Thirteen days after they departed from Durringham they had left the Juliffe itself behind and started to sail along the Quallheim tributary. It was three hundred metres wide, fast flowing, with vine-swamped trees thirty metres high forming a stockade on both banks. Away to the south, the colonists could just make out the purple and grey peaks of a distant mountain range. They stared in wonder at the snowcaps shining brightly in the sun; ice seemed to belong to an alien planet, not native to Lalonde.
In the early morning of the fourteenth day after leaving Durringham, a village crept into view as they edged their way up the river, the first they had seen for thirty-six hours. It was set in a semicircular clearing, a bite into the jungle nearly a kilometre deep. Felled trees lay everywhere. Thin towers of smoke rose from a few fire pits. The shacks were crude parodies of the cottages belonging to villages downriver; lashed-up frames with walls and roofs made from panels of woven palm fronds. There was a single jetty that looked terribly unsafe, with three hollowed-out log canoes tied up to it. A small stream trickling through the middle of the clearing into the river was an open sewer. Goats were tied to stakes, foraging in the short grass. Emaciated chickens scratched around in the mud and sawdust. The inhabitants stood about listlessly and watched the Swithland go past with numb, hooded eyes. Most of them were wearing shorts and boots, their skin a deep brown, whether from the sun or dirt it was hard to say. Even the apparently eternal chittering of the jungle creatures was hushed.
Welcome to the town of Schuster, Rosemary said with some irony. She was standing on the bridge, one eye permanently on the forward-sweep mass-detector, watching out for foltwine and submerged snags.
Group Sevens council and Powel Manani were ranged around the bridge behind her, grateful to be in the shade.
This is it? Rai Molvi asked, aghast.
The county capital, yeah, Powel said. Theyve been going for about a year now.
Dont worry, Rosemary said. The land youve been allocated is another twelve kilometres upriver. You wont have to have much contact with them. No bad thing, too, if you ask me. Ive seen communities like this before, they infect their neighbours. Better you have a fresh start.
Rai Molvi nodded briefly, not trusting himself to speak. The three rivercraft sailed on slowly, leaving behind the shanty town and its torpid inhabitants. The colonists gathered on Swithland s aft deck watched them disappear as the boat rounded a bend in the river, silent and contemplative.
Horst made the sign of the cross, muttering an invocation. Perhaps a requiem would be more appropriate, he thought.
Jay Hilton turned to her mother. Will we have to live like that, Mummy?
No, she said firmly. Never.
Two hours later, with the river down to a hundred and fifty metre width, Rosemary watched the digits on the inertial-guidance block flick round to match the coordinates the Land Allocation Office had given her. Karl stood on the prow as the Swithland crept along at a walking pace, his keen eyes searching the impenetrable green barrier of vegetation along the southern bank. The jungle was steaming softly from the rain of an hour earlier, white tendrils wafting out of the treetops, then spiralling away into the burning azure sky. Small, colourful birds darted about between the branches, shrieking brazenly.
Karl suddenly jumped up and waved to his mother, pointing at the bank. Rosemary saw the tarnished silver pillar with its hexagonal sign on top. It was stuck in the soil five metres above the water. Vines with big purple flowers had already climbed halfway up it.
She gave the horn a triumphant hoot. End of the line, she sang out. This is Aberdale. Last stop.
All right, Powel said, holding up his hands for silence. He was standing on a barrel to address the assembled colonists on the foredeck. Youve seen what can be done with a little bit of determination and hard work, and youve also seen how easy it is to fail. Which road you go down is entirely up to you. Im here to help you for eighteen months, which is the period your future will be settled in. Thats the make or break time. Now, tell me, are you going to make a go of it?
He received a throaty cheer, and smiled round. Fine. Our first job is going to be building a jetty so that Captain Lambourne and the other two river-boats can dock. That way we can unload your gear properly, without getting it wet. Now a jetty is an important part of any village on this river. It tells a visitor straight away what sort of community you want to carve out for yourselves. Youll notice our good captain wasnt too eager to stop at Schuster. Not surprising, is it? A good jetty is one that the boats are always going to stop at, even out here. Its a statement that you want to take part in what the planet has to offer. It says you want to trade and grow rich. It says that there are opportunities here for clever captains. It makes you a part of civilization. So I think it would be a good idea if we start off as we mean to go on, and build ourselves a solid decent jetty thats going to last out your grandchildren. Thats what I think. Am I right?
The chorus of Yes! was deafening.
He clapped his hands together, and hopped down off the barrel. Quinn? He beckoned to the lad, who was in the group of quiet Ivets standing in the shade of the superstructure.
Quinn trotted forward. Yes, sir?
The respectful tone didnt fool Powel for a second. The captain is holding station against the current for now. But its costing her power, so we have to secure the Swithland if we want her to stay for any length of time. I want you to ferry a cable out to the shore, and tie it onto a tree large enough to take the strain. Think you can manage that?
Quinn looked from Powel to the mass of dark green vegetation on the bank then back to Powel. How do I get over there?
Swim, boy! And dont try telling me you cant. Its only thirty-five metres.
Karl came over, uncoiling a rope. Once youve secured it, well haul the Swithland into the shallows, and rig a proper mooring, the boy said. Everyone else can wade ashore from there.
Great, Quinn said sourly. He took his shoes off, then started to shrug out of his jump suit. Vorix nosed around the two shoes, sniffing eagerly.
Quinn left his shorts on, and sat on the decking to put his shoes back on. Can Vorix come with me, please? he asked.
The dog looked round, long tongue hanging out of the side of its big jaw.
What the hell do you want him with you for? Powel asked.
Quinn gestured to the jungle with its barrage of animal sounds. To take care of any wild sayce.
Get in the water, Quinn, and stop whingeing. There arent any wild sayce around here. Powel watched as the lad eased himself over the side of the deck and into the river. Jackson Gael lay flat on the deck, and handed the rope down.
Quinn started swimming for the shore with a powerful sidestroke, dragging the rope behind him.
The kroclions ate all the sayce, Powel yelled after him; then, laughing heartily, went aft to get the jetty-building team organized.
Chapter 08
Tranquillity: a polyp cylinder with hemispherical endcaps, its shell the colour of fired unglazed clay, sixty-five kilometres long, seventeen kilometres in diameter, the largest of all bitek habitats ever to be germinated within the Confederation. It was drab and uninviting in appearance, and difficult to see from a distance; what little sunlight eventually reached it from the F3 primary one-point-seven billion kilometres away seemed to be repulsed, preferring to flow around the curving shell rather than strike the surface. It was the only human settlement in the star system, orbiting seven thousand kilometres above the Ruin Ring. The shattered remnants of those very remote xenoc cousins were its sole companions. A permanent reminder that for all its size and power, it was terribly mortal. Lonely, isolated, and politically impotent, there should be few people who would choose to live in such a place.