Alien Tongues (38 page)

Both he and I looked at Jo, the most likely source of ideas on that front.  "Well, here's my guess," Jo replied.  "In the last few days I've been uncovering quite a lot of organizations dedicated to improving the lives of mals.  Some are quite radical, and
Action Now
is among them.  Now it's committed a crime, it will disappear and emerge under another name."

"But why attack me?" I asked.

Jo shrugged.  "Ironically, they don't know that your agenda is to help mals.  They saw the video of Ben pressing the levers that delivered the miracle, and were incensed that he received no credit at all.   Unlike everyone else, they were looking for anything you did wrong and so were far more likely to find something."

"And Professor Bo Lan of Red Band University?" I asked.

"He did post that analysis, but he denies any knowledge of
Action Now
," Al said.  "By the way, the analysis is not conclusive, and others have called it speculative.  It will die for lack of any interest from other academics."

"Is he part of the pro-mal movement?"

"Generally," Jo said, "But he gets stuck on petty things like this so he's not one of the important players.  If you're looking for allies and friends, I wouldn't bother with him.  I have a much better list."

"We'll save that for now," I told him.  I wondered if I would have anything in common with political activists.  This was such a new world to me.

Al leaned forwards as if to share a confidence.  "I think it's wise not to be seen to be taking anyone side, at least at this early stage.  That would start to limit your options before you've decided where to focus your efforts.  But if you are still prepared to take my advice after the fiasco today, I think you should use an opportunity tonight to get some exposure to the politics around mal welfare.  To our little soiree I invited two local senators who happen to be well-known for their opinions on the topic.  One of them is a liberal and the other a conservative, so you can enjoy a little fencing between the two camps."

I looked at Jo.  "I agree," he told me.  "Think of it as a necessary baptism.  I'm sure you'll want to remain as apolitical as possible, but you need to know all the traps and minefields around you."

I acquiesced.  Al looked pleased.  "They're going to start some form-dancing in a minute, he said, "and I've paired you with the two gents.  I trust all your time in space hasn't left your triorille too rusty?"

A triorille is a slightly flirtatious dance between two men and woman, or two women and a man.  It is also slow with simple steps, allowing conversation among the "trio."  It is ideal for some playful banter while having a little exercise, and a clever way to break the ice between strangers and get to some interesting dialogue quickly.  I let Al lead me down to the dance floor where he found two older but reasonable-looking croses, immaculate in black-tie.  They greeted me with deep, sonorous voices, the type that are a clear advantage to elected officials.  After some introductory remarks they led me out onto the floor.  The other dancers stopped out of respect for the star of the evening and applause rippled through the crowd.

"Meg Moon, the pilot who put the "ace" in Space," commented Senator Brandt with a grin as he took my hand.  He was tall for a cros and, in his platform shoes, not too far off my height.  "How is Ben after the press conference?  He must now be the most famous mal on the planet."

I took the senator's hand and glided into the dance, a bit conscious of my footwork after years of avoiding such formal occasions.  "You know mals, Senator.  The whole thing was irrelevant to him, until he heard someone accuse me of abuse.  So he responded with the evidence in his hands.  After that I'm sure he didn't give it a moment's thought.  Right now I believe he's on the roof terrace, sketching the city skyline."

"Yet that's now twice in a few days he's shown himself the key to saving the moment," Brandt observed.  "I wish I had more staff who showed that unusual combination of carefully following instructions and also taking the initiative, exactly when appropriate."  He looked at the smaller cros who had taken my other hand.  "What do you think, Folio?"

Senator Folio looked old, perhaps already four times older than me, but his eyes and expression were sharp.  He was moving on his feet at least as nimbly as I was.  "Is this the start of another 'jobs for mals' speech, Brandt?" the cros asked dryly.

Brandt raised his brow.  "Hadn't thought that way, but you think the point is persuasive enough to be the start of such a speech?"  He winked at me. "What's your view, Meg?  Could Ben actually earn his own keep?"

"I hadn't thought of it," I told him truthfully.  "He'd have to have a longer life expectancy for it to be a relevant question."

