Interference Page 21

  Arthur is the first to speak. “What kind of weapons will they bring?”

  “Haus is the weapon, he himself, although some of us can use guns. I think he has all of the guns, though. And no offense meant, you are overpowered.”

  “Why should we get involved at all?” Geraldine says. “This isn’t our problem. You can fight it out yourselves.”

  “But we have so much to do,” Mirlo says. “Our scans found some other civilization across the ocean in Laurentia. We should investigate that. The scans found lots more rainbow bamboo and some smoke from campfires. Have you seen it?”

  All the Pacifists stare at him for several long moments.

  Arthur starts to glance at me and stops. “More bamboo? And campfires? You mean, more people?”

  Again, stunned silence from the Pacifists.

  “Yes,” Ladybird finally says. “Of course. We should investigate that.”

  “Won’t they let you do that? The ones who’re coming?” Geraldine asks.

  Om answers. “No. They have no interest in the science mission. They just want to go home right away.”

  “But they’ve never seen it here,” Geraldine says. “They’ll like it. Especially now that springtime is finally picking up.”

  “When you say fight,” Thunderclap says, “you mean bloodshed? Weapons?”

  “I hope not.” Om looks down and crosses his arms.

  Karola is sending to Om, “I can help. I know they’re coming to put Pollux in charge, and I can help fight.”

  He answers after a moment, “I’m in a meeting now. What can you do, briefly?”

  “I can disrupt network connections and send false information.”

  His eyes grow slightly wider. “We’ll definitely talk.”

  I must listen in when they do.

  Arthur is speaking. “I’m as annoyed as anyone at the Earthlings.” Thunderclap scents less than me. He nods with a wry smile. “Or maybe not everyone. But this is our chance to explore, like Mirlo says, and probably a nicer place this time than the Coral Plains.”

  “We don’t mean to be disruptive,” Om says.

  “Zivon wants us to hate Humans,” Thunderclap says.

  “Really?” Geraldine says. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “What time will they come?” Arthur says.

  “I’m not sure,” Om says. “I’m not welcome in that discussion. Mirlo…? Not you either. Hmm. Let me send to ask someone else.” He asks Karola. She asks the network, but her question sounds not like her, not her identification. Is that her disruptive skill? She gets an answer that she sends to Om.

  He announces, “They will arrive after … let me convert the times … after solar noon tomorrow, well after it. Midafternoon.”

  I send an idea to Mirlo, and he says, “Would it be possible to send a mission to the other continent tomorrow morning, before noon?”

  Arthur tilts his head as if listening to his own thoughts. Ladybird puts her hand over her mouth. Om slowly smiles.

  “We want to go,” Mirlo says, “and they’ll try to stop us. Besides, who’ll go? We’ll need security. Haus should come with us.”

  Arthur laughs. “Got it. Am I on the team? I saved his life. He owes me. I think I can make sure he comes.”

  Of course, there is more to the idea, and it is debated and adjusted. They can explore and at the same time minimize the conflict between the Earthlings, at least for a while, by sending the conflictive individuals away. Ladybird will try to intervene with the orbital team.

  “This means a lot of … I don’t know what,” Ladybird says.

  “We build-us a boat before we know the wood,” Thunderclap says with caution.

  “Wood naturally floats,” Mirlo says.

  Arthur slaps him on the shoulder. “We’re going to make a great team.”

  Mirlo returns the smile. “Bring Cawzee.”

  There is much to prepare, but almost without noticing, Pacifists have agreed to back the Earthlings who want to stay. Except for Geraldine, who merely wants to postpone any conflict as long as possible, and when she learns that the exploration team will use Earth technology to send their sights and sounds live back to the city as a distraction to the arrival of the orbital team, she is intrigued by the ability to accompany the team from the safety of home.

  They all hurry from the meeting with tasks. Ladybird goes to the greenhouse. “Stevland, you aren’t alone.”

  “I learned this yesterday. I still find it hard to believe, even after looking at the evidence.”

  “Seeds. They should take your seeds and plant them.” She understands me well.

  “Mirlo will do that.”

  “And bring some back! Arthur and Cawzee can help.”

  “This is the change I burned last night. I am not alone. For me, everything is changed.”

  Meanwhile, I watch Om. He sends a variety of messages to individuals and groups. He even invites Pollux to join the exploration team as a gesture to imitate guilelessness. Pollux does not respond.

  Karola is waiting for Om, and soon they enter a secluded garden.

  “You said you can send false information. How false?”

  “Completely false.”

  “We can all lie with thoughts as well as words.”

  “More than that. I can interfere with your feed and make you think, for example, that you can see, um, results from a test that aren’t what the network sends. I can intercept those results and send something else. Or have it tell you that the Mu Rees are at the river, but they’re in their lab.”

  Om stares at her with what might be fear.

  I want to know more.

  “It’s difficult and it hurts, so I hardly ever do it. And of course it’s illegal. But I’ll do that to help you under one condition. I won’t go back to Earth. I refuse. I’ll help you if you let me stay here.”

  Om’s expression becomes more friendly. “Agreed. Exactly how do you do this?”

