Interference Page 25

  As dawn brightens, more people come to the dining hall. The Tens and Elevens arrive with open hostility toward each other. Zivon watches closely as two women argue, holding trays of steaming porridge and broth. I hear his feed a little more clearly with my own radio.

  “We’d have more lentils if we didn’t have to feed freeloaders.”

  “So put them on your team.”

  “What are they good for? The new ones can’t even walk.”

  Queen Thunderclap’s worker has arrived to fetch her breakfast. Queens rarely come to the dining hall in the mornings because they must manage their families.

  “Hey, Chirp,” the Eleven woman says, “tell your queen we need to talk about the Earthlings at a meeting tonight.”

  I do not know if he emits an emotion. He merely says, “Yes,” and places bread and fruit in his side baskets and grasps a tureen of porridge.

  “What do you think?” the woman adds. “Are the Earthlings worth it?”

  “I think not of such things.”

  “Right, your queen. What does she think?”

  “You will ask her.”

  “Tell her to send me some help for planting wheat. Because Glassmakers are good workers, not like Earthlings.” She looks at Zivon. He stares back. The signal fills with even more static, but since he is sending, not receiving, I do not think he has noticed. I can barely view what he sees.

  “I’ll plant wheat with you,” he says in good Classical English. “That’s why I came here this morning, to look for a team that wants me.”

  “Well, look who’s ready to work,” the Eleven woman says.

  “If you don’t want him on your team, I’ll take him.”

  “You’ll take him to bed, that’s what you mean.”

  I can hear almost nothing now.

  Zivon tries to send to another anthropologist, but the band is filled with too much static. Then I can no longer monitor anything.

  I check a few other Earthlings. We are cut off from each other.

  Toward the western edge of the city, Haus and Jose meet, apparently fortuitously. They try to speak to each other but cannot. Haus has never learned much Pax English. He routinely lets the network translate English for him, then he thinks of what he wishes to say and repeats the words the network gives him.

  He stares wide-eyed at Jose.

  “What is it?” Jose asks. He reaches up and clasps him on his shoulders. “What?”

  Haus points to his head. “No wirds. No radio. No traslide.”

  “Oh.” Jose’s body relaxes, but his eyes narrow. “No radio.”

  “I talk to Ernst.”

  “Yes,” Jose answers, and watches him leave.

  As Mirlo is about to enter the dining hall, Zivon rushes out. They are near a stalk, so I hear them clearly.

  “The network is down.”

  “So I’ve noticed. But technicians are working on it.”

  “But what do I do?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “But I can’t record it.”

  Mirlo taps his head and grins. “You’ll just have to remember it.”

  The Eleven woman asks Mirlo, “Do you want to come help plant wheat, too?”

  “Sorry, I’m supposed to check fruit with the rainbow bamboo.” His English is fluent. “We brought back some new fruit from the other place.”

  “New fruit?” She looks interested.

  “But take good care of Zivon here.” He pats him on the shoulder and enters the dining hall.

  I suspect that Zivon does not see the point of working in the fields if he cannot record it for research. However, he is surrounded by a work team, mostly Elevens and some Glassmakers. I know the leader. She will teach Zivon something about how Humans and Glassmakers work together. Humans do the tasks that require brute strength, and Glassmakers do more precise work, which is as it should be. Humans will plow and Glassmakers will plant. Zivon will doubt his claims of slavery.

  He barely takes three steps, though, before Pollux approaches, feeling his way on the pavement with his feet. “We can’t send! The system is down.”

  “I know that.”

  “I can’t see!”

  “I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already. Our operation is pretty primitive.”

  “I need to talk to you. In private.” He gropes out to take Zivon by the arm, and they back away, out of my hearing.

  The Eleven woman and her team grumble about him impatiently at the same time that a group of Tens leave the dining hall. They have a predatory look, alert and aggressive. No one would fight inside the building, naturally. Spring is the time when food stores are at their lowest and new harvests at their most distant. Everyone is careful with food, and even a spilled bowl of broth would feel like a notable loss.

  Now, however, they are all outside. I fear trouble, and I can do little.

  A Ten points at Zivon and Pollux. “There they go, thinking of things they can do instead of work.” He rubs his shaven head as a way to emphasize the generational differences.

  “He’s on our team,” an Eleven man answers.

  “The slow team.” The Tens laugh.

  “We have a new field. It’s harder work.”

  Another Eleven adds, “The lazy team, that’s you, not us.” Now the Elevens laugh.

  A crowd grows: Humans of different generations and Glassmakers of different families. Ladybird’s assistant worker squeezes in, watches for a little while, and dashes off. Good. I am sure he will get her.

  “Yeah, well, at least we won’t be the disease team,” a Ten says.

  Another Ten adds, “I spent five days in the clinic because of them.”

  An Eleven shouts, “The Earthlings found us a new well for the west.”

  Someone I can’t see says, “You were lazy since the day you were born.”

  An Eleven says, “I was on your team once. Ew, look, worms! Call the hunters! Stop working!”

  “At least we don’t break tools,” the Ten answers.

  “At least we know how to use tools.”

  “If I had a shovel, I’d smack you.”

