But the lesson had been learned; the fragile ecology of a single world could be easily unbalanced. Resources ran out, raw materials were needed. The first step was to the moon, then the asteroid belt where elements were to be had for the taking. Then the stars. Hugo Foscolo made that possible, with his discovery of what had come to be known as the Foscolo Discontinuity. Foscolo had been a theoretical mathematician, an unnoticed genius who earned his living as a school teacher in the state of Sao Paulo, Brazil, in a city with the Impossible name of Pindamonhangaba. The discontinuity was in the theory of relativity and when he published, in an obscure mathematical journal, Foscolo had apologized for casting doubt on the accepted theories of a great man and asked humbly that qualified mathematicians and physicists point out the error in his equations.
They could not — and a space drive was born that took men to the stars. It took only a hundred years to search and settle and spread through the nearest star systems. It was a glorious history and it had to be a true history because it existed.
There were no slaves, Jan knew that, and was angry at Sara for saying it. There was peace in the world, and justice, food enough for all, and each man to his station. What was that word she had used? Democracy. A form of government, obviously. He had never heard of it. Back to the encyclopedia — only with a certain reluctance this time. Jan did not enjoy finding an error in those thick tomes. It was like discovering that a treasured painting was in reality a fake. He took the volume down and walked over to the high windows to catch the light.
DEMOCRACY. An archaic historical political science term for that form of government which flourished briefly in the small city-states of Greece. According to Aristotle, democracy is the perverted form of the third form of government…
There was more like this and all just about as interesting. Some historical kind of government, like cannibalism, that had come and gone. What had this to do with the Israelis? It was all a little puzzling. Jan looked out of the window at the gray sky and the ice-specked surface of the Thames below. He shivered, still feeling the tropic sun in his bones. Where did he begin?
Not with history. It was not his field; he had no idea where to look. Did he really have to look at all? In truth he didn’t want to, and he had the sudden dark sensation that once he started this quest there would be no turning back. Once Pandora’s box was opened it could never be closed again. Did he want to find out these things? Yes! She had called him a slave master — and he knew he was not. Even a prole would laugh at the suggestion.
That was it. The proles. He knew enough of them, he worked with them, that was where he would start. He would go back to the Walsoken Plant in the morning — he was expected there in any case to check on the installation and maintenance that he had ordered. Only this time he would talk more to the proles there. Admittedly he had not done this very much in the past, but that was only because he had been busy. As long as he was circumspect he would not get into trouble. There were certain social customs about dealing with proles and he was not going to break them. But he was going to ask some questions and listen closely to the answers.
It did not take him long to discover that this was not an easy thing to do.
“Welcome back, your honor, welcome back,” the manager said, hurrying from the works door when Jan pulled up in his car. His breath smoked in the cold air and he moved uneasily from one foot to the other.
“Thank you, Radcliffe. I hope things have been going well while I have been away?”
Radcliffe’s ready smile had an edge of worry to it. “Not bad at all, sir. Not completed, I’m sorry to say, shortage of spares. Perhaps you can help us expedite them. But let me show you the record.”
Nothing appeared to have changed. There were still pools of liquid underfoot despite the lethargic actions of a man with a mop. Jan started to snap about this — actually opened his mouth — then closed it again. Radcliffe seemed to be expecting it too because he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Jan smiled back. One for the home team. Perhaps he had been quick to find fault in the past — but he wasn’t going to do that now. You do more catching with honey. A few pleasant words and then a conversation. It was working well.
It still took an effort to control his temper when he went through the printouts. He had to say something.
“Really, Radcliffe, I don’t mean to be repetitive — but this won’t do at all. You’ve had over two weeks and the list is as long as ever.
“We’ve had men out sick, sir, a hard winter. And you’ll see, this work has been done…”
“But you’ve had breakdowns that more than make up for it…”
Jan heard the angry tone in his voice and snapped his mouth shut. He was not going to lose his temper this time. Trying not to stamp he went to the office door and looked out at the main floor of the plant. A movement caught his eye and he saw the tea trolley being pushed down a corridor. Yes, a cup of tea, that was more like it. He went to his case and opened it.
“Blast!”
“Anything wrong, sir?”
“Nothing important. Just that when I left my bag at hotel this morning I forgot to pick up my thermos of the tea.”
“I can send a man on a bike, sir. Won’t he but a few minutes.”
“No, not worth the effort.” Then Jan had the tremendous, almost daring idea. “Get the trolley in here. We’ll both have a cup of tea.”
Radcliffe’s eyes opened wide and he was silent for a moment with shock. “Oh, no, your honor. You wouldn’t like the stuff we serve here. Right muck. I’ll send…”
“Nonsense. Get it in here.”
It was a trial by embarrassment that Jan never noticed as he went through the printouts again, checking off priorities. The bent tea woman kept rubbing her hands on her skirt and bowing slightly in his direction. Radcliffe slipped out and returned quickly with a clean towel with which she wiped and wiped one of the mugs. When it was finally served it rested alone on the battered tray.
“You, too, Radcliffe, that’s an order.”
The tea was hot and that was about all that could be said for it, the mug thick and chipped where he put it to his lips. “Very good,” Jan said.
“Yes, your honor, it is.” Agonized eyes fixed his own cup.
“We’ll have to do this again.”
The answer was silence and Jan had no idea where to take the conversation from there. The silence lengthened until he had finished his own tea and there was nothing to do except go back to work.
There was more than enough calibration to do, as well as some pressing repairs that had been ignored during his absence. Jan became involved in his labors and it was well after six before he yawned and stretched and realized that the day shift had all gone home. He remembered Radcliffe looking in and saying something, but that was all. That was enough for one day. He packed his papers, slipped into the fleece-lined coat, and let himself out. The night was cold and dry, the stars flickering icily above. A long way from the Red Sea. It was a relief to get into the car and turn on the heater.
A good day’s work. The control setup was working fine and if he applied pressure the repairs and maintenance might be improved. Had to be improved. He pulled hard on the wheel to avoid a bicyclist who suddenly appeared in the beam of his headlights. Dark clothes and a black bike with no reflectors. Wouldn’t they ever learn? Empty fields on all sides and not a house in sight. What on earth was the man doing out here in the darkness?