Alien Earth. Megan Lindholm

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СКАЧАТЬ The Conservancy had ruled them environmentally dangerous, and the captain, ultimately responsible for his ship’s conduct, had undergone complete Readjustment and two years of intensive environmental respect classes. Nowadays, the same raw materials routinely came into the dirty-tech stations for processing, under the supervision and taxation of the Conservancy. John idly wondered what Chester was doing now; whatever it was, it wouldn’t have anything to do with marinering.

      John tried to sigh away the uneasiness the thought gave him. He wished he could just get a contract and be out of here. Too many rules in the stations, and if John was going to bend any of them, he was going to do it for his own benefit, not for some big corporation that would leave him to take the heat if things went bad. He didn’t need that kind of complications in his life. He didn’t need any complications in his life.

      In fact, the older he got, the less time he liked to spend in port. The light and bustle of the corridor was already making him think longingly of the privacy of the Waitsleep womb and the quiet of Evangeline’s crew quarters. He still had his pickup of Ginger’s wares and his rendezvous with Andrew to look forward to. Even those errands carried some nerve-wracking risks of their own. About the only thing he was actually looking forward to was a visit to a semiscrupulous dealer for a rather esoteric poetry recording that he intended especially for Tug’s edification. He grinned at the thought, and found Deckenson was smiling back up at him, in mistaken interpretation of John’s expression.

      “So, do you approve of the changes in living conditions here? We’ve been instrumental in lobbying against the Conservancy’s ridiculous ban against all but sentient life-forms in station corridors. Quite a switch from when you were a boy, I imagine. The plants make quite a difference, don’t they?”

      “Yes. They do,” John replied awkwardly. He hoped Deckenson hadn’t been talking about anything more important than interior decoration. He realized he hadn’t been listening to him. How could he, while wandering through this chaos? He wished the man would settle down somewhere and talk. But no, first it had been a meeting at his office, which accomplished little more than actually making contact with this representative of Earth Affirmed, and being endlessly introduced to office staff. He’d expected to have to sit through some kind of negotiating meeting there, but abruptly Deckenson had insisted that he and John had to go out to lunch. They’d been walking now for twenty minutes but Deckenson showed no signs of stopping.

      “You’re impatient with us, aren’t you?” Deckenson suddenly asked, as if he had read John’s mind. He didn’t wait for John’s cautious nod. “That’s in our files about you; that you have an impatient nature. It’s a fault, John, one you should work on. At least, for our business, it is. Think on this …”

      And he was off again, looking all around and talking as they walked, so John could barely follow his words. Earth Affirmed seemed to have an affinity for garrulous, busy little men. Their last representative had been just like this; he could have been Deckenson’s clone. John began to believe he’d have turned down their last two offers even if he hadn’t had Norwich’s contract.

      “Earth Affirmed has had to be patient. Even to gain these small concessions from the Conservancy has taken lifetimes. Patience, John. It’s one of our virtues, and the chief reason why we still exist, so many years after Earth’s Evacuation. We’ve been here since the very first Humans came to Castor and Pollux; we’re a contemporary of the Conservancy itself, if you would credit it. Very few other Human institutions have managed to exist as long as we have, and most of them were religious organizations that merged into the Conservancy’s philosophy; scarcely separate entities at all anymore. But Earth Affirmed has stood firm. All we’ve had was our dream and our patience to sustain us. It’s our sense of mission that’s kept us going. A mission that’s needed a certain kind of man to reach fulfillment. And now, we think, we may have our man.”

      He looked up at John suddenly as he said this, and there was such fervent hope in the man’s face that John drew back from him. Looks like that always meant the same thing. Someone was about to put grapplers on you and hold on, to depend and ask favors and demand promises. It was a look no Mariner could fairly accept or return. To see it on this businessman’s face was doubly unsettling.

      If Deckenson noticed John’s withdrawal, he didn’t comment on it. “The restaurant’s here,” he declared suddenly. “Let’s go in.” Without waiting for John’s response, he ducked into a doorway nearly obscured by a vine trellised over it. John followed, ducking more deeply than Deckenson had.

      Deckenson was already following the host to a table. John fell in behind him. Damn. The whole place was scaled down to the size the Human race had become. The walkways between the tables were narrower, the tables lower, the chairs more spindly than any John had ever seen. All the furniture and screens were of woven tika vine, hardened with tika syrup into a glossy finish. He’d never seen it used for chairs and tables before, and wondered if it would take his weight. He felt disoriented, like the time he had wandered into an older part of Evangeline’s gondola and encountered the formidable couches and work surfaces his ancestors had used. Only this was like being invited into a creche’s playroom. Eyes turned to him as he passed. He hadn’t felt stared at in the corridors, but here the attention was impossible to ignore. His close-cropped hair and traditional orange flight suit were enough to mark him as a Mariner; his hulking size advertised his great age as well. He wasn’t sure which trait was drawing all the attention.

      The host was very smooth about bringing a larger chair for John, but couldn’t do much about how low the table was. John waved off his apologies and accepted a small menu. He was studying its ornate print when he realized Deckenson was looking at him. John met his gaze.

      “Feels odd, doesn’t it? To be so big in a world of tiny people. Like you’re an outmoded piece of equipment. Obsolete. Archaic.”

      “So?” John asked coolly.

      “So I brought you here on purpose. To emphasize it. To get you thinking. What will you find next time you come back from space, John? People that look even more like children? Will you be able to walk among us, to sit in our chairs, to drink from our tiny cups? Look at me, John, and see what we’re doing to ourselves.” Deckenson held out his hands, spread-fingered, as if to emphasize the slenderness of his fingers, the delicacy of his pink nails, the fragility of his white wrist with the pale blue vein pulsing in it.

      John shrugged. “I’m a Mariner, Deckenson. It was my first option, and I’ve been with it for twenty-three years, my wake time. Yeah, every time I come back, things have changed more. But I’m adaptable to it. That’s why Mariner came out number one on my options.”

      “There are also the factors that you don’t form bonds easily, and don’t seem to regret not having any close personal relationships. Are not those also prime personality traits for a Mariner?”

      John took a sip of water from a narrow glass. “Of course. You say it like I should apologize for it.”

      “No. I merely think it odd, in a man whose second option was Poet. One would think a man with a predilection for poetry would be closely enmeshed with humanity. I always thought of Poets as speakers for their species.”

      It irritated John that they had somehow dug out this odd bit about him. Rubbed him worse that Deckenson placed importance on it. He wondered what else they knew about him. How intrusive were these people? His irritation came through in his reply. “Skill with words isn’t chained to love of one’s fellow man.”

      “Poetry is more than skill with words. The option tests for Poet are quite exhausting mentally, and very demanding emotionally. I ought to know. It’s my first option.”

      John should have known. “Really? Well, perhaps times have changed СКАЧАТЬ