Текст книги "A Woman of the Iron People"

Автор книги: Eleanor Arnason

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He paused, frowning. “The changes were disturbing. We—I mean the crew—could barely handle the information we were getting, and we are—without a question—the most disciplined people on the ship. We had no idea what would happen if the rest of you woke up and heard. We imagined panic and a collapse of morale. Some people would want to run home, though home to what is a question. Others would fall apart. There would have been months of argument and a decline in the quality of work. It seemed to us that the expedition had to be protected. We took a vote—everyone who wasn’t frozen. We decided to change the messages.”

I opened my mouth.

He held up a hand. “Don’t ask questions. I don’t know how much time I have, and I want to tell you as much as possible.”

“Okay.”

“We started by changing history. That was comparatively easy. We drafted—I drafted—an alternative history, one we felt more comfortable with. After that it was a matter of searching and replacing. We told the computer system to look for certain kinds of events—and remove them and replace them with other kinds of events.”

He smiled. “I have to say, I have a new respect for liars, especially those who lived before computers. I have no idea how you can manage to rewrite history without a computer.”

“Why did you do it?” I asked. “What could possibly be so terrible about the messages from Earth?”

He sat next to one of the deck lights. I could see him clearly: a rectangular face, pale brown in color. His eyes were large and dark. His nose was high and narrow, with a slight curve. His mouth was ordinary. It was the eyes that dominated the face and the unruly curly hair, worn slightly longer than was fashionable among members of the crew.

“There are three things that matter to me: socialism, Marxism, and the Soviet Union. I don’t think that what I feel is chauvinism. It’s love for a place and pride in what the people there have done. How they fought again and again, generation after generation, to build a society that really embodied the principles of socialism. They succeeded, though just barely. The revolution was not destroyed by Stalinism or Fascism or nationalism or even by the many crimes and the amazing stupidity of the apparatchiks. The people managed finally to create a society that was decent and just.”

“If it makes you feel better, we’ll tell you that your feeling is not chauvinism,” Derek said.

Agopian smiled. “My life has been built around socialism and Marxism and the Soviet Union. They are like coordinates. They give me a place in space and time. They give me a framework: moral, intellectual, historical, social, and personal.

“When I think of losing them—it’s like being in space. Nothing is up or down. Nothing is near or far. There’s only darkness and the stars. Then you turn and the ship’s there or the Earth or a station. You are able to orient yourself. But what if you turned and saw nothing? Only more darkness and stars?

“There are no more countries on Earth or anywhere in the solar system. They have—the messages told us—abandoned outmoded categories such as ‘nation.’ They have abandoned outmoded categories such as ‘socialism.’ The ideas of the nineteenth century have a historical interest, but are no longer relevant. It is no longer possible to use the constructs of Marxism. They simply don’t work. That is what the messages said.”

He picked up his bottle of beer and shook it. “As far as I can tell, these people have no interest in any kind of system: political or economic or intellectual.” He stood up. “I need another beer. What about you?”

“What about Ivanova?” Derek asked.

He listened for a moment. “Still going strong. In any case I have given you the important information. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Beer,” said Derek.

Agopian went into the cabin.

“Is he telling the truth?” I asked.

Derek made the gesture of uncertainty.

Agopian came back and handed a bottle to each of us. He sat down and made a noise between a groan and a sigh.

I drank beer. “You said that you began by changing the history.”

He nodded.

“What else did you change?”

“You don’t have to worry about the personal messages. We did very little to them. Most came from the first two or three decades of our journey. Do you ever think about the people who sent the messages? Our friends. Our families. They knew the people on the ship were frozen. They knew when we awoke, they would be dead.

“Obviously, in time, most of them gave up. Five years. Ten years. Only the fanatics sent much after that. We had moved out of their history and out of the space they knew. We became unreal to them.

“Those messages represented no danger at all. They were chatty and informal, disorganized, full of family news, exactly what you’d expect from Mother or Sister. We had to take out a few references to historical events. Otherwise nothing.”

He paused. “Some of the factual material was okay. Such and such star has just gone nova. We have discovered a new kind of life on Titan.

“But the theories! I told you these people have no interest in any kind of framework. That is problem number one. Number two is—they don’t seem to distinguish between fact and fiction—or between material that is relevant and everything else. Some of the messages sound like poetry. Others are stories with no point that I can find. Others sound like gossip or like a group of proverbs. And others are a string of unrelated facts that don’t even belong to the same discipline.

“And intermixed with everything is junk: stupid jokes and ancient legends and holographic pictures of who knows what? The families of strangers. A vacation hotel on Mars.

