At the doorway beyond the black fresco two guards stood, imposing figures, dressed alike in wide trousers, jerkins, boots, belts. They carried not only coiled whips stuck in their belts, but guns: long muskets, with hand-carved stocks and heavy barrels. Most of the Shantih people had heard of guns but never seen one, and they stared with curiosity at them.
“Halt!” said one of the guards.
“What?” said Hari. The people of Shantih had early adopted the language spoken in Victoria City, since they had been people of many different tongues and needed a common language among themselves and with the City; but some of the older ones had not learned some of the City usages. Hari had never heard the word “Halt.”
“Stop there,” the guard said.
“All right,” Hari said. “We’re to wait here,” he explained to the others.
The sound of voices making speeches came from behind the closed doors of the Council Room. The Shantih people presently began to wander back down the hall to look at the frescoes while they waited; the guards ordered them to wait in a group, and they came wandering back. At last the doors were opened, and the delegation from Shantih was escorted by the guards into the Council Hall of the Government of Victoria: a big room, filled with grayish light from windows set up high in the wall. At the far end was a raised platform on which ten chairs stood in a half-circle; on the wall behind them hung a sheet of red cloth, with a blue disk in the middle, and ten yellow stars around the disk. A couple of dozen men sat here and there on the rows of benches, facing the dais. Of the ten chairs on the dais, only three were occupied.
A curly-headed man who sat by a little table just below the dais stood up and announced that a delegation from Shanty Town had asked permission to address the Supreme Plenum of the Congress and Council of Victoria.
“Permission granted,” said one of the men on the dais.
“Come forward—no, not there, along the side—” The curly man whispered and fussed till he got the delegation where he wanted them, near the platform. “Who is the spokesman?”
“Her,” said Hari, nodding at Vera.
“State your name as listed in the National Registry. You are to address the Congressmen as ‘Gentlemen’ and the Councillors as ‘Your Excellencies,’” the clerk whispered, frowning with agitation. Hari watched him with benign amusement, as if he were a pouchbat. “Go on, go on!” the clerk whispered, sweating.
Vera took a step forward from the group. “I’m Vera Adelson. We came to discuss with you our plans for sending a group north to start a new settlement. We hadn’t had time the other day to talk the matter over, and so there was some misunderstanding and disagreement. That’s all settled. Jan has the map that Councillor Falco asked for, we’re happy to give you this copy for the Archives. The explorers warn us that it’s not very accurate, but it does give a general idea of the country north and east of Songe Bay, including some passable routes and fords. We cordially hope that it may be of use to our community.” One of the men held out a roll of leafpaper, and the worried clerk took it, glancing up at the Councillors for permission.
Vera, in her trouser-suit of white treesilk, stood quiet as a statue in the gray light; her voice was tranquil.
“One hundred and eleven years ago, the Government of Brasil-America sent several thousand people to this world. Fifty-six years ago, the Government of Canamerica sent two thousand more. The two groups have not merged, but have cooperated; and by now the City and the Town, though still distinct, are deeply interdependent.
“The first decades, for each group, were very hard; there were many deaths. There have been fewer, as we learned how to live here. The Registry has been discontinued for years, but we estimate the population of the City as about eight thousand, and the population of Shantih, at our last count, was four thousand three hundred and twenty.”
There was a movement of surprise on the benches.
“Twelve thousand in the Songe Bay region is all the area can feed, we think, without over-intensive farming and a constant risk of famine. So we think it’s time for some of us to move out and start a new settlement. There is, after all, a good deal of room.”
Falco, up on his Councillor’s chair, smiled faintly.
“Because the Town and City haven’t merged, but still form two separate groups, we feel that a joint attempt to make a new settlement would be unwise. The pioneers will have to live together, work together, depend on one another, and, of course, intermarry. The strain of trying to keep up two social castes, in such a situation, would be intolerable. Anyhow, those who want to start a new settlement are all Shantih people.
“About two hundred and fifty families, some thousand people, are considering going north. They won’t go all at once, but a couple of hundred at a time. As they go, their places on the farms will be filled by young people who stay here, and also, since the City is getting rather full, some City families may want to move out onto the land. They will be welcome. Even though a fifth of our farmers go north, there should be no drop in food production; and of course there’ll be a thousand less mouths to feed.
“This is our plan. We trust that by discussion, criticism, and mutual striving toward truth, we may arrive together at full agreement on a matter which concerns us all.”
There was a brief silence.
A man on one of the benches got up to speak, but sat down hastily when he saw Councillor Falco was about to speak.
“Thank you, Senhora Adelson,” Falco said. “You will be informed of the Council’s decision concerning this proposal. Senhor Brown, what is the next item on the agenda?”
The curly clerk made frantic gestures at the Shantih people with one hand while trying to find his place among the papers on his desk with the other. The two guards came forward briskly and flanked the five townspeople. “Come on!” one of them ordered.
“Excuse me,” Vera said to them, gently. “Councillor Falco, I’m afraid we’re misunderstanding one another again. We have made a decision, a tentative one. We wish now, in cooperation with you, to make a definite one. Neither we, nor you, can decide alone upon a matter which concerns us all.”
“You misunderstand,” Falco said, looking at the air above Vera’s head. “You have made a proposal. The decision is up to the Government of Victoria.”
Vera smiled. “I know you’re not used to women speaking at your meetings, maybe it would go better if Jan Serov speaks for us.” She stepped back, and a big, fair-skinned man replaced her. “You see,” he said, as if continuing Vera’s sentence, “first we have to settle what we want and how to do it, and then when we’ve agreed on that, we do it.”
“The topic is closed,” said bald Councillor Helder, at Falco’s left on the dais. “If you continue to obstruct the business of the Plenum you must be forcibly removed.”