Or maybe they had it backward. Birdie had a new insight. Maybe they had hung on, like him, for exactly as long as was necessary until a means of self-preservation came to hand. People who lived in the Dobelle system did not give in easily. They could not afford to.
Birdie pushed the wicker door of the one-story building open with his knee, wiped his muddy shoes on the rush mat in the entrance, and walked through to the inside room.
“Same thing again, I’m afraid: boiled Dowser, grilled Dowser, and fried Dowser, with a bit of Dowser on the side.” He placed the tray on a table of plaited reeds. “We’ll be eating this stuff for a while, until we can get the fishing boats back into service.” He removed the lid of the big dish, leaned forward, and sniffed. His nose wrinkled. “Unless it gets too rotten to eat. Not far to go, if you ask me. Come on, though, dig in. It tastes even worse cold.”
The man sitting in the chair beyond the table was tall and bony, with a bald and bulging head burned purple-red by hard radiation. His eyes, a faded and misty blue beneath bushy eyebrows, gazed thoughtfully up at Birdie and right through him.
Birdie wriggled. He had not really expected his cheerful comments to elicit a matching reaction from Julius Graves — they never had in the past — but there was no reason for the other man to look so mournful. After all, only a week earlier Graves had survived an experience over on Opal’s sister planet, Quake, that by the sound of it had been as harrowing as anything that Birdie had been through. The councilor ought to be filled with the same zest for life, the same satisfaction at being alive.
“Steven and I have been talking again,” Graves said. “He has me almost persuaded.”
Birdie laid down the message flimsy and helped himself to food. “Oh, yes? What’s he been saying, then?”
Steven Graves was another thing that Birdie found hard to take. An interior mnemonic twin was no big deal; it was something employed by a number of other Council members, an added pair of cerebral hemispheres grown and housed within the human skull and coupled to the original brain hemispheres via a new corpus callosum. All it did was provide an extended and convenient organic memory, slower but less bulky than an inorganic mnemonic unit. What it was not supposed to do — what it had never done before, to Birdie Kelly’s knowledge — was to develop self-awareness. But Julius Graves’s mnemonic twin, Steven Graves, not only possessed independent consciousness; on occasion he seemed to take over. Birdie preferred him in many ways. Steven’s personality was far more cheerful and jokey. But it was disconcerting not to know who you were talking to at any given time, and although Julius seemed to be in charge at the moment, in another second it might be Steven.
“For almost a week I have been summoning my energy to return to Miranda,” Graves said, “to report on my experiences here.”
And the sooner the better, matey, Birdie thought. But instead of speaking, he picked up the message flimsy that he had put down on the table, brushing off the dirt and dried black mud that had somehow found their way onto it.
“I had been oddly reluctant to do so,” Graves went on, “and I suspect that my instincts knew something denied to my forebrain. But now I think Steven has put his finger — metaphorically speaking — on the reason. It concerns the Awakening, and the ones who went off to Gargantua.”
Birdie held out the grimy message. “Speaking of Miranda, this came in about an hour ago. I didn’t read it,” he said, in an unconvincing afterthought.
Graves scanned the sheet, held it out between finger and thumb, and allowed it to flutter to the floor.
“According to reports I have had since Summertide,” he continued, “the awakening of the artifacts ended with that event. For years, Builder artifacts across the spiral arm had been showing signs of increased activity. But now all that stirring has come to an end, and the spiral arm is quiet again. Why? We do not know, but as Steven points out, Darya Lang insisted that the events of this Summertide have an influence beyond this planet, or even this stellar system. The Grand Conjunction of stellar and planetary positions here takes place only once every three hundred and fifty thousand years. Lang did not want humanity to be forced to wait that long for another awakening, and I agreed with her. When she and Hans Rebka decided to follow the sphere that emerged at Summertide from the interior of Quake, I did not oppose it. When J’merlia and Kallik requested permission to go to Gargantua also, to learn whether their former masters were living or dead, I encouraged them and took their side, although I felt in my heart that this was scarcely my business. My task was to return to Miranda and report on the case that brought me here in the first place. But—
“That’s what the message is all about.” Birdie dropped the pretense of ignorance. “They want to know why you’re still here. They ask when you’ll be leaving. You could be in a lot of trouble if you don’t reply.”
Julius Graves ignored him. “But what could be assigned to me on Miranda half as important as what may be happening out near Gargantua? To quote Steven again, if we return to Miranda we will surely be assigned to another case of interspecies conflict and ethical dilemma. But if the Builders are waiting out at Gargantua, as Darya Lang insists they must be, then the greatest interspecies meeting in the history of the spiral arm is waiting with them. The ethical issues could be vast and unprecedented, and all these events may be triggered by the arrival of Darya Lang, Hans Rebka, and the two slaves — unless they have already been precipitated by the earlier arrival of Atvar H’sial and Louis Nenda. In either case, my own future action is at last clear. I must requisition a starship and follow the others to Gargantua. I do not say this immodestly, but their interactions could be disastrous without the mediating influence of a Council member. I therefore ask your assistance in finding me such a starship, and in outfitting it suitably for the journey to Gargantua…”
Graves was maundering on, but Birdie was hardly listening. At last, they were going to be rid of a useless drone — for that’s what Julius Graves was proving to be, even if he did happen to be a Council member. If he wanted a ship, Birdie could not stop him, though Lord knows where they would find one, with everything in such a mess. Birdie would have to do it somehow, because a councilor could commandeer any local resources that he or she deemed necessary. Anyway, the temporary loss of a ship was a small price to pay to get rid of the distracting and the time-wasting influence of Julius and Steven Graves.
“… Mr. Kelly, as soon as possible.”
The mention of Birdie’s own last name jerked his attention back to the other man. “Yes, Councilor? I’m sorry, I missed that.”
“I was saying, Mr. Kelly, that I appreciate this to be a time of considerable stress for everyone on Opal. With Starside Port out of action, finding a working spaceship may call for considerable improvisation. At the same time, I hope that you and I can be on our way to Gargantua fairly soon — shall we say, in one standard week?”
“Me?” Birdie had not been listening right; he must have missed a key part of what Graves had been saying. “Did you say me? You didn’t say me, did you?”
“Certainly. I know that Gargantua and its satellites are already fifty million kilometers away and getting farther every minute, but they still form part of the Mandel system. I discussed the matter with Commander Perry, and although his own duties on Opal prevent him from traveling, he believes a presence from this planet’s government is important. He is issuing orders for you to accompany me on his behalf to Gargantua.”