“These are the messages from the scientists! Half the time they sound like some crazy old lady you meet in the park who has a theory about astrology and history. Or like the man who comes to fix the plumbing and explains the true cause of the latest viral plague. ‘It all comes from Titan. They got things up there ya wouldn’t believe. Doncha watch the holo? Listen to me, someday a bug’s coming down—make AIDS look like nothing. Hand me the wrench.’ ”

Derek grinned.

“It isn’t funny!

“We tried to turn those messages into something that made sense. To give them a theoretical framework, to fit them into a system. It wasn’t easy. We had to defrost a few scientists, people we thought would be reliable. Even they had trouble—especially the physicists. They said the physics theory is absolutely crazy.” He smiled. “But interesting, they said, though they were not comfortable with the randomness or the requirement that various gods intervene, usually at the beginning or end of the universe, though gods are—I think—also required in order to explain the behavior of certain kinds of particles.”

“Why are you telling us this?” asked Derek.

Agopian drank more beer. “I have been thinking about the men who worked for Stalin, taking the old Bolsheviks out of the photographs one by one as they were purged.

“The people who did these things had good reasons. Maybe not good to you or me, but convincing to them. The revolution was isolated and in danger. It had to be defended against its enemies, who took every setback, every quarrel and flaw, and made it monstrous.

“They were trying to protect the revolution when they clipped Leon Trotsky out of Ten Days That Shook the World.

“The trouble is—they were wrong, and they helped to destroy the expedition.”

“What?” I said.

“I mean the revolution.”

Derek made the gesture that meant “you are absolutely nuts.”

“What does that mean?” asked Agopian.

“You people are crazy.”

Agopian nodded. “That’s right. And that is what I’m going to tell Ivanova. It has to stop. I’m not entirely certain what she will do. I want other people to know what is going on.”

“You think she will harm you?”

“Accidents happen. There were people on the crew who refused to go along with the plan. We froze them.”

“Forcibly?” I asked.

He nodded.

“There is a two percent chance of irreversible major damage,” I said. “That’s on the first time a person is frozen. Every time after, the damage rate goes up.”

He nodded again. “It’s possible that I’m a murderer. I think about that a lot. I’m not against killing per se. There are times when it is justified. But I don’t think this is one of those times.”

He took another swallow of beer, then set the bottle down and leaned forward. “I want to give Ivanova a chance to—what? Turn herself in, I guess. I don’t like the idea of being a fink. But I don’t want to give her the chance to eliminate me.”

“Are you serious about this? Do you really think you’re in danger?”

“I think there’s a possibility. Not large. There’s no way for her to freeze me here. And I don’t think she’s likely to kill me. But we have been playing a lot of stupid games.” He paused and tilted his head. “They’re done talking. I’d better get back.” He stood.

“Is this a moral issue?” asked Derek. “Have you decided that lying is wrong?”

Agopian grinned. “That’s an unusual question for you to ask.”

Derek waited.

Agopian said, “I do not like to think that I’d fit into the era of Joseph Stalin. And I don’t think we can get away with it. There has been too much lying, and it has involved too many people. It’s only a matter of time before somebody talks—or somebody figures out what has been going on.” He walked to the railing, then turned and looked back. “I kept the messages. When people see them, they are not going to want to go home.” He went over the railing and onto shore. A minute or so later I heard his voice, greeting someone on the other boat.

Derek said, “This is not a situation that can be handled with beer. This calls for wine. Or maybe brandy.” He got up and collected the bottles and went into the cabin.

I sat quietly, listening to Agopian speaking in Russian. His voice was light and quick and fluent. Ivanova’s rich contralto answered him. They were not talking about anything serious. I could tell that by the tone.

Derek came back with two glasses of wine. He gave me one.

“He isn’t a practical joker, is he?” I asked.

“No. And I can’t imagine that a compulsive liar would have gotten on the ship. I think we can assume he’s telling the truth.”

“Amazing!”

“It certainly is that.” He sat down and leaned his shoulders into the chair. “It explains some oddities in the information from home.”

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“Drink this wine, then go to bed.”

I frowned.

“He isn’t going to have his confrontation tonight. Eddie is there and Mr. Fang. He’ll want to get Ivanova alone.” He drank a little wine. A bug with scarlet wings drifted down into the light. It landed on the rim of his wine glass. He smiled. The bug remained for a minute or so, waving its wings. Then it took off again, floating over the railing into the darkness above the river.

“I think—tomorrow—we had better tell Eddie. We owe him that. If Mesrop is right, the messages are going to change how people think about this planet. It’s possible that we may be looking for a new home.”

