Finches of Mars (4 page)

5

The Shape of the UU

Mangalian had had a say in the positioning of this, the settlement, and even the universal sale of its photographs. Under his guidance, the UU's Mars enterprise progressed rapidly.

He showed undoubted flair. NASA/Beijing had a stable organisation with a patient professional ability to plan projects which would not come to fruition until years later. The UU formed a union with NASA, and benefitted from this planning. The UU/NASA union instigated a raft of interviews and examinations, dedicated to continuous selection of those of either sex prepared to prove themselves good citizens of a distant planet. Only the educated and adventurous need apply. ‘The wise and the wild,' as news shriekers had it.

The Union issued non-return certificates to those whose credentials had been accepted. Many had already taken up their situations in the Tharsis region, in the towers, accepting that there was no return to planet Earth. Potential colonists continued to join.

Only four years later, a dedicated worker from Mangalian's main office, Rosemary Cavendish, went to Mars herself. She adopted the humbler name of Noel. A new department in UU/NASA had suggested that terrestrial names should be replaced by computerised names for use on Mars. It symbolised a new beginning, and a marginal amount of finance would be saved. For a while this system was used, eventually to be abandoned in the face of the confusion it caused. Too many people were rejecting their new name from the start.

Rosemary/Noel had an important role in Mangalian's grand theatre. She was made Director of the West tower immediately after her arrival there.

So the colonisation process continued towards its remarkable outcome.

A few years passed. Bernard Tibbett and his partness Lulan entered the scene. Lulan was a retired President of Harvard University and Bernard Head of Harvard Business School. Tibbett was voted official banker
^*
and President of World UU. A short sharp man, he became known for his energies as the Terrier. His partness—a woman intolerant of weakness—was the Grey Wolf. People—‘the great un-castrated' in the Grey Wolf's words—should not mourn at funerals but celebrate—one more over-populator, one more consumer, less.

This forbidding couple had more than money and status invested in the distant Martian towers. The Terrier had a younger sister, once called Dolores, but now on Mars and renamed Sheea. Sheea, the Terrier learnt, was now pregnant, despite only having been on the planet a few months. Curiously, no name of the inseminator had been given. Good care was being taken of her. Sheea had been moved to the West tower gestation ward and was on a special diet. Everyone was hoping for a successful birth.

Tibbett was making a speech when the news that his distant sister was going into labour came through. The Terrier was immediately anxious for his sister's well-being, but had to attend to the meeting.

The delegates were at a regular committee. On this occasion the honoured guest, Barrin, was attending. Barrin appeared in a wheelchair. He had been on Mars and returned to Earth. The King of England had given him a medal especially coined for the occasion. Barrin vowed to go back to his colleagues on Mars, but his legs were unlikely to permit it. More significant, he was having problems with breathing. His lungs had already been equipped with a chemical pump.

‘We of UU,' said Tibbett, stroking his chin and frowning, ‘constantly worry about the expense of sustaining the Mars operation. Rightly so. We need better vehicles, more space planes, to carry larger cargoes. We might then be able to drastically reduce the present number of trips, thus keeping to a minimum the number of expensive rockets lying unused on Tharsis. If even a half of the investment spent on military matters—now that the morally unjustified, short-sighted invasion of Kazakhstan and the bombing of Alma Ata is over—was invested in the construction of better space vehicles with more effective propellant systems … Well, as you know, experiments are taking place in Chenggong. A prospectus to this effect is already being drawn up.

‘We must noise it in the press and the squealers and shriekers, otherwise the news will be suppressed. We are already at the planning stage.'

After a brief coffee break, the Principal of the University of South Africa rose to protest that volunteers for visits to Mars were forced as they would not be allowed to return to Earth. ‘This is a punitive feature­ of the deal. We would have many more volunteers if they could return after, say, a six month stay.'

The delegate from Oxford University responded. ‘Those who make the decision to go to Mars must leave Earth as exiles. It would prove impossible to finance such comings and goings as proposed; the expense would defeat our objectives. Besides which, this restriction on movement simply excludes the faint-hearted. We need only the brave and wise to begin habitation. Soon, children, we hope, will be born on Tharsis. They will be the guarantors of our serious intentions.'

A murmur of agreement went round the chamber. Of course—children! Without children, no future, no permanence …

But therein lay a tragic history, so far suppressed.

Other matters brought other disputes. Tibbett summed up one of them.

‘We applaud the strong measures being taken by our colleagues in South China's universities for their new decision to curb population growth. I know that when Miss Ban Mu Kai takes over my position as president in October, she will support and amplify our recent report on Sub-Saharan Africa, still the region with the most profligate birth rates and lowest average life-spans.'

A woman from the University of Hawaii rose to her feet and protested that much more and not much less should be done to educate the women of Africa.