  “You’ve got fists, old man. Just try.”

  The Eleven leader intervenes. “Hey, we’ve got work to do.”

  She gets shoved away. “I’ve got two good fists.”

  She shoves back. The two men jump on each other. A Ten woman shoves the Eleven leader, who answers with a slap. Someone from the crowd tries to pull them apart, and someone tries to pull that person back, and a worker rears up and smacks that Human on the back with a hoof, and another worker rams into the first worker, and then the fight grows exponentially.

  Pollux and Zivon shrink back between a building and one of my stalks for shelter.

  “We’re not safe,” Pollux says. His voice shakes.

  Zivon glances behind them. “We have a fast way out if we need it. That fight is about us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard them. I speak the language. I don’t rely on the system.”

  I smell Human blood. I have never seen anything like this before, and in my roots I can calculate only catastrophe.

  “Do you want to stay here?” Pollux says. “That’s my question. Or do you want to go home?”

  “Yeah, we’re splitting into sides like them, too. Hey, here comes Ladybird. She’ll stop this.”

  “How long before they start attacking us?” He grips Zivon’s arm with both hands.

  Ladybird tries to enter the battle and separate people, but she is pushed back and falls sprawling. Her assistant helps her up, and she sends him off running as soon as she is standing. Someone tries to hit her, and an elderly Generation 9 man shelters her with his body. But soon he is grappling with a Generation 10 woman. I had thought both Nines and Tens opposed the Earthlings. This fight is becoming chaos.

  “How long before we fight like this?” Zivon says. “Among each other? The side that wants to stay versus the side to leave now?”

  Pollux ignores that, although it
is a good question.

  Both Humans and Glassmakers are running toward the fight from other parts of the city, including queens with members of their families not yet involved. I have seen only one queen physically fight, and it was against a rogue fippolion. She killed the lion handily, to everyone’s surprise. Queens are deadly. I hope they come in peace.

  And Haus is coming too, stealthily, behind buildings and gardens, approaching Pollux and Zivon.

  “Psst, it’s Haus,” he whispers. The two jump. Haus laughs and gestures for them to come toward him, farther from the fight.

  “Go stop that,” Pollux orders, waving toward the melee.

  Haus laughs again. “Not without body armor,” he says, still whispering. “And a lot of backup. And robots. Water cannons, that might work. But us, we should just keep away. This is their problem.”

  “But we’re not safe!”

  “Quiet. They’ll hear us.”

  But with all the shouting and screeching, I am surprised they can hear each other.

  “Right now, we’re safe,” Haus says. “But later, I don’t know. And the network is down. They’re trying to fix it, but diagnostics aren’t working. They think it’ll be a while. We should be careful.”

  “Weren’t they doing regular maintenance?” Pollux asks.

  Zivon frowns at him. “Yes. Down here, at least. What were they doing on the ship? They seemed pretty lazy to me.”

  The seven queens have arrived and wade fearlessly into the combat. “Queen Cheery family here!” “Queen Thunderclap family, report!” each one calls to her family, and above the dust and blood, I can scent the call of come and obey and family identities. Their workers and majors dash to join them, sometimes running over Humans.

  “It’s the cavalry!” Haus laughs heartily.

  “This isn’t funny,” Pollux says.

  Zivon steps closer to get a better view.

  Once the queens have collected their families, they spread out, circling the fighting, and they send in majors to form lines between different sectors, as if they were cutting a round loaf of bread into wedges. Their speed and their coordinated communication through scent and screeched orders let them work quickly and effectively. Sometimes a Human or group of Humans tries to fight them, and although the Humans are taller and heavier, and a few even wield shovels or rakes, the Glassmakers leap out of the way, rear back and kick, or rake their clawed hands over Human knuckles, drawing blood.

  But they do not have to fight often. Although Humans outnumber them, they fight as individuals, and against coordinated efforts they are soon isolated by Glassmakers, who form chains around ever-smaller groups of Humans. Queens shout in unison, “You will not fight! You will stop and rest. You are always peaceful!”

  It is a sound like thunder. Fippokats in the city dash to hide or stop motionless. Bats veer away. Every Human not in the fight, even outside the walls, stops and looks around, at each other, and toward the noise.

  A queen motions to Ladybird, who has waded out of the chaos, and helps her stand on her back. By now it is quiet enough for her voice to be heard.

  “This is not the Pax way! We settle our differences by talking and voting. We don’t fight each other. We work together. Yes, we disagree, but we do it in peace and for the good of our city and its inhabitants.”

  “What about the Earthlings?” someone shouts.

  “I see no Earthlings here,” she says. “We have different opinions about them, but they aren’t here. They aren’t hurting us. We’re hurting each other. And what sense does that make?”

  She looks around, glaring, making eye contact, and some people look away. “Yes,” she says, “we have differences. And yes, we must air those differences. In the traditional way. And we will do that. But not here, not now. You have work to do. Go do it. Work hard and well. It’s spring, and spring is brief. Don’t waste time.”

  She glares around the area again.

  “Report to the medics if you need care,” she says. “Otherwise, form your work groups, go get breakfast, and get to work. If you disagree, do so peacefully. You’ll get your chance to be heard respectfully by all. Move!”