“Here?” I asked.

“Maybe. The trip home is over a hundred years. We’ll be two and a half centuries out-of-date. Maybe things will have swung back by then. I doubt it. History may be a helix. It is not a circle. We never return to the place where we began.”

“You sound like a Marxist.”

He stood up, grinning. “Those sad out-of-date people?” He set down his glass. It was still half-full of wine. “Poor stupid Agopian! Good night.”

He entered the cabin. I finished my drink, then followed him, shutting off the lights.

I undressed in darkness, unfolded a bed, and lay down. How could I sleep? I listened to the breathing of my companions and thought about home. The Free State of Hawaii. The Great Lakes Confederation. Alta California. Nuevo Mexico. Gone. All gone. The nations and tribes of North America.

I woke and found the cabin empty, got dressed and went outside. Eddie and Derek sat drinking coffee. There was a pot on the table and an empty cup. I filled the cup, then sat down.

A lovely morning! Clouds floated over the valley, bright in the early sunlight. The river was in shadow. It gleamed dark brown, like bronze.

“Where is the oracle?” I asked.

“Up at the village,” Derek said. “He’s getting food. Tatiana went with him. She wanted another look at the natives in situ.”

I glanced at Eddie. His expression was unusually somber. “Have you told him?”

Derek made the gesture of affirmation.

“What are we going to do?”

Eddie said, “I’d like to keep the story quiet, but I don’t think it’s possible.”

“You would?” I drank a little coffee, then leaned back in my chair. Was there any pleasure equal to coffee on a cool summer morning?

Well, yes. But this wasn’t the time to make a list.

“If I understand correctly, Mesrop says we won’t fit in on Earth. I think we are going to hear arguments in favor of staying here and establishing a colony.” He paused. “They must have been crazy. It doesn’t make sense to me. There was no way they could keep a secret that big. There was no way they could succeed in rewriting that much history.” He paused again. “I think I can understand what Agopian is doing now. He’s pushing us toward intervention.”

I made the gesture of disagreement. “I don’t think he’s plotting. I think he’s trying to get out of a plot.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Derek said. “And never think he does anything for simple reasons. He’s a dangerous man. He thinks ideas are important.”

“Don’t you?” I asked.

“Ideas are fine to play with in a university. But they don’t have a lot to do with life. I can’t imagine killing for any kind of abstraction. And I certainly would not sacrifice myself. Agopian would. He has.”

Eddie said, “What are you and Derek going to do? That’s what I want to know.”

I looked at him.

“Are you going to tell this story to the people at the camp?”

“No.”

Eddie looked surprised—and hopeful, if I was reading his expression right.

“That’s up to Agopian. If he decides to keep quiet, or if anything happens to him, Derek and I will tell. Otherwise, no.”

“Scratch plan A,” said Derek. “Which is to shut up Agopian in one way or another. Lixia, you’re closer to the coffee.”

I refilled his cup.

“There’s no escape, Eddie. Agopian’s going to make his big confession. And we’re going to start to think about staying on this planet. He made Earth sound really unpleasant.”

“He might be wrong,” said Eddie. “Or lying. There’s no reason to believe him.”

I leaned forward. “He kept copies of the messages. The original ones. The data is—are—there.”

“He must have the biggest personal file on the ship,” said Derek.

“He could have altered those messages. Maybe they’re the fake ones.”

Derek said, “You’re suggesting that Agopian’s story is a lie, and that he has been spending his spare time creating a fake history of Earth—which he’ll now present as the real, suppressed history.”

“Why not?” asked Eddie.

“It’s a wonderful paranoid fantasy. But when we start looking, we’re going to find his instructions to the comm system. We’ll delete them and then we’ll start to get messages that have not been changed. There’s no way Agopian can fix the information that’s still in transit. He may have been able to change the past. He can’t change the future.”

Eddie shook his head. “I still don’t understand why they did it. If Agopian is telling the truth.”

“Why did you ask us to change what Ivanova said when we translated for her?” I asked.

He looked angry. After a moment he said, “I will do what I have to, to keep the people here from suffering the way my people have suffered.”

“They were trying to save the expedition,” Derek said. “And—I think—they were trying to save what they could from the past. They didn’t want us to lose what had been lost on Earth.” He stood up. “I think it’s time for breakfast.” He went into the cabin.

Eddie and I sat in silence, drinking coffee.

Derek came back out with muffins, butter, jam, and a fresh pot of coffee.

We ate. When we were done, Eddie stood. “I’m going to talk to Ivanova and Mr. Fang. We have to decide when we’re going to leave.”