Tibbett was unmoved. ‘Colonial incursions into Africa in the nineteenth century only made a bad situation worse.

‘It is up to this region to solve its own problems. In the past, millions have been squandered on aid, almost always to zero effect. Throwing money at corruption is worse than useless. Intervention, interference, of any kind, whether criminal or benevolent, should be proscribed, subject to legal penalties.'

At this point there was another word from the floor. Barrin himself raised his hand. ‘Sir, I am here from Mars to attend this and other world meetings. My name is Barrin. If I interpret your statement correctly, you encourage the UU to leave Africa to its ills unaided. Against such ruthlessness, it would appear that we of the Mars project also have much to fear in the way of withdrawal of necessary funding.'

‘You are welcome here, sir,' said the Terrier, addressing Barrin. ‘But your fears are—and I intend no pun—groundless. When the UU established themselves as a group with an identity, the Mars project—suggested by Mangalian and supported by NASA/Beijing—was the very first item on the agenda, and has remained so. And will remain so.

‘The success of the UU Mars project is absolutely vital for this troubled planet too.

‘I will remind you and everyone here that we were prompted into our existing unification by the continuing increase in population figures. The global population has been increasing since as far back as 1350, but it has only been in the last century, with better medical care and longer fertility, that it has become frightening—truly unbearable. We are living crushed together, stacked on top of each other. Existence has become miserable. As our colleague, Lee Kuan Shi, remarked—an oft-quoted saying—“We gotta get outta here!”'

A ripple of pleasure passed through the audience on hearing this old refrain. During the days when the pressure to establish the Mars base was at its most fervent, ‘We gotta get outta here!' became a slogan that helped win the day.

Addressing Barrin directly, Tibbett said, ‘We will schedule your preliminary report for the afternoon session. You will be able to speak at 4 p.m.'

He then continued with his main summary. ‘Problems are mounting up. The USA's UU Bureau of Statistics reports an increase in the incursions of super-bugs, widespread food shortages and lack of drinkable water. And, as we know, bee populations are nearly wiped out, and attempts to artificially replicate their ecological role have failed. Life expectancy continues its upward climb in the West, with declining tolerance for anyone over the age of ninety-five. We must make our decisions on this issue, and—Excuse me!'

His squealer was ringing. Lifting it to his ear, he said that he had given instructions he was not to be disturbed.

A message was quietly delivered. Tibbett sat staring down at his desk. Then, seeming to pull himself together, he beckoned Barrin closer to the podium. He spoke to him behind a sheltering hand.

‘You should inform the audience,' Tibbett said. ‘It's my sister but it's your province. This is good news. Let's use it to balance the bad news.'

Barrin protested. The Terrier insisted.

Swivelling the wheelchair, Barrin turned to face the audience. He spoke, with a tremor in his voice.

‘I know this family on Tharsis. The partness' name is Sheea. He's Phipp. Sheea has borne a living child. A living child! We rejoice at this news.'

The response of the audience was mixed. Many were simply pleased. A few, better informed, remained sceptical.

Barrin continued.

‘Some of you academics may know this but thousands of ordinary people have been kept in ignorance. But I must now state plainly that until this child of Sheea's arrived alive, no woman on Tharsis has ever borne a living child. Baby bodies were born broken, distorted, dead …'

He paused to choke back tears. ‘Yes, broken, dead, some with no legs, some with eggshell skulls, one of them with no brain at all …

‘The President has said I should tell you this. So far, only eighty-five babies have been born in the West tower. And all were stillborn.'

There were some aghast cries from the audience at his words.

‘Yes, still-born. Eighty-five. Malformed, as I've said. The grief of it … impossible to describe.'

A woman in the audience shouted, ‘How did this happen? How could it happen?'

Barrin could not go on. Tibbett took over, to continue in a slightly steadier voice. ‘The number of these miscarriages has tailed off, these last two years—simply because Tharsis women refuse to become pregnant, knowing, fearing, what the outcome will almost inevitably be.

‘Sheea is—we all believe—incredibly fortunate. Her child lives.

‘He was born only a couple of hours back. Sadly, he is deformed and is not well. We will keep this information from the public.

‘But the great thing is we have a living Martian child at last!'

Most of the audience rose and clapped. Then the questions began. Eighty-five stillbirths! How could it be?

^*
Here meaning mainly custodian of all wills and ordinances.

6

Mangalian Among the Ladybirds

A small courtyard behind one of the buildings of the Sorbonne in Paris contained an oak bench and table. The news of the birth had not yet reached Paris. Mangalian, unaware of the momentous news, was sitting relaxing on a bench. He had been guest lecturing to the Earth Sciences students on the colonisation so far, and the merits of going to live in what he had described as ‘the new old world' of Mars. After lunch, a debate had been held with Mangalian and Adrien Amboise on one side—for the necessity of the Martian venture—and a group of German and Chinese scientists on the other.