  She explains. The networks operating on Earth encompass the entire planet fairly seamlessly. The mission to Pax has brought a smaller, self-contained network, Abacus, but it operates in the same way. The exact technique requires intercepting and substituting a message, which involves intervening in wavelengths other than the one assigned to her as an individual. It also requires clear thoughts to send. This may be difficult for her, but I think with my resources I could do it easily. I will try.

  Om has more technical questions. She needs to be between the transmitter and the receiving individual. Physically, she expends great energy and effort to the point of physical pain. A careful observer might notice her activity, but no one suspects such a thing so it has never been noticed. She has done little false sending since landing on Pax, but somewhat more on the ship prior to landing to “maintain the peace.” Om thanks her for that. I can imagine the difficulties of spending days with those contentious Earthlings in a confined area, like too many crabs in one tree.

  Out in a field near the river, Mu Ree Cheol is hunting for specimens. I listen for his messages to the network for recording data. I find his frequency. I think about boxer birds and send the sound of one as if it were near him, and he turns and looks. I send the barking sound again, and he approaches the brush where it supposedly is. Of course there is nothing, but I have made him think there was a bird.

  For me, that did not tax my energy any more than usual, but I can imagine how hard it would be for a Human. And there are complications. The transmission point for the network has been set up in a workshop toward the southern end of the city to take advantage of the natural rise in the terrain. My transmission point is from the greenhouse toward the eastern gate. That leaves a lot of territory where I cannot interfere unless I can get another transmitter.

  Meanwhile, Om asks, “Why don’t you want to return home?”

  “I’d rather not say.” Now she is the one who looks afraid.

  He thinks, then nods. “I’ll respect that.”

  Could it have to do with Nancsi?
Then she would have a very sound reason. Om may not be curious, but I am.

  Om adds, “Make sure Haus goes to Laurentia tomorrow.”

  Mirlo has approached Haus, who is returning from hunting, just after he crosses the bridge.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Mirlo says, “we’re going to explore the Laurentia continent. There’s sentient life there. Campfires. We’ll need you for security.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, those scans.”

  Haus looks unimpressed. He sends to Pollux about it. I intercept and send an answer in Pollux’s voice: “We need to surprise them, so you have to go along. We’ll wait until you get back.”

  “Imagine going there,” Mirlo says. “Imagine what we can learn. Think how much we learned at the Coral Plains. We’re going to need you.”

  “Yeah, it should be fun.”

  “Anyway,” Mirlo says, “Arthur and I guess Cawzee are coming.”

  “In that case,” Haus says, “I have to be there.”

  “Hey, Mirlo, we need to get organized, and fast,” Zivon sends. “Come talk to me. And bring the Mu Rees.”

  They go on their various ways.

  The data-recording crew is arguing over who will go, but the discussion ends when they realize that Ernst and Velma wish to go. Only two are needed, and the others do not wish to go. They begin to make preparations for tomorrow, which are complex, but they have experience and seem to enjoy solving problems.

  “This is going to be a great show,” Ernst says. They find Arthur and Cawzee with Haus and fit them with radios. New radios. They seem to have forgotten about the old ones.

  When that is done, Arthur delivers the radios he and Cawzee previously stole to Ladybird. She and I and Jose practice with them, investigating their settings, for unlike my programmed chip, they can transmit on several frequencies and we must choose one that will not overlap with the network.

  Pollux is sending to the pilot in orbit, “We can nail all this down while Om and his crew are off exploring. We’ll send as many as we can up to the ship first, then the rest later.”

  “What about the natives?”

  “They don’t know anything about this. And they don’t like us anyway, so they’ll be glad to get rid of us.”

  And so the sun sets, and most people rest after a busy day. I observe the forest’s border with the plains, watching for fires, and I check the network for data on fires and ecologies. Earth has an amazing number of ecologies. Many would suit me. I can now imagine myself there more precisely and wish to be there more than ever—that is, to send my seeds.

  I see no fires, fortunately.

  * * *

  Shortly after dawn, Mirlo boards the plane with two large bags of my seeds hidden in his baggage, since it would be hard to explain the need to plant me where there are already bamboo. “What’s your best SWATS?” he sends me. I check with the network: soil, water, air, temperature, sunlight.

  “Thank you for bringing me with you,” I say. “I believe we can assume that if other bamboo grows in a specific location, I can grow there, or in a locale that seems similar to this valley. Remember to space me some distance away from existing bamboo, though, to prevent competition for sunlight. Our roots can bring us together. Arthur and Cawzee will help.”

  “I’ll bring all the seeds from there that I can, and from different individuals. I can only imagine what this means to you.”

  “Your actions show that you understand fully.”

  Om is musing about an exploration within an exploration whose consequences matter more for the indigenous life than for ourselves: we have become servants to our discoveries. Yes, he has become a servant animal, and I am more excited about this trip than he is.

  Everyone boards: the healthy pilot, an assistant to the physician, two Mu Rees, Zivon, Ernst, Velma, the ethno-engineer, Mirlo, Om, and Haus—a roster that includes several of Pollux’s strongest supporters. Arthur, Cawzee, and Snow, one of our best farmers, join the team. The heli-plane is crowded.