I gathered the dishes and took them to the galley, washed up and went back on deck. Derek had gone off somewhere. My early morning happiness had disappeared. Now I felt tense and a bit depressed. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to camp. There was going to be a truly enormous fight. I liked Agopian. Now he had turned into someone I didn’t recognize. I had thought I knew my planet’s history. But it was changing and vanishing—like what? Fog or mist. My past was burning off.

I decided to go up to the village.

It felt different today. There was an undercurrent of tension. Nothing I could point to exactly. Something in the way that people moved, something in the way they spoke or didn’t speak.

It made me uncomfortable. I went to the edge of the village and wandered there, avoiding people and watching the bugs in the vegetation. The day grew hot. The air smelled of dung and the dry plain. Now and then the wind blew the odor of wood smoke to me.

So much beauty!

So much beauty!

Why do we waste our time?

I did my yoga, looking out at the plain, then turned and saw a dozen children. There were little ones like cubs—round and fat and naked except for their fur—and lanky ones like colts—edgy, full of energy, ready to run. These last wore clothes: faded tunics and ragged kilts. Play clothes.

One of the older children asked, “What are you doing?”

I didn’t know the word for “exercise” or the word for “meditation.”

“I am pulling out my body and pulling in my mind.”

“Hu! You are strange!”

“That might be.”

I asked them their names. They told me. They asked me when I was leaving. I said I didn’t know.

“Tell us before you go,” said one. “We want to go down to the river and see your boats that move on their own.”

Another one—a little one—said, “Like fishes! Like lizards!”

“All right.”

I walked back through the village. The children accompanied me. They were silent most of the time. Now and then one would speak.

“That is my mother’s tent.”

“I shot a bird with my new bow.”

“What is it like to have no hair?”

“Cool,” I said. “I am able to feel the wind.”

“But in the winter, you must be cold.”

I made the gesture of agreement.

“I’d rather have fur.”

We reached the far side of the village, and the children gestured farewell.

Agopian was on my boat, sitting on the deck. Derek and Eddie and Ivanova sat with him.

I climbed onboard.

“We were waiting for you,” Derek said.

Agopian said, “It’s done.”

“I am not happy with Mesrop’s precautions,” Ivanova said. “He’s acting as if I am some kind of criminal.”

Agopian looked up. “Elizaveta, we have broken laws.”

“For good reasons.”

“That is something I’m having trouble understanding,” I said. “What were the reasons? And where is the beer?”

“The usual place,” said Derek. “Get one for me and Agopian.”

When I came back out Ivanova said, “You will understand when you hear the messages. Socialism does not mean a reduction of everything to the lowest common denominator. It means giving people the freedom to achieve their full potential. It means a lifting of humanity. An ennobling.” She paused. “How long did it take us? Four centuries? Two hundred years of struggle to end that horrible system and two hundred years of hard work to clean up the mess that it left behind. How many people died of hunger or were poisoned by all the different kinds of pollution? Have you ever looked at the statistics on starvation and disease?

“How many people were murdered because they wanted a union or a free election? Or something very simple. The right to decide whom they were going to love. The right to decide how many children they were going to bear.

“All that suffering—those generations of struggle.” She had been looking down. Now she lifted her head. There were lines in her face that I didn’t remember.

“We thought we had won. When we left Earth, when we began this journey, it seemed that humanity was about to achieve a golden age. A true socialist society.

“We woke at the edge of this system and found—I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Garbage,” said Agopian. “It’s as if the lowest and worst human thinking had become predominant. It really is awful, Lixia.”

“You rewrote the messages because you didn’t like them,” I said. “History hadn’t turned out the way you wanted it to. So you tried to remake it. Undo it.”

“No,” said Ivanova.

Agopian said, “Maybe.”

Ivanova frowned at him, then looked at me. “What is going to happen next?”

“We’ll go back to camp, and you and Agopian will tell your story.”

She looked at Eddie. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“No. But I can’t see any way to shut up Lixia and Derek and Agopian.”

“There isn’t any way,” I said. “I won’t go along with a lie of this magnitude.”

Agopian looked at me. He seemed a little drunk. “You are tougher than I am, Lixia, and more in love with abstractions. Truth. Beauty. Integrity. You’ll destroy us all for those words.”

“You are in no position to criticize,” Ivanova said.

I looked at Eddie. “When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow. Early. You and Derek ought to go up to the village and say good-bye formally.”

Derek made the gesture of disagreement. “Angai said no more men. I think she’s serious.”

“The oracle is up there.”

