Travellers

Chapter 3

Chapter 3The final approach to the planet was slow and cautious. Ersand insisted that the Rithid be on status four Battle Alert, although no-one seriously expected an assault from the natives of the bright little disc that dominated all the viewing screens throughout the ship.

The monitoring of transmissions made it obvious that they had not been seen, and from what could be deduced about the primitive technology of the planet it was unlikely that they would be.

Battle alert under these circumstances ironically made everyone feel easier. Everyone had a specific task requiring their full attention, and the tensions caused by the debates and discussions of the last few weeks lay dormant in the face of simple necessity. The atmosphere on the ship was predominantly one of anticipation.

“It might be in a desolate place, but it’s a beautiful system,” someone had said as the Rithid nosed quietly past the large outer planets. “And almost perfect for us.”

“An oasis in the wilderness,” Taithur had replied. “Our finding it is a vindication of our faith.”

The remark returned to Taithur’s mind as he stood by Ersand in front of the control centre’s main viewport. It took him back into the arguments that had flowed to and fro across the Council meetings.

Although it had been greatly reduced during the voyage, there still persisted among the travellers a deep-seated tendency for each to scoop out an individual niche and defend it, regardless of wider considerations. At times it had angered Taithur profoundly, and during a recent Council meeting he had said so volubly, unashamedly using the esteem he was held in to dominate the others.

“No,” he roared, slamming his fist down on the table and then, equally abruptly, cancelling the image floating above the table.

“For heaven’s sake. Why are we here? What in God’s name are we doing here, at the fringes of the galaxy?” He looked round the table. There was no reply. One or two looked rather indignant, and one or two looked relieved at this welcome interruption, but the majority avoided his gaze.

“We’re here because we wanted to be free. Free of a tyranny that spread across thousands of systems. Free of a mindless, uncontrollable bureaucracy so massive and powerful that it reduced elected Governments to mere cyphers centuries ago. We must all serve the Service. The Service knows all. The Service works for the greater good. Remember all those handy little slogans we used to use instead of actually thinking — and the corruption we needed to get from day to day — and the injustice...” His mouth twisted angrily, and he paused for a moment to compose his features. “And now we’re bringing it with us. That rigidity. That blind following of rule and rote.” His voice rose again, and he stood up. “That same asinine stupidity.”

There was an awkward silence around the table. No-one was anxious to risk speaking until they were certain that Taithur’s passion was well and truly spent.

He sat down wearily and put his hands to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though his voice lacked even a hint of regret. “But we carry many of our old ways with us, and we must beware of them.”

“Old habits die hard, Taith,” said Matten, one of the older travellers. “We’ve all been brought up in the way of the Service, and even when we learned better we had to live that way to survive.” He looked down and idly picked at a callous on the edge of his finger. “And our freedom’s brought unexpected burdens with it, hasn’t it?”

A contemptuous snort forestalled Taithur’s reply. Matten looked up angrily. “Proktor...” he began.

“Leave it Matten,” Taithur interrupted quickly, catching the older man’s eye with a look of reassurance. Then, sternly, to the offender. “Proktor. You’ve used your gifts well so far, and you’ve a great deal to offer in the future. But your intolerance will make you as bigoted and narrow as the meanest Service Hewer...”

Proktor’s eyes blazed, but he could not outface Taithur.

“You’re ten years my junior, Proktor. If you’ll take some advice I suggest you learn to listen to what people are really saying. Matten’s right — he usually is. He’s not as talkative as some but what he says is usually worth more.” One or two round the table cleared their throats. “We’ve won our freedom, but we’ve lost the shelter of Service, claustrophobic though it was, and that’s presented problems for some of us more than others. We’ve all found that freedom has its own constraints, not the least being responsibility.”

Proktor opened his mouth, but Taithur waved him down. “No Proktor, I’m not debating with you. Not now. We’ve more urgent matters to deal with. I just want to remind you that your planet was a minor agricultural outpost and well off-centre, and yet the Service there was bad enough to make you want to risk this venture. You’ve no idea what it was like on the inner systems. You’ve no idea what it did to people. What they had to do to survive. The telling of it doesn’t put it into your stomach. Just accept that and think before you lay into someone with that quick tongue of yours.”

Taithur softened his tone for the last few sentences to defuse Proktor’s anger. He may not be an easy man to like, but he was valuable and energetic, and there was no benefit to be gained from needlessly antagonizing him. In the same spirit he made a slight movement with his left hand to silence the murmurs of approval for this reprimand, and then called up a file to indicate the meeting should return to its original purpose.

The image of the target planet returned to hover briefly over the centre of the table and was replaced almost immediately by a series of moving, though disjointed, images.

“There you have it, my friends,” said Taithur, leaning back in his chair. “Odd scraps of landscapes and pictures of the natives going about their daily lives. Or at least their chiefs... leaders... what you will. I’m afraid the projection quality is, as usual, not too good as we’re intercepting their surface broadcasts, but I think it’s important we keep them in front of us. It’s too easy to forget what, or who, we’re dealing with. Now, let’s try and formulate some kind of policy about how we deal with these people.”

