The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 584
"Never!" said Nolan, with alcoholic firmness. "My shoptalk would be that of a Healer, not a technologist, and you yourself already understand the essentials of the healing art, which is listening to other people's troubles." He laughed suddenly. "As for missing O'Riordan, let me say only that, had I not been a Godless heretic, my behavior earlier this evening would be most decidedly a matter for confession."
"I understand," said Wanachtee sagely. "Some of our Christian Redmen feel the need to confess their misdemeanors to a holy man. And you, being an unbeliever and feeling guilty over this evening's sinning which, I must say at the risk of offending you, was not on a grand scale, have nobody to confess to or—"
He hiccupped suddenly, looked apologetic for the interruption, and went on, "You may confess any misdemeanors which we did not share to me. Or you may speak freely to me about anything that concerns you. This visit, your hopes for the colony on the New World, your feelings about the project as a whole. All of this will interest me now, for tomorrow my head will contain nothing but pain."
Nolan doubted that Wanachtee would have any difficulty in recalling any detail of what he might be told, regardless of the size of the hangover that might intervene and itself be an additional cause for worry. He was reminded suddenly that Ciaran, whose rank would have given him ready access to the project's most senior officers, had also wanted Nolan to talk freely. And there had been other people of varying importance who had wanted to talk to Aisling Gheal's junior Healer rather than to more senior officers.
"I talk too much," said Nolan miserably.
"Then, Healer," said Wanachtee, topping up both their glasses, "let us maintain the silence of friends."
Nolan sipped his drink, coughed, and thought that the savagely potent beverage should be given a blanket contraindication for all persons and conditions. But it was enabling him to enjoy his misery, and it no longer seemed to matter that he talked too much.
"Much too much," he repeated. "I think they look on me as a great, shambling, amiable buffoon, an oversized performing bear who is excluded from the serious business of the project, and can be turned loose with safety because he does not know the answers if awkward questions are asked. But now I think I have become an embarrassment to them, and they would prefer me to resign rather than wait until—"
"Your analysis of the situation is substantially correct," Wanachtee broke in. All at once the look in his eyes was keen and sharp, and for some reason it was clearing the alcoholic fog between them.
"I did not," said Nolan, "expect you to agree so quickly that I was a fool."
The Redman watched him silently for a moment, his head slightly inclined and his expression both sympathetic and clinical, then he put down his glass and spoke.
"I agree with your assessment of the situation," he said quietly, "not that you are a fool. You are dedicated, enthusiastic, socially immature in some areas, transparently honest, and outspoken. You have had to be silent before inferiors during much of your training, but now your position as an officer of the ship is so elevated that, understandably, you have gone far in the other direction and are outspoken at the wrong times. You must be an embarrassment to the monsignor at these times, but ... Did anyone with great power, temporal or ecclesiastic, use their influence to see that your name appeared on the final crew roster?"
Nolan's expression answered that question without him having to speak.
"Competition for crew positions was even fiercer than for the colonists' cold-beds," Wanachtee continued, "and rumor has it that the assassination weapon was used more than once. So your position was gained solely because of professional competence ..."
"But there are much better qualified people in the specialty than I am," Nolan protested.
"... And other personal qualities which the monsignor found desirable at the time," Wanachtee continued, ignoring the interruption. "I'd say that O'Riordan studied your psychic profile very carefully, and decided to take a calculated risk. For public-relations reasons he must have decided that the crew needed someone who was honest and incapable of guarding his tongue. By now you must have realized that you are being used, and not simply as a Healer?"
"Yes," said Nolan. He felt physically relaxed and mentally alert, so much so that he wondered if he was about to say the wrong thing again, but he said it anyway.
"I am sure that I have been used by several people for their own purposes," he said. "I think I am about to be used by you."
Wanachtee's face became very still for a moment, then he sighed and said, "You do take risks, Healer. But when a question is asked of an honest man, all of the answer must be accepted, so I will not take offense."
"Thank you," said Nolan, making no attempt to hide his relief.
"Because of their religious and political training for high administrative positions in the Empire's service," the Redman went on, apparently changing the subject, "your ecclesiastical colleagues arouse a certain amount of distrust among us. But Maeve insisted that this be so even though she was forced to agree to reduce her quota of Hibernian colonists by that same number.
"Our Aztec brothers," he continued, "feel that their share of the colonist payload is not in proportion to their financial support. And the Emperors of Nippon and Cathay also want a larger allocation because the project would not be possible without the deep-space engines they have developed. But there are feelings other than greed among us. There are misgivings regarding the basic philosophy of the project, worries that the interests of the different colonist groups will not be properly represented, fears that the ship would go off course and its people become eternally rather than temporarily frