deck, just behind the bridge. They came out one at a time and got ferried across by Julie. When they were all in the airlock, Kellie closed the outer hatch, pressurized, and opened up.
There’s no real way to describe the sense of camaraderie, and of tribal linkage, under such circumstances. Digger had never been so happy to see visitors in his life. As an added bonus, his sense of responsibility for the lives of several hundred thousand Goompahs faded a bit. Collingdale was here now. He was the senior guy, and consequently in charge.