“Pardon?” asked Digger.
“We used to think that any world with the right chemicals, good temperatures, and some water, would produce elephants. And trees. And the whole Darwinian show.” He shook his head. “In fact, it rarely happens.”
“Don’t know,” said Digger.
“We’re still missing a big piece of the puzzle. Some enabling mechanism that gets the whole process started.”
They trudged up the beach toward a cluster of trees. The sand turned to hard earth, and they broke through onto a long avenue. A group of Goompahs, not quite fully grown, were gathered in a courtyard. They were bundled in heavy shirts and vests and pullover knitted caps. A couple wore animal-hide gloves.
“Can we go listen?” asked Whit. “For a minute.”
“Do you understand the language?” asked Digger.
“Not really. I’ve tried, but I’m afraid my linguistic skills, whatever they might once have been, have deserted me. But it’s okay. I’d just like to hear them speaking.”
“All right,” said Digger. “I guess we’re not all that pressed for time.”
It was routine stuff. They were all males, and it was strictly sex. Who was game for sack time and who should be avoided.
Whit was disappointed when Digger provided a carefully phrased translation. “Seems mundane,” he said. “I expected more.” But he adjusted his thinking quickly as they moved away. “Maybe it’s what would happen with any intelligent species developing in a reasonably free society.” But it was clear he’d have preferred to find them discussing philosophy or ethics.
“Do they talk much about the cloud?” he asked.
“Some.” Digger thought about the fear he witnessed every day. “At night, especially, when they can see it. In the sunlight, I think it’s kind of unreal.”
“Has there been an increase in religious reaction?”
“That would be a better question for Collingdale. Other than the sacrificial ceremony we told you about, we haven’t really seen anything. But they don’t seem to be big on religious services. They don’t go to the temple and participate in ceremonies or listen to sermons.”
“But they do visit the temples?”
“Yes. Some do.”
Whit was full of questions: “They sent off the round-the-world mission, but does the individual Goompah really care whether the world is round or not?”
The ones that showed up for the sloshen got pretty excited about it.
“They seem to have few or no prohibitions regarding sexual activity. What sort of contraceptives have they?”
Not something Digger had gotten into. Didn’t know.
“They’ve been on the isthmus for millennia? Why haven’t they expanded?”
Didn’t know.
“Why haven’t they been forced to expand by sheer population growth?”
Didn’t know that either.
“What a marvelous place this is,” he said at last, apparently giving up on Digger’s intellectual curiosity. “A land in which the inhabitants are just coming awake.”
They had arrived at their first destination. It was a wide thoroughfare, lined with merchants and eating places. The shutters were all closed against the cool air. Fires burned in the shops and the cafés. Digger did a quick survey. “There.” He pointed at a spot a few meters off the ground, above some toddlers who were chasing each other in circles. “Ideal place for an apparition.” He selected a cross-post that supported the roof of a bread shop, reached into his vest, produced a projector, recorded its number, angled the lens, and placed it as high up on the post as he could reach. It was inconspicuous, and there wouldn’t be any Goompahs who could take it down without a ladder. He opened a channel to the lander. “Julie.”
“Go ahead, Digger.”
“Two-two-seven.”
“Wait one.”
Digger kept an eye on Whit. His fuzzy silhouette was back out of the way, between the side of a garment shop and an open culvert with running water. But he was bent forward, almost like a stalking cat, watching the crowds pass.
The Intigo was home to a seabird, a long-billed gray creature with large hang-down ears that almost looked like a second pair of wings. Called a bogulok, it was found in large numbers throughout the isthmus area. The name, freely translated, meant floppy ears.
Digger activated the unit and a bogulok blinked into existence above the crowd, at the point Digger had targeted. It was in midflight, and it got only a few meters before it vanished.
“Good,” Digger told his commlink. “It’s perfect.” No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual.
“I’ll lock it in,” said Julie.
Digger collected Whit and went looking for a second site.
HE PLANTED FOUR projectors in the market area, three outside public buildings, six more inside theaters and meeting halls, and five at various locations along the main thoroughfares. Kellie had spotted what they thought was the equivalent of an executive office building, which was staffed day and night, and they installed two more there, one inside and one outside. On each occasion he checked back with the lander to make sure they had a good angle.
