Echoes of an Alien Sky (8 page)

"That's amazing." Kyal answered in a distant voice. After the solitude of the morning, his mind hadn't fully adjusted to the sudden company, and he was still taking her in. She had rich black hair reaching to her shoulders with just enough of a curve not to look stark, and a pleasantly tapering oval face with a narrow chin, full mouth, and a slight turn-up to the nose. Her complexion was pale, whether naturally or from some cosmetic he couldn't tell, adding a contrast that set off her features and her hair.

"Where will you be heading eventually? she asked.

"Luna, after a short break to cut my teeth down here. Checking out some unusual Terran constructions on Farside. They look as if they might be connected with space electromagnetics. That's what I do."

"That's interesting. I didn't know the Terrans were into things like that," she said.

"Neither did anyone else. That's why they're unusual."

Cordiality being satisfied, it would have been acceptable at this point for Lorili to return her attention to whatever she had been studying. She didn't, however, but continued looking at him with a with an easy directness that invited continuation. It was flattering but at the same time mildly disorienting. "I suppose it's my turn," he said, searching hopefully for a lead to reciprocate her power of divination. She was wearing an open gray coat over a lightweight tan sweater and work slacks; but it left him with nothing to go on other than her slight accent. "Gallendian?" he guessed.

"Close. Korbisan." The island nation was off Gallenda was traditionally a friend of Ulange, where Kyal was from. "How about you?" she said. "Ulangean?"

He grinned a capitulation. "Right again. Have you been on Earth long?"

"A little over four months now. I came out on the
MJ
too."

"So what do you do here?"

"I'm a microbiologist—from the Korbisanian State Institute. Of Biochemistry and Cell Biology, that is. I do nucleic acid sequences and genes, and wet sticky things like that. Not like electromagnetics at all. Based at Rhombus."

"There was a microbiologist with us on the trip out who was going to Rhombus," Kyal said. "Gofel Sartzow."

Lorili nodded. "Yes, I know the name. We're expecting him. He'll be joining a group in the same section. But I don't think he's down from orbit yet. You must be a VIP. They usually get moved through first. Who will you be working under, Sherven?"

Well, Naseena seemed to have done all right, Kyal reflected; but it wasn't worth quibbling over. "Borgan Casselo," he replied. "He runs the physics part of theoperation."

"Yes. I've heard he's very good."

It was rare for Kyal to feel so comfortable and at ease with a stranger so quickly. After just a few minutes they had fallen into using the familiar voice, and it seemed as natural as talking with an old friend like Yorim. "So what brings you out here among the relics and ruins?" he inquired. "Did you decide it was time to take a break too?"

"Yes, exactly that. A small group of us are doing the rounds. We've seen the mountains and the deserts, so we thought it was time to balance things out with some of the serious stuff."

"So where are they—the others?"

Lorili made a tossing motion with her head to indicate the door and the world outside in general. "Oh, they set off early to hike up and see the remains of a power plant and dam in a valley up above the town. Machines and pipes. As I said, I'm more molecules and Petri dishes. Anyway, you get to see enough of the same people, shut up in labs and around the base all the time."

"Tell me about it," Kyal agreed with feeling. He toward the image prints that she had been looking at. "What have you got here? Mind if I look?"

"Sure."

Kyal moved across to the other table. The pictures were from Terran wars: military aircraft in action; missiles being launched; defense works with dug-in artillery; some tanks very like the one he had seen the previous day. From the backgrounds and landscapes, they could have been from this area. He pursed his lips while he thought for the right words, but then saw from Lorili's expression that it didn't matter; she was waiting for it. "Unusual interests for a lady," he commented.

She paused for a moment before answering, as if she were weighing up the tack it might be best to take. "It isn't so much military things in themselves. More the spirit that they represent. Underneath all their madness, there was something fine about the Terran spirit, something . . . indomitable." She seemed to wait for a reaction. Kyal hoped he wasn't about to get another Progressive pitch. Lorili indicated the images with a wave. "Do you know about the war that destroyed the town that was here?"