"Excellent point," Folio remarked, rotating me gently – and expertly – with his arms.  "I sometimes wonder if Brandt here would like to see all children toiling at a job.  I mean, I admire his work ethic, but there are humane limits…"

Brandt reached for me, placing his hands delicately upon my hips as we swayed to a new rhythm.  Despite myself, I had to admit the touch felt good.  The only touch I had received in a long time that I hadn't specifically ordered.  "Just listen to that sly cros," he said to me in a stage whisper.  "He's pretending he hasn't heard of the progress in extending mal longevity."

I felt my face flushing.   Despite being a news addict myself, I had never heard of such a thing myself.  There were people trying to make mals live longer, and it was common knowledge among senators?  Was it legal?   Could Ben's life be extended?   Why did the idea of it have such an emotional impact upon me?  I was careful to control my voice, hoping they would assume the redness of my cheeks was from the sudden activity of twirling to the music.

"To be honest, Senator, I also somehow missed that in the news, but then I think that's excusable in Deep Space."

Folio frowned.  "I fear Brandt is trying to recruit you to his cause by feeding you some highly speculative and also classified information.  It hasn't been on the news because it's probably bogus, and the main media have responsibly agreed not to alarm people unduly.   Unless you go trawling some of those radical-liberal, propaganda machines, you won't yet have been misled."

I eagerly awaited Brandt's riposte, but he just grinned at Folio's annoyance as he hooked arms with me and began a turn.  Two political croses, engaged in a routine intellectual dual.  I decided to risk pushing the conversation along.

"Speculative or not," I said casually, "Why this interest in extended mals' lives?"

Brandt arched an eyebrow at me.  "How about human equality?  Suppose all croses had a degenerative disease that killed us all off in early adulthood.  Wouldn't we try and cure it?"

Folio laughed and shook his head.  "Listen to Senator Equal there!  I will politely ignore his confusion between disease and natural lifespan.  But here we are, eating the finest food while billions of fems and croses scratch a living on and beyond the Dust Belt.  How about the Gray Ring, where croses are still obliged to chew the bark off trees?  The money being dumped into mal research could provide irrigation for whole planets.  We all want a perfect world, Dear Gentle Cros, but let us get our priorities straight!"

I was standing face-to-face with Folio now or, more accurately, staring down at his bald head.  As we clasped hands I said, "But Senator, longer life – isn't that what we all wish for?  I mean, even for fems like me from the Dust?"

Folio sighed, then executed a quite brilliant double-twirl, passing me round his back while he rotated on one foot.  I could feel every eye turn in our direction.  I felt obliged to add my own panache so I grabbed Brandt's hand at the same time and had them both rotate around me.  There was spontaneous applause.  Folio ended up under my chin.  His tone was philosophical as he looked at me.

"Meg, I grew up there, too.  I was a miner until age middle age – a very tough life.  Since that time I've served the community in one way or another.   I've worked hard always and the time's gone fast.  I've often wondered, if I'd been a mal who was taken care of in one of our Banks, whether I could actually have spent more time enjoying the real pleasures of life.  But I didn't get that choice – none of us do.  I accept my long life of hard work, and will never experience a youth of pure leisure and entertainment."

At that moment I recalled my anger at Ben during the death spiral, when I envied his incomprehension of our fate.  I thought of the many fears in life, times of pain and loneliness, upset and boredom, mind-numbing routines of work.  By nature and by law, Ben was protected from all that. 

Brandt was drawing me back with an arm round my waist.  "I don't doubt Folio's hard youth down the pits, but that doesn't exactly apply to young croses on the Light Side," he remarked.  "The next argument he'll give you is that we chose to give these mals life in the first place, instead of letting them go extinct, so they should be grateful for at least youthful life rather than nothing at all."

"Sort of true, isn't it?" Folio commented, showing that his hearing was still excellent. "Who's going to choose a mal without the financial incentives that we, poor overtaxed croses, pay for?"

