‘I have heard with interest about the plans to transfer humans to this newly-discovered world. May I ask what plans you have to provide my people with slider machines so that we can occupy this great new resource as well? I understand that, with such a low population here, you may not be interested in colonising the new world yourselves, but I can assure you that my people certainly are.’
A stunned silence followed for a few seconds, until the Convenor managed a reply. ‘But that is a human world. And their need for space and resources is far greater than that of your people.’
‘That was a human world, but they removed themselves from it. They have had their chance and wasted it. Judging by the mess they have made of all of their worlds, there is no likelihood that they will do any better this time. Why should they be given another chance when we have not yet had one?’
The Convenor managed to make some suitably diplomatic noises about considering the request, and the much subdued celebration ended early.
Back in my room, I pulled the heavy case from under my bed and opened it. Inside gleamed the ugly bulk of the Personal Assault Weapon. A product of the resourceful South African arms industry, the P.A.W. was a stubby, semi-automatic rifle firing 20 mm cannon shells. I pulled it out of the case and hefted it thoughtfully. It felt odd, with the pistol grip to one side of the gun rather than underneath, but Richards assured me that it worked in much the same way as other self-loading rifles I was used to – it just had a considerably more dramatic effect at the receiving end. It was designed for destroying vehicles, barriers and other such targets, which seemed about right when facing saurians. There were three seven-round magazines in the case, and a box full of ammunition. I opened it and the sleek weight of the cartridges slid out. The shells, coloured red and yellow to denote their high explosive/incendiary contents, were bigger than their 20 x 42 cartridge cases, which didn’t need to contain much propellant to deliver the subsonic muzzle velocity. Richards had told me that it was effective out to 1,000 metres, but the curved trajectory required a sophisticated rangefinding sight for any chance of scoring hits at that range. This gun was equipped with a simple optical sight good for perhaps 200 metres, but if I had to use it at all, I expected that the range would be short. I had an uneasy feeling that I would be finding out just how effective it was before long.
The next day we contacted the Secretary General for an update – it had been agreed that he would act as the liaison between the UN and the saurians. A high-level working group had been set up to consider the issues we had raised, and it had already decided that starving refugees had the highest priority, so the initial effort would be focused on the main trouble-spots in central Africa. We agreed that made sense, not only because of their urgent need but also because minimal preparation was required. Arrangements had been made to mass-produce the slider machines, and airships were already transporting the first ones to the appropriate locations, together with the large antenna arrays to receive beamed power until permanent geothermal power stations could be set up.
The S2 Representative announced that he would like to watch the process, so I decided to accompany him. The P.A.W. and I took up residence in our airship cabin for the two-day round trip, my friends fitting a genetic lock to the door at my request. I am sure that they thought I had succumbed to an advanced case of paranoia, but the last thing I wanted was the Representative getting his hands on the P.A.W..
We travelled south across Europe, a journey I had flown many times before. But never so low and so slowly, giving me every opportunity to observe how natural the countryside looked, with far more woodland and only scattered signs of settlement. Even their orchards were mixed and planted at random, giving a natural appearance; they did not use machinery to tend them. From this distance, it looked as if the saurians had only a primitive culture, their preferred way of interacting with nature concealing the advanced technology which underpinned their lives. I questioned Primo about this.
‘You must have some industry somewhere to develop and produce your high-tech equipment?’
‘Yes, of course. But over the millennia we have gradually refined it to minimise its impact. The processes are tightly controlled to avoid any kind of pollution, and the buildings themselves usually have green roofs, planted and sometimes grazed by animals. You might not even notice one as you flew overhead, except for the transport links to the ports and major urban areas. Most of the materials we use now are recycled, so we put the recycling plants next to the industry.’
The airship cruised over southern Italy, which looked remarkably green. I wondered about the extent of deforestation humanity had caused, then remembered a distant history lesson; it hadn’t been people directly, but their goats which had stripped the vegetation from the area.
Once across the Mediterranean, the Sahara was as dry and sandy as on the Earth I knew, but further south the land turned greener, a grassy savannah dotted with clumps of trees. I spent most of the journey on the observation deck, as did the Representative – but about as far away from me as he could get.
I left the gun in the cabin – it was rather hard to conceal – as we descended to the transfer site. The heat was intense even though summer had not yet arrived; walking into the sunshine felt like being hit with a huge, red-hot hammer. Our skins silvered over instantly, reflecting away as much of the sun’s radiation as possible.
Due to my prodding over security, the saurians had decided to keep all of the slider machines on S1, firmly under their control. That involved some complication in their design in that a double machine was required – which the saurians named a “transfer machine” – able to generate a hole at each end of a short tube; one connecting H17 (which I was coming to think of as “Old Earth”) with S1, the other connecting S1 with New Earth. The transfer was via a conveyor belt pushed through both holes. Where we were, none of the activity was visible, of course. The machine just sat there in the middle of an empty countryside, humming loudly. A small portable cabin nearby provided a base for the technician watching over it. Viewscreens near each end showed the activity on each world; on my Earth, there were piles of supplies to go through first; tents, tools, water purifiers and food. A large group of Africans sat watching patiently, awaiting their turn. Human volunteers manned each end, enthusiastically stacking and carrying. What was immediately obvious was how green the lands of H11 and S1 were compared with the dusty brown H17. A thought struck me.
‘How did they get to H11 without being knocked out by the transfer?’
Primo checked with one of the technicians, then explained that the human healers had devised a way of making people unconscious for a short period of time. The first one sent through was a healer, and after a pause while she recovered her senses, the process of sending through the other volunteers proceeded swiftly. It had been estimated that they could handle some two hundred people an hour, allowing for the fact that about a third of the volume would be supplies. I did some mental sums; working in shifts through the night, they could transfer more than 30,000 people a week. That was impressive, and would soon begin to make a dent in the refugee problem. Some of the volunteers on New Earth had already begun to organise land distribution and were using small portable drills to access the ground water. The Representative watched all of this without comment, but from time to time I felt his cold eyes on me.