  She climbs off the queen and thanks her. The pungent scent of alert passes through the air. Most of the Glassmakers remain where they are, vigilant, but one family heads toward the clinic, helping limping Humans, and another family enters the dining hall. With murmurs and mutters, the Humans of various generations start to leave, although at least twice a Glassmaker moves quickly between a pair of angry Humans, making a stick-breaking noise whose meaning does not need interpretation.

  Haus whistles. “That was amazing work. I want them in my army.”

  “I told you they were dangerous,” Pollux says.

  Zivon says nothing, but he walks toward a member of the work group he had joined.

  “Are you with us?” Pollux calls.

  Zivon stops and stands still for several moments. Pollux cannot see the expressions that pass over his face, a variety of emotions ending with a thin smile. “Yes. Count on me.”

  Now Pollux smiles, briefly. He turns to Haus. “Why did you volunteer to go to Laurentia?”

  “You told me to.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did. And I told you I was already going.”

  “You did not.”

  “Well, I’m glad I went.”

  Pollux tenses his jaw, angry. He must think that Haus is lying. I would not have predicted such a reaction.

  “I’m glad I went,” Haus repeats, “even if it turned out bad. And I’ll be here to protect you from the bugs. But I want to learn more about them. I’m going to find Karola and talk to them.”

  He walks away and enters the plaza, where Humans are gathering and regrouping under the watch of Glassmakers, leaving Pollux fuming alone and blind. The queens have decreed that every work group will have at least one Glassmaker member. But I know the individual queens as well as workers and majors, and for all that they follow their queens, the workers and majors have conflicting opinions about the Earthlings, to say nothing of each other’s queens. Only if they stay united can they enforce peace. There is not quite one Glassmaker for every five Humans.

  The network remains totally silent, but the rhythmic static persists. I monitor what discussion I can among technical workers when they leave the crowded workshop and happen to stand near a stem. Nothing is working, they say. I do not understand the details except that the network has many parts that can operate independently, and with one part, they can examine the functioning of the overall system. But when they turn on that part, it turns itself off somehow. The core continues to operate but they cannot access it.

  Earthlings are coming to the workshop to see what is happening with the network and with the Pacifists. The Mu Rees cling together, hunched and trembling. Ernst speaks with them.

  “This outage will be temporary. Have you ever been alone before?”

  They shake their heads, almost in unison. One begins to cry, then the others. They sob, holding each other, terrified.

  The pilot Mosegi, now able to walk with two canes, motions to Om to speak privately. “We can’t fly without Abacus,” he says.

  “Obviously,” Om says. “That settles some things for now.”

  A technician who arrived with the orbital team is being half carried to the workshop by the astrophysicist. If the orbital Earthlings cannot leave without the network, they would have no logical reason to attack it. And yet, someone did, someone who understands the system well enough to disable it. That leaves someone in the original mission. Who?

  The technicians enter the workshop again, and soon there is a scream inside and shouting. Velma is helped out with a bleeding wound on the side of her head. Om has her sit and examines her.

  People are shouting inside, but not in argument. “Shut it off!”

  “It is!”

  “Disconnect the power!”

  “It won’t power down!”

  Finally Ernst come
s out and speaks to everyone waiting there. “The scanner camera has an armature. It suddenly swung and hit her. We don’t know why. Uh, we’re not making progress. That’s all I really know. The network is not coming online anytime soon. Sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I don’t know if it’s an hour or a day, probably a day at least. We’ll keep working.”

  “You heard him,” Om says. “We have our own work to do. And we must keep ourselves safe. I don’t have to tell you there is a division among the natives about our presence. At least one side will not be happy to know that we must remain until Abacus is repaired, although of course we wish to remain much, much longer. Meanwhile, don’t take risks. Try to remain in the company of other members of our team or with trusted Pacifists. Be aware that Glassmakers have stepped in as peacemakers, so you can go to them for protection. And to the extent you can, try not to be a burden on the Pacifists. I’m going to help with a team to plant yams. If you wish to help, report to the Meeting House. You will be assigned.”

  “But I can’t speak Classic English.”

  Om frowns. “Team up with someone who does.”

  And so they go off to their work, including Karola. She seems more subdued than ever, walking alone to the kitchen annex, where she usually helps wash dishes for an hour or two each day. She considers it a good way to practice her language and listen for news.

  Ladybird comes to me in the greenhouse.

  “I’m worried,” she says.

  “I am as well. I have never seen anything like this. There has been disagreement from the beginning. That is what meetings are for. I do not think the issue is really food since we have consistently harvested a surplus, so it is not as serious an issue as some say. Instead, I fear some of the disagreement is irrational.”

  She laughs without humor. “Irrational. Yes. Can you watch closely today?”

  “I am doing that. I see teams starting to work, each with a Glassmaker watching it carefully, but that is all. Except that there is no singing today.”

  She nods. “What about this network thing?”

  “It has been attacked and damaged, apparently. Earthlings cannot use it to communicate. But I think I can communicate to them with my radio, although I, too, hear static. I do not have the ability, the technical skill, to enable them to communicate with each other like the network.”