Echoes of an Alien Sky (25 page)

If the most important part of "education" was acquiring standards to set oneself and cultivating good habits of thought, then those three words, he sometimes reflected, had contributed more to his own than many of the semesters spent absorbing facts about matters he had never had reason to think about since. The key to a settled life was learning to be honest with oneself and honest with the world.

He looked back at the revolting Terran display of gaudy art and self-obsessed, practically unclothed females being presented on one of the screens. Casselo had sent it through as an example of some of the image restoration techniques that one of the labs was developing. It had apparently been devised to persuade people that a cheap concoction of sugar and fruit flavoring was the key to a full and satisfying life, and induce them to purchase it. It seemed that exaggeration, falsification, and skill in the art of making things and people appear to be other than what they were had been much sought-after, highly rewarded professions.

Sherven was disturbed by the reports coming from Venus of growing political extremism and more exposures of distortions, outright lies, and the use of increasingly deplorable tactics. A former colleague there had mentioned in a private communication that investigators of the fire in the offices of the Korbisanian Counselor Weskaw were saying it looked like arson, although they were not making the fact public until they were more sure of their case. And now, closer to home, they had this ugly business about Gaster Lornod breaking out. Sherven didn't like the way things were trending at all.

The source back on Venus had expressed a personal suspicion that the Progressives were behind the arson. Weskaw was an outspoken critic of the movement, and in particular their demand for a direct universal franchise, which he

said would be akin to letting popularity votes decide professional accreditation. His continuing to serve on the Korbisanian congress testified that a solid majority of the population there had confidence in the judgment of the Electors who appointed him. Had it been otherwise, those Electors wouldn't have been there—anymore than a designer whose bridges fell down or a math teacher whose pupils couldn't transpose an equation. If this was the way things were heading, nothing good could come of it, whatever the anticipated ends. Ends were something imagined in the future; the means was the reality, now. At best it would lower the standards of leadership in the direction of the travesties of government that the Terrans had endured.

The way in which the Terrans had glorified their leaders left Venusians mystified. Perhaps it had been another triumph for the Terran image manipulators. Virtually without exception, from what the exo-historians had made of things so far, they had demonstrated no worthwhile learning, skill, or talent of any kind beyond the ability to insinuate and ingratiate themselves into the public awareness, seize and hold power by force and intimidation, and pander to the interests of influential minorities. The system of appointing them was such that gaining office demanded abilities that were the exact opposite of those that would be required of anyone occupying it, so the accusations of hypocrisy and insincerity that appeared to have been widespread were hardly to be wondered at.

On Venus, those eligible for government were drawn from a pool of qualified candidates who had met some of the highest educational standards demanded of any profession, and gained practical experience through a progression of more demanding public offices. They were appointed by a body of professional Electors, who in turn were elected by the people and accountable to the people for the performance of the governments they delivered, in the same way that any other professional body would be accountable if it chartered incompetents and authorized them to practice. Few things could have contrasted more sharply with the appalling Terran system of mob rule through misinformed masses. Every Venusian citizen got one base vote by right, and beyond that there was a scale for earning additional votes with greater educational attainments. Even the Terrans would never have dreamed of appointing their physicians, engineers, architects, and other professionals without seeing evidence of suitable aptitude and knowledge. How much more important was it, then, for the supreme profession of running an entire country safely and effectively?

Like the Korbisanian Counselor Weskaw, Sherven believed that the body socio-politic was a growing organism in its own right, guided by the same underlying formative principle that shaped all living things, and as such would mature in its own way, in its own time. Attempting to force it prematurely was like trying to induce a flower to blossom by prizing open the petals before they were ready, and likely to be as effective. Terran culture had brought itself to its final, logical conclusion. In the end, nobody, it seemed, could be believed or trusted. Nothing was what it appeared to be. Small wonder that it had culminated in ruin. Where else was there for it to go? The thought occurred to him that perhaps the purpose of the universe was to produce worlds on which to conduct experiments in life, which in turn yielded consciousness and generated structures of thought, reason, and intuitive knowledge. Perhaps it had been, then, that the Terrans, while physically robust and versatile, had not been very successful temperamentally. Might Venusians represent a more stable and hopefully longer-lasting model? It was an attractive thought, Sherven's wife, Pidrie, had agreed when he mentioned it to her one evening. She had asked why Vizek should concern itself with conducting such experiments. That was another question was all Sherven had been able to tell her in reply.