Or the sentence reductions you offer incarcerated fems, I thought.  Again, though, a very logical point.  Croses tolerated mals because they were genetically useful.  Too many adult mals wandering around and they would be seen as an increasing threat.  The simple answer – don't breed any more.

Brandt shrugged.  "Folio, you can argue all the logic you wish.  But the fact is, the movement is out there.  Increasing numbers of fems think that mal policies are wrong, and increasing numbers of younger  croses don't see a good enough reason to defend them.  Maybe the concept of human equality isn't rational.  Maybe it's just an instinctive response, like the desire to see fair play.  But it's everywhere out there, and it's growing."

The music for that dance ceased a little later and I took that opportunity to thank the senators and take my leave.  The rest of the evening, Al introduced me to various other guests whom he thought of significance.  Luckily, very little of the conversation required much concentration, as I found my thoughts constantly drifting back to Ben.  As soon as it seemed appropriate, I told Al and Jo I was tired and would go to bed.  Al wanted to know more about my talk with the senators but I told him it could wait until the next day.  I took the elevator to the roof terrace, which was empty except for Ben.  This time he was not sketching.  He was composing music and playing it back to himself.  I don't know much about music, but I always liked the material he composed.  I sat beside him.

"Ben," I said slowly, "I realized today how much more you understand than I had previously imagined.  I really don't know how I could have been so stupid, underestimating you so badly."  I paused.  "Do you know what I'm saying to you now?"

He turned to look at me.  He didn't nod his head, but some message seemed to be blazing from his blue eyes.  I had never known him focus on me like that before.  It gave me an incredible thrill, like I had just met live somebody whom I had seen before only in pictures and yet had dreamed about.  It felt like something had lit up inside him.  There was still not even the shadow of an emotion showing and perhaps no one else would have seen anything unusual.  Maybe it was all my imagination, triggered by what deep-space pilots call gravity-head.  But my world has definitely been rocked.

Ben picked up the sketch-pad next to him and turned to a drawing.  This one was more like a diagram.  On the left side was his own face with eyes closed, while all sort of items – words, pictures, sounds, events – streamed into his brain.  In the middle, our Gold Wing was shown to be breaking up.  On the right side, his face was sketched again but this time with eyes open, and there was something very subtly different about the expression.  Items were now shown emerging from his brain, but it was difficult to make out what they were.  They were curious, shadowy things, some kind of abstractions, a little scary in being both realistic and weirdly half-finished.  But the picture's message was dramatically clear.

"Oh, Galax, Ben!" I exclaimed softly. "The death spiral woke up something inside you.  Then suddenly all the stuff you'd been absorbing before then was put to use.  A big mental library inside your head has been put to work!"

I stared at him, in search of a facial reaction of some type.  It would have been very easy for him to nod his head in order to show his agreement, but instead he just continued to stare at me with his piercing blue eyes.  It felt like his stare was the only way he knew how to communicate, and I had no means of understanding it.  Yet how could I complain at this moment?  In his sketch, Ben had told me that he had both learned and processed much of what we had experienced together, and was now developing his own independent ideas.  I was overwhelmed by both the wonderfulness of this discovery, and the awful danger it implied for Ben.  And possibly me.  I gently took the sketch-pad from Ben and pulled out the two-face diagram, folding it up and put it in my jacket pocket.

"Ben, this subject must remain our secret, do you understand?  Please don't reveal it to anyone else.  No more pictures even hinting at any abstract ideas.  Just continue to draw things you see in real life, like a camera, and no more."

The eyes continued to blaze at me.  I had to assume that he understood my message.  I took his hand and led him to the elevators, and we rode to our hotel room.  Tired and ready for bed, I was looking forward to my shower, and peeled off my stiff pilot's dress-jacket as soon as the room-door closed.  But as Ben entered the bathroom to prepare it for me and I called him to unhook the back of my tunic, I was suddenly struck by a new aspect of my altered world.  My sense of Ben had fundamentally changed, and that included my emotional response as a fem.  I could no longer see him as a kind of gorgeous pet.  Something romantic and sexual welled up inside me which I had never felt before.