“He’s holy. I’m not. I’m taking Angai at her word.”

“I’ll go up,” I said. “After lunch and after a swim. Does anyone want to come with me?”

“Swimming?” asked Derek.

“To the village.”

“I will,” said Ivanova. “If Eddie thinks it’s all right.”

“I think we’ll put off arresting anyone until we’re back in camp. I don’t know the procedure, and I don’t really want to call and ask. It’d lead to a lot of questions.” Eddie looked around. “Do the rest of you agree?”

Derek and I nodded.

Ivanova said, “I think I’ll refrain from voting on this question.”

Agopian nodded. “I’m abstaining, too.”

“You might as well go,” Eddie said to Ivanova.

“Thank you.”

Derek and I made sandwiches. We ate, and I went for a swim. The water was cool. The river washed away a lot of my tension. I felt like floating down it, away from the village and the boats, away from all these people and their arguments. Of course, if I went far enough, I’d float into the middle of the lizard migration. I swam back and climbed onboard, grabbed a towel and tucked it around me.

Tatiana was back, sitting on the rear deck with Ivanova and Agopian. There was a bowl of fruit on the folding table next to her. Oranges, bananas, and bright green apples. A heap of orange peelings lay next to the bowl. The air was full of the aroma of orange.

Tatiana spoke in Russian, quickly and eagerly.

“What happened to the oracle?” I asked.

She glanced at me. “He stayed in the village. He was with someone. A large person with reddish fur in plain clothes.”

Nia.

I went into the cabin and got dressed.

When I came out, Ivanova stood up. We climbed the bluff together.

There were children outside the village. They were standing facing the wind, holding their hands out, the palms forward.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You told us you could feel the wind. Our palms have no hair. We are feeling the wind and trying to understand what it would be like to feel that way all over.”

I translated for Ivanova. She laughed. “They will have no trouble. It is the adults who’ll be afraid and fight change.”

The children stayed at the edge of the village, playing their game of pretending to be hairless. Ivanova and I walked to the main square. Angai was there, sitting under her awning. Nia and the oracle were with her.

I made the gesture of greeting.

Angai made the gesture that meant “sit down and stay awhile.”

We seated ourselves in the shadow of the awning. The wind blew dust around the square.

“We are leaving in the morning,” I said.

“Good,” said Angai. “When you are gone, people will stop worrying. After a while this visit will seem like a dream to them or like a story told by an old woman about something that happened a long time ago. Then you will be able to return. They will be less frightened the second time. But remember—when you come, bring only women and make sure they are clever and sensible.”

I translated for Ivanova.

She said, “Give Angai our thanks. Tell her, we will do as she asks. Tell her, when we come again we will bring many gifts and stories and no men.”

I told Angai.

She made the gesture of acknowledgment. “I think this will turn out well, though I should not have gotten angry last night. Now I will have to find a way to make Anhar happy.

“Go now and take the oracle. I will ask the spirits to take care of you.”

I made the gesture of gratitude. “That’s it,” I said to Ivanova. “She wants us out of the village.”

We stood. So did the oracle. He had a big lumpy leather bag: his food.

I looked at Nia. “What about you?”

“I will stay here for another day or so. Then I plan to go north and visit Tanajin.”

“After that?” I asked.

She made the gesture of uncertainty, stood up and hugged me. A tight hard hug that left me breathless.

“Come to our village,” I said.

She made the gesture that meant “maybe.”

“Go,” said Angai.

The oracle started off. Ivanova and I followed.

When we reached the children again, they were playing with a ball. So much for the game of hairlessness.

I said, “We’re leaving in the morning. Close to dawn, I think. Come down then if you want to see our boats.”

“We will,” one of the children said.

We walked to the edge of the bluff. Ivanova stopped and looked back at the village and the plain.

“Come on,” the oracle said.

“The oracle is impatient,” I said.

“I want to remember this.”

She stood for another minute or two. The oracle fidgeted. I waved him on. Finally she looked at me. “I have not been especially clever in the last year. But I am not stupid. I have a good idea of what is going to happen to Mesrop and me.”

She went down the bluff, following the oracle.

They would be tried for crimes against democracy and for endangering the lives of the people they had frozen. Maybe for murder. We had no provision for rehabilitation and no place to send people who had committed serious crimes. The only thing we could do was freeze them until we returned to Earth or until our colony had evolved far enough to have a really advanced psychotherapeutic facility or a prison.

This might be the last time that Ivanova saw a native village or a landscape like this one. I took another look at the windy plain and the children chasing their ball. Then I followed Ivanova down the bluff.