A tap sounded on the door. It opened a fraction, and Borgan Casselo stuck his head in, giving an inquiring look. He was spending some time on
Explorer 6
before returning to his office in Rhombus. Sherven had asked Casselo to join him for lunch, primarily to get an update on developments."Yes, come in, Borgan." Sherven waved a hand.

"Emitte thought that Frazin might still be here."

"No, he's gone. An interesting theory of his about collective amnesia. What do you make of it?"

"I can't really see it," Casselo said, closing the door. "There's no plausible mechanism for it."

"I agree. I think it was cultural."

"Ah, I see you got the Terran beverage commercial," Casselo said, observing the mural screen. "The imaging people reconstructed it from dried-up fragments. Some clever frequency-spectrum transforms in infra-red. Not bad, eh?"

"Not bad at all, as far as the technique goes," Sherven agreed. "I wish I could say the same for the content. I mean, look at those four specimens they've got there.

Somewhat spectacular as far as the paint and the body parts go, I suppose, but hardly the brightest lights in town, I'd have thought. The Terrans were fixated on appearances and packaging, weren't they? Everything was phony. No ability to discern the actual substance of anything at all. "

"They were taught not to," Casselo said. He took one of the visitor chairs while Sherven tidied up his notes and papers from the morning.

"So how are things at Triagon," Sherven inquired.

"Kyal Reen has got his side of things together. He seems capable and energetic. I don't think we'll see any problems there. He's gotten himself involved with the linguists and the electronics people out there too, but Brysek says he gets on well with everybody. No complaints."

"Sounds like a chip off the old Jarnor Reen, all right," Sherven remarked. "How about those biochemistry people who moved there from
E6
?"

"They're settling in. I hear that Nostreny down in Rhombus wants to set something up in their old lab space up here."

"Genetic sequencing on the Terran corpses. I've already okayed it. A couple of his staff are transferring up here to take charge of it. In fact they're shuttling up today."

"That was quick," Casselo commented.

"Yes, well, Nostreny talked to me confidentially. Apparently it would relieve a personal situation that's developed down there concerning one of them—the principal. A Korbisanian woman. The other one is her assistant." Sherven arranged his folders into a stack but selected some sheets to keep separate. "They're eager to get on with it, in any case. Can't blame them, I suppose. How often do biochemists get a chance like this? It wouldn't do to be stifling initiative would it, Borgan?—never mind what the Progressives say about us."

"True. But I also think there might be more to it," Casselo said. "If it's who I think it is, there's a personal element in it, between her and Kyal Reen. They met in Russia, when he was on acclimatization leave. One of those instant attraction things, according to Kyal's partner."

Sherven's eyes twinkled. "Oh, really? Well, you get the best out of people when they're in situations like that. They're certainly not wasting much time about it."

"As you said, a touch of the old Jarnor Reen."

"Just before we go. . . ." Sherven touched the panel inset to one side of the desk and inclined his head to indicate another of the screens. It activated to show the pyramid-form structure that was being investigated some distance out from the main Triagon base. "What do you make of these latest reports of theirs?" Sherven asked.

Casselo nodded as he glanced over the view. "It seems to be what they say," he replied. "A discharge attractor for some kind of large, long-range vessel. It fits with everything else they've been finding with the other structures."