Sunshine bathed the courtyard with mellow light and warmth. In the cracks between the flagstones with which the courtyard was paved, small weeds had sprung up. In one of the cracks near Mangalian grew a little yellow flower with tiny spiked petals and a fuzzy rich heart the size of a baby's fingernail.

Mangalian was idly watching a ladybird. It crawled over the leaves of the weed to the flagstone, where it made haste to walk to the distant stalk of another weed. On reaching the stalk, the insect climbed it, opened its wing case, and flew away.

He wondered what impulse governed it. Could it feel contentment or discontent? On what did it feed? How would it die? He had not studied such matters, although he imagined the insects went from eggs to larvae to the adult form he had been watching. What could it feel like to undergo such a transformation? Would humanity undergo as dramatic a transformation on Mars? What might happen to Rosemary?—Rosemary who had taken flight just like the ladybird.

He realised at that point—as a man was approaching from the nearby building—that his ladybird had no spots on its wing-case. He had assumed that all ladybirds had spots. Possibly this was a new evolutionary variety, adapting to the environs of Paris.

The man approaching stood before Mangalian, smiling. This was Adrien Amboise, Professor of Medical Studies at the Sorbonne. Amboise was about forty-five, trim and sporting a small moustache. He wore a gown. His father had worked at the Max Planck Institute in Germany, where he had fallen in love with and married in old-fashioned style the elegant German woman whose researches led to the later discovery of the normon.

Mangalian admired both Adrien's father and his intellectually formidable mother. And, normally, would delight in conversation with Adrien. However, at the moment, he wanted only an hour's peace, but he rose and the men shook hands. ‘I apologise for interrupting your reverie.'

‘Don't worry. I was only thinking about ladybirds.'

Amboise looked confused. After a slight pause, he said, ‘I too am an admirer of the ladies.'

‘What can I do for you? Do you wish to apply to me for a life on Mars?' Mangalian was speaking jokingly, after relaxing in the sun and not feeling avid for conversation. He had been thinking of Rosemary Cavendish, regretting that he had been so chaste where she was concerned. But there had been a kind of hauteur in her manner. Well, all that was but a dream … Already, it was five years since Rosemary had left Earth for her Tharsis occupation.

‘Sadly, monsieur, the idea of living on Mars is a bad dream, so I have come to believe.' Adrien Amboise endeavoured to show regret. He stood there poised and graceful, in a suit, in the sun, smiling politely as he gazed at Mangalian, who had showed no inclination to get up from his chair. ‘I would support you in a debate, but that is not for me. Here on Earth, continual disturbance, distraction, disaster … but on Mars—what? Continual boredom … And the unresolved stillbirth problem …'

‘Yet to be on that silent planet, Adrien … Isn't that a wonderful success? Applied science … It's a dream that has been pondered for some centuries and is now more than just a dream—a waking dream which–'

‘Oh, of course for over two centuries there have been stories—as there have been ghost stories—what you may call the science fiction—but they are made for superficial adventure, as the often uninspired writing indicates–'

‘Ah, so you are not only a medico but a critic of literature!' Mangalian, with a curl of his lip, stared into the distance as he spoke.

‘No, no, no, but such tales had no true deliberation, only conveying thrills of conquest or doom. A shallow fiction …'

Mangalian would not let such a sweeping generalisation pass. ‘Well, sir, as a mere boy on San Salvador, I happened on a story by a Mr Wells. Later in life, I heard he was celebrated and respected, although he wrote of things that did not exist in reality. This particular book that caught my fancy was called
The War of the Worlds
, although I found it was rather “The War against Woking”, of which I had never heard until then. That story denigrates mankind. It is a chastisement, a real fiction, an analogy. There is no hero—or if there is a hero, then it is a bacillus.'

Amboise stared up at the sky, as if in the hope that his impatience might steam off to the troposphere. ‘But H.G. Wells was an exception. A chastisement, as you put it. It does not prove the rule. Immediately after Mr Wells's book appeared, an American journalist wrote a sequel in which a fleet of ships led by a Professor Edison went to Mars and knocked—what is your phrase?—yes, knocked hell from them … You see, no morality, just violence. The irony of Wells is lost amid all the aggression.'

Mangalian did not answer, merely sighing. Silence fell.

Amboise feared he had offended the visitor.

‘I do not object to fantasy, please understand me. Indeed, in my boyhood I read a story called
The Sword of Rhiannon
, set on an imaginary Mars. It was a romance pure and simple, aiming only at a pretty tale. In my memory the simple prose held no subordinate clauses, not one. I am no snob. I loved that story.'

Mangalian became stony-faced. ‘Have you another subject in mind to discuss?'