The images at the centre of the table flickered and changed as Taithur looked round from face to face expectantly, but no-one spoke. The fact was, that although they had now each mastered the dominant language of the planet and had learned a great deal about the natives from the intercepted broadcasts, there was still a great deal they did not understand. Such as they did understand, and such information as they could reasonably deduce, did not fill them with any confidence.

The first surprise the planet had for them was that its dominant inhabitants were human. That had caused quite a stir when the picture signals had eventually been decoded, though familiarity gradually lessened the impact of the discovery.

That they must be the descendants of some ancient expedition became the accepted view after a while. Both history and legend were full of tales of heroes — and villains — who had flown off into the void never to return. And humanity was very old and had spread through many systems, even within known history.

“They must have been a sorry remnant when they reached here, whoever they were,” was the next observation. “There’s precious little sign of any real civilization down there.”

It was a sombre remark, but it accurately summarized the growing feelings of the travellers as months of observations pointed inexorably towards the dangerous and unstable nature of the occupants of their intended home.

Matten spoke. “I think the feeling most of us have, Taithur, is that we should avoid these people. At least, until we’re fully established and self-sufficient. All we know about them is from a few months observation of their surface communication networks. Human they seem to be by their appearance, dangerous they must surely be by such of their conduct as we’ve been able to see, but simple and straightforward they are not. I get the impression that their primitive little society is as complex and subtle as any in the civilized systems. We just don’t know enough. We must keep away from them for as long as possible.”

Several heads nodded.

“You worry too much, Matten.”

Proktor’s voice cut across the acquiescence. Taithur sighed inwardly. When is he going to get the sneer out of his voice, he thought. “They’re savages. They can’t do anything to hurt us. Not with their technology. Let’s get down there and get started. Get some proper gravity under our feet. Deal with these locals as and when we meet them. If any of them cut up rough, then...”

He made a dismissive gesture.

“Then, what?” Taithur prompted.

Proktor repeated the gesture. “Then put them in their place,” he shrugged.

“How?” pressed Taithur slowly and wilfully.

Proktor looked a little surprised. “Why else did we bring weapons?”

“We brought weapons for many contingencies. But slaughtering aborigines rather than learn about them and give them their rights was not one of them,” replied Taithur, barely controlling his anger.

“And you’re forgetting a weapon they have which we can’t resist, Proktor.” The voice was Hester’s, Matten’s wife, and its soft gentleness eased away some of the tensions building up around the table. Proktor looked at her uncertainly. Hester had been a grade 1801 operative in the Adjustment Division’s Education Department and her knowledge of weapons and battle tactics was considerable.

“Numbers,” she said very softly. “There are hundreds of millions of them down there, Proktor, and we are how many...?”

Proktor looked down awkwardly. “Twenty-six hundred,” he mumbled.

“Or thereabouts,” confirmed Hester.

Taithur looked on placidly, sending up a small prayer for forgiveness at his appreciation of Proktor’s discomfiture. Hester’s training made her a formidable asset in Council.

“And we’re fairly certain they can co-operate and mobilize when they have to,” she continued. “At least on a tribal level. If we antagonize them, they could wipe us out, there’s no doubt about that. And wipe us out easily, even with their primitive technology. We don’t know enough to determine accurately how well they’ll organize, but my opinion, for what it’s worth, is that it’ll be good enough. And that’s going to be the position for many years.”

Taithur’s slight elation faded as he accepted the implications of Hester’s comments. Typical Hester, he thought. Always economical. Deflate Proktor, and tell me the only answer we can come to, both at the same time.

Hester leaned back in her chair and rested her chin on her thumb and forefinger.

Proktor scowled. “I can’t accept that Hester. They’re savages. We’re not Adjustment Troops but we can handle anything they can do to us. Good grief, if the worst comes to the worst we can stand off in the Rithid and...” He stopped. Hester raised an eyebrow. The only heavy armament that the Rithid had were ship to ship disruptors. Used on a planet, the effects would be devastating, but uncontrollable, and the consequent resonance could quite possibly make the planet uninhabitable.

A slow, ironic, handclap came from Taithur’s left. It was Alachev, a man slightly older than Proktor, and from his home planet. “Brilliant, Proktor. Halfway across the galaxy to shoot up the only place we’ve managed to find. I bet you were a wow on the farm. Always sawing off the branch you were sitting on.”

The archaic comment made Taithur smile in spite of himself, and several others laughed outright as Proktor turned red with embarrassment.

But Taithur’s amusement was soon replaced by darker thoughts. Proktor was an able and headstrong man with a growing following among the travellers. If his impatience wasn’t curbed, he could lead others into rash action when they landed and, as Hester had outlined, the consequences could be dire.