"The Central Asian one. A little."

Lorili looked down at the images again and sighed. "The very tribulations that they inflicted on themselves forged qualities of courage, resilience . . . the ability to endure against hopeless odds in ways that few of us could match. That war began when the West moved to defend a tiny island over in the east that was being invaded by a giant power. All for honor and to protect the rights of the people who lived there. Don't you think that's wonderful?"

"I know some people think so," Kyal answered. He sought for a way to sound neutral without being too concessionary. "But then, I'm not sure how far you can trust their own accounts. It wasn't unusual for their governments and news media to lie to the people. They worked for powerful elites, not for the general good. Even in systems that claimed to be run by majority decisions, and where the majority clearly didn't believe them." He felt it needed spelling out, because such a state of affairs would have been unthinkable on Venus. Government positions were seen as privileged opportunities to serve the people on behalf of the heads of state. Few worse crimes were imaginable than abusing such offices for personal gain.

She eyed him for a moment longer and then dismissed the subject with a nod. "Maybe so, I suppose. But it's something to think about, isn't it?" If she had been sounding him out, she had better radar than Jenyn. Kyal decided that he was getting to like this person more and more already.

"Is there anywhere near here where you can get something to eat?" he asked. "It was an early start this morning. I haven't had breakfast yet."

"The airstrip chow shack is practically next door," she replied. "They've always got something going."

"Care to join me?"

Lorili summoned just the right touch of hesitation to be proper, but at the same time letting her eyes say she was glad he'd asked. "Sure," she replied simply.

They left the cabin and headed toward the huddle of buildings at the end of the airstrip. Some loaders with a mobile platform lifter were working amid a litter of crates, bales, and pieces of machinery. The supply chopper that Kyal had traveled in from Rhombus was just lifting off to make its return trip. As they walked, a silver metal pendant hanging outside Lorili's sweater flashed in the sun and caught Kyal's attention. It was in the form of the Venusian "katek" character, also a traditional symbol of good luck.

"I see you look on the optimistic side of life," he remarked, nodding toward it.

Lorili glanced down and smiled. "Oh, my mother gave it to me just before I left. You know how mothers can be. It was so I wouldn't forget them, and to remind me to look forward to coming back. Nice, isn't it?" The katek was also associated with homecoming.

"There's an old story about the katek," Kyal said. Do you know it?"

"No . . . I can't say I've heard it. How does it go?"

"I heard it from my father a long time ago, when I was a boy. I'll tell you inside. Let's get some of that food first."

Kyal watched intently across the table as his father tied a line from a mast to the bowsprit of the model sailing schooner they had been making intermittently together for the past two months or more, and snipped off the end. His mother had explained to him how his father was always busy and in demand somewhere or other with his work, which made it all the more significant that he made the effort to spend times like these with his. They were among the times that Kyal treasured the most. It still amazed him that a man's thick, strong fingers were able to perform such delicate tasks.

"There," Jarnor pronounced. "Just tight enough t be tensioned. You did a neat job with the rigging while I was in Korbisan."

"When are we going to paint the bow ornaments?" Kyal asked.

"Oh, that comes later. Patience is one of the most important virtues for boys to work at, you know."

Kyal moved a tray of cut parts that were still to be added, and inspected the drawing of the bow that was given in the plans. "A fish and a bird holding a katek between them," he said.

"Yes. Do you want to use the colors it says, or shall we pick our own?"

"I'd like more blue."

"Very well." Jarnor began sorting out the pulley accessories.

"And what do you think about gold for the katek?"

"I think that would look very nice. . . . Have you heard the legend of the katek, Kyal?"

"No. What is it?"

"Oh, it goes back far into the past. It's supposed to hold an important secret. One of the great mysteries that we philosophers and scientists debate all day and write long books about that most people have better things to do than worry about is life and how it began, and where we come from."