  Left behind are Mosegi, still in the hospital recovering from lung fungus, the physician, one Mu Ree, two anthropologists, the astrophysicist, a data recorder, Pollux, and, most dangerously, Karola. Will this make Pollux’s movement falter, or will it be pushed into extreme action?

  As the team troops to the heli-plane, Pollux is back in the city with the physician.

  “We have to leave as fast as we can. The natives hate us anyway.”

  The physician invariably tries to calm people and minimize problems. “I think some of them find us annoying and there’s still resentment over the influenza, but most think we’re entertainment.”

  “We already know the ones with the raindrop marks hate us. Right?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Pollux has guessed somewhat accurately. The members of the Raindrop generation, Generation 9, with a few exceptions like Honey, tend to be older and because of their age disproportionately hold leadership positions, including Jose and Geraldine. They do not trust the Earthlings and do not need entertainment. Generation 10, with shaved heads, is resentful over their lack of contributions to the city, eating but not producing, so they have agreed among themselves to invite Earthlings on their teams to make them work. The Black Hats, Generation 11, are more easily amused. The Glassmakers overall do not like the Earthlings, although for varied reasons.

  At this point, the grumbling among the Pacifists has yet to cause significant conflict, but history shows that conflicts can be as much a chosen course of action as a consequence of circumstances. I can and must affect choices.

  The heli-plane takes off. The technicians have set up a display in the Meeting House, which is packed with Pacifists. For one reason or another, little farmwork will be accomplished today, although it is a fine spring day. Many have already seen the recordings from the original Earthling landing and from the trip to the Coral Plains, as well as the scans of Laurentia, and these have only made them want to see more.

  I can understand. Through the network, I see several views at once from the heli-plane. From our wide valley, the aircraft rises to view the dramatic mountains to the east and west and passes over the eastern ones to the ocean. Water stretches from horizon to horizon, blue-green under a cyan sky dotted with small clouds. Rays of sunlight and shadow fall on the water, its surface restless with waves. Water is life, and this vast expanse of water, this ocean, is the promise and source of endless life. I feel humbled before its importance. This is the source of the water that keeps me alive. An understanding of the ocean would tell me the meaning of life, and the network has immense ocean lore.

  But that will have to wait. Abacus announces that the ship in orbit has launched its heli-plane to land earlier than expected, and Ladybird is in the greenhouse contacting me.

  “Karola wants to be in the welcome party to greet the ship. Is that wise? I mean, can we trust her?”

  “She wants to stay here forever, so I think we can trust her. And she can help with any communication problems between us and the team from orbit.”

  “She does? That’s great—from the DNA point of view, anyway, for her to stay. We need new people. Do you suppose others would stay?”

  “Velma. And maybe others, although it depends on whether Pollux or Om leads the Earthling team. We ought to review our plan for the landing. They have a plan. They mean to come, gather up the crew here, put them on a plane, and send them to orbit. Then they will take the rest when they return, and they will all go back to Earth.”

  “Oh, that won’t work. The Earthlings are all busy today.”

  “Yes, I doubt it is a workable plan, which might make them want to execute it all the more. Some teams get stubborn.”

  She laughs bitterly. “That’s nothing new. We’re not ready for this.”

  “But we must have everything ready that we can.”

  The heli-plane from orbit will land in two hours. Some Pacifists have tired of the endless view of monotonously beautiful ocean and have gone out to
workshops or fields. I am monitoring the radio between the pilot from orbit and the astrophysicist, who is helping with the landing, so I know where it is and see its view, but more than that I hear it approach like sustained thunder. In the fields, people pause to look. When it comes into view, bats take flight, then a few cautiously approach as it lands, looking for an opportunity to report.

  The plane, a disk the size of two houses, with a spinning edge that creates a wind to lower itself to the ground, settles in a fallow field near the edge of the forest, coating the weeds with frost from its frigid exhaust. The astrophysicist had to argue with the pilot to convince him not to land in a field of wheat and destroy the crop. That would have angered the Pacifists beyond repair.

  The pilot, Darius Resvani, jumps out, then stumbles, looking expectantly at the welcoming crew that approaches. I have learned his background from the network. He had been trained to fly extraorbital aircraft by a business consortium of a regional government. That government was violently supplanted by a new government with a different economic goal. He lost many family members in the violence. After some difficulties, he found other work and eventually volunteered for this mission, searching for “places to fly higher.” I wonder if his stated reason for traveling to Pax is honest.

  Approaching across the field are Pollux, Karola, Jose, Scratcher, the astrophysicist, and a Glassmaker major who is an exceptional hunter and who carries a weighted spear, a weapon more fearsome than it looks, though he feigns concern for velvet worms. Karola is listening intently to the network and broadcasting what she hears to anyone who cares to listen.

  “Can we trust these natives?” Darius sends privately to Pollux. Darius is taller and darker than Pollux and stands straighter.

  “These, sure. They want to stay out of this. They don’t like disruption. There’s grumbling about it.”

  “We’re not here to disrupt the natives.”

  “We might need to do that.”

  Now they are close enough to talk.