The bridge connecting the island to the mainland was about a half kilometer long. It consisted of wooden planks and supports. There was nothing else, no handrails, no braces. If you didn’t pay attention to what you were doing, you could walk right off into the ocean.
It was wide. There were some draft animals on it, and they had no trouble finding room to pass everything without any undue bumping. “Not bad engineering,” said Whit. Digger hadn’t been impressed until Whit pointed out that the bridge’s supports were embedded in ooze, and had to withstand tides generated by two moons. “Must require constant maintenance,” he added. He got down on his knees and peeked underneath.
They got across and planted another projector in a tree at the end of the bridge, aiming it up so the apparition would appear in the branches, visible from all directions.
Whit had become a kid in a toy store, stopping to look at everything and everyone. “They’re beautiful,” he said, referring to the inhabitants. “So innocent.” He laughed. “They all look like Boomer.”
“You need to watch one of the orgies,” Digger said.
“That’s my point. If they weren’t innocent, they wouldn’t have orgies.”
Digger didn’t even ask him to explain that one.
THEY FINISHED UP shortly after sundown. Digger had expected Whit to be exhausted, but he seemed disappointed that the day was ending. “Marvelous,” he said. “Experience of a lifetime.”
The lander met them outside town, on the south side, where the isthmus road began. They stood at the edge of the Goompah world. Beyond lay impossibly rough country, a mountain range that looked impassable, dense forest, and, ultimately, the southern ice cap.
Julie was supposed to get back to the Jenkins, pick up Marge, and start installing the rainmakers. She was running late or maybe she just didn’t feel she had time to spare. Digger was barely buckled into his seat before they were aloft, heading for orbit. “Are you really going to be able to do this?” Digger asked her.
“I’ll manage,” she said.
“You’re going to work all night?”
“I expect so.”
“And tomorrow you’re going to be taking us to Savakol.”
“Yes.”
“All day.”
“More or less.”
“And then another round with Marge. When are you going to sleep?”
She had trouble restraining a smile. “I’ve already slept.”
“When?”
They were rising through billowing cumulus. “Today. All day.”
“Today? How’d that happen? I was on the circuit with you every fifteen minutes.”
“No, you weren’t,” she said. “You were on with Bill.”
“Bill?”
“I guess he used my voice.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Dig. I have the easiest job in the operation.”
Avery Whitlock’s Notebooks
. What I find particularly striking, after this first day of walking the streets of a civilization erected by another species, is how few young there are. This is a society that seems to glory in parks, in throwing balls around and splashing through fountains. And yet there seemed as many mothers and fathers as children. Primitive societies at home always produce large families. It does not seem to be the case here. I saw only a few parents with two offspring. If there were any with three, I missed them.
I wonder why that is.
— December 4
chapter 35
On board the Jenkins.
Thursday, December 4.
“ARE WE READY to go?”
In fact, Marge had been ready for hours. She’d sat by the comm board listening to the conversations from below, going over her checklists, and trying unsuccessfully to sleep.
“Yes,” she said. “Armed and ready.”
And at last she and Julie strapped on e-suits and air tanks and went out the cargo airlock.
Marge didn’t show it much, but she was delighted to be there. There’d been, God knew, a lot of time to think on the way out, especially after Collingdale came aboard. And she’d spent much of it reviewing her life. Loads of talent, her father had told her. You’ll be whatever you want to be.
In fact she’d found everything too easy. She’d become an M.D., had gotten bored, and taken a second doctorate in climatology. She’d been more interested in power than research. She hadn’t realized it before making this voyage, but it was the truth. Whenever there had been a choice between administration and pure science she’d gone for administration. Take over. Move up. Get the corner office. She had a natural talent for it. It had paid well, felt good, and yet it had left her eminently dissatisfied.
Probably as a direct result, she’d used a wrecking ball on each of her three marriages. Well, that was overstating it, but she’d attributed her disappointment with her various careers to each of her spouses in turn, and when the extension time came, the relationships had been discontinued. More or less by mutual agreement. Good luck. No hard feelings. Been good to know you.