"Who? You mean humans?"

"Yes. All of us. Supposedly the answer is there, contained in the katek. But nobody has ever been able to decode it."

Kyal looked at the character with a new interest.

But nothing obvious jumped out and hit him. "I thought it was just something that people hang on doors or write on labels when they wrap presents," Kyal said.

"That too. It also stands for good luck. . . . Can you start painting these pulleys? They need to be matt black. It means be safe, and come home safely.

"Is that's why there's one in the bow emblem of the boat?"

"Yes, very likely that's the reason. It says something about life too, you know."

"How?"

"Oh, the importance of things that are trusted and familiar. You hear these people today who are in such a hurry to change things they don't understand. They think anything new and different is exciting and must be better. And sometimes it's true. But it's also true that things came to be the way they are for good reasons. You should judge people who try to sell you their ideas and theories the way you do a cook. It's what comes out of the pot that matters, not what he says he's going to put in."

Kyal reflected on it while he unscrewed the cap of the paint bottle. "Is that the same legend as the Wanderers?" he asked.

"Yes. According to the myth, it was supposed to have been the Wanderers who wrote the secret code into the katek. But then people forgot what it was."

"How does it go, again?"

Jarnor grunted and smiled despairingly. "The Wanderers were the earliest people, but they didn't like the ways of the world, so they went to live on the Sun. But the Sun was too hot, so they went to live on the stars. But the stars were either too cold, or too small, or too hard, or too bright. . . . Always there was something. Eventually they came to a Place of Death that was the worst of all, and so in the end they came back home."

"Before there was a moon, " Kyal put in.

"So the story says. Froile was born later, out of hurricanes and floods, when the sky fell, and the seas moved over the land. During their travels, the Wanderers had annoyed a lot of inhabitants of other places. On their way home, they frightened a dog so much that he ran away. But the people they had annoyed caught it again, and they sent it after them as a watchdog over the world to make sure they stayed home." Jarnor picked up the plans of the schooner and unfolded them to study the next part. "So perhaps that's all the katek really means, but everyone is looking for something profound and complicated," he said. "Maybe it just means that when you've been everywhere and seen it all, coming home to the things you know isn't so bad after all."

The chow shack was a utilitarian affair of wooden tables and benches, where a cook deposited the offerings of the moment into warmed pots and dishes on a counter at one end, and the patrons served themselves. The fare was plain but appetizing, blending Terran with imported foods into concoctions which maybe one day would acquire names and be celebrated.

"No, I never heard that story," Lorili said again. "I gather nobody has ever figured out how to decode it?"

Kyal shrugged without looking up, the bulk of his attention, just for the moment, being taken up by the food. "Not as far as I know."

Lorili looked at him for a second before commenting, "You talk about your father fondly. You and he must have been close."

It took Kyal a moment to catch the implication. He hadn't said anything about Jarnor's passing on. So Lorili must have made the connection from his name—a reasonable inference, now that he thought about it, since Jarnor Reen had been known for his contributions to space electromagnetics. But she had refrained from saying anything, allowing Kyal the right to be himself, on his own merit, and not simply "Jarnor Reen's son." He accorded her the same respect by leaving it unsaid now.

"We were," he replied. "But all things have their span. He had a constructive and rewarding life and was appreciated during his time. That's more than many could say. He was a friend of Director Sherven's, apparently. I only found that out myself yesterday. . . . But enough about me. Tell me more about you. What kinds of things are you finding out in microbio?"

Lorili finished her mouthful of food while considering how to answer. "Well . . ." she said finally. "Earth is more diverse in climate and geology. And it's a much older planet. Yet there's a strange thing about it."

Kyal completed it for her. "It only has quadribasic life."

She looked surprised. "I thought you were electrons and amps."

"Oh, somebody on the ship was talking about it."