"Yes," Sherven agreed. "But it's the 'large, long-range' that I was specifically interested in. Have you seen this?" He pushed across the papers that he had kept aside. Casselo picked them up and ran an eye over them. "From a Terran scientific journal that Parigel's group at the Ulangean Institute have been working on." Sherven meant the Ulangean institute for Terran studies, set up to concentrate on such work. "It talks about work that was going on in the American region."

"A star probe?" Casselo read aloud.

"A study for such a program anyway," Sherven said. "And some other references too. it talks about new electrical propulsion physics to harness trans-galactic currents." He looked at Casselo curiously. "Maybe they weren't as far behind after all, as we thought. What do you think?"

Casselo turned to the next page. "Did anything actually happen? Or was it just a theoretical exercise?" he asked. "Does it say?"

"Parigel isn't sure. I asked him the same thing. From the limited material they've got to go on, the details are obscure. If it had military potential, it might have been kept vague deliberately."

"Or maybe invented as a cover for what was going on at Farside . . . in case anything leaked out," Casselo mused.

"Yes, that's another possibility, I suppose."

Casselo sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. He nodded toward the Farside pyramid, still showing on the screen. "You know, Kyal did say how he was struck by some of the similarities between that and the things he envisaged in his own speculations about future star travel systems."

Several seconds went by while each waited for the other to voice the implication. "That can't have been their destination, surely?" Sherven said at last. "If Triagon was a staging base to somewhere else, as Kyal has been saying." He was thinking of storage space for lots of equipment and supplies; agricultural machinery; pens for animals; hydroponic setups for what the biologists were now saying the thought were for cloning plant seeds.

"It couldn't have been, surely," Casselo repeated.

And yet, repeatedly, the Terrans had showed themselves capable of making the most amazing advances suddenly, in spite of all their destructive compulsions and craziness.

Casselo was evidently thinking the same thing. "If they did have the technology, maybe another star system makes more sense than anywhere here," he said.

"But is it even plausible?" Sherven asked.

"Their priorities were different. With the focus on military matters and secrecy, there could have been more going on than we've uncovered. . . . Well, obviously there was. I mean a
lot
more. Has Parigel been able to put together anything else that correlates with it?" Casselo motioned with the papers in his hand. "Can we say for sure whether any of the vessels it talks about here were ever launched—or even built?"

"Not really," Sherven admitted. "A major global conflict erupted at around the time it was going on. It seems to have been the final one, involving Euro-Russia and the Muslims against Americans and Chinese. They never recovered as a civilization. Records from after the war are practically nonexistent. Anyway, we can talk about it over lunch. I've asked Frazin to join us."

"Fine."

Sherven was just about to rise, when a call sounded from the desk panel. It was from his assistant in the outer office. He touched a key to activate the channel on voice only.

"Yes, Emitte?"

"I was away for a few minutes. Did Borgan arrive?"

"Yes, he's here."

"I have Chief Provost Huiano, from Rhombus on the line. He apologizes for intruding but requests a moment."

"Certainly." Sherven glanced at Casselo. "Excuse me."

Huiano's features appeared on the desk-panel screen a moment later. "My apologies for the interruption, Director Sherven," Huiano said again.

"There is no need. What can I do for you?"

"It's about the allegations concerning Gaster Lornod."

Sherven sent Casselo a exasperated look. He really could have done without being dragged into this kind of thing. But he had asked Huiano to contact him if there was any further news. "Yes, Chief Huiano?"

"The girl who started it all, Tyarla Yiag."

"What about her?"

"She came in here earlier and has confessed that it was a fraud. She says she was put up to it by a Jenyn Thorgan."

Sherven frowned. "I don't think I know that name."

"He works with Linguistics. He was away in the Americas for a period and has only recently returned. He's already become known here as a militant Progressive activist. He was also a rising star in the movement some years ago back on Venus. It appears that he promised Madam Yiag a prominent and lucrative position with the Progressives if she cooperated. She also claims he threatened her if she refused, but I think that might be to cover herself. There ah . . . would also appear to be something of a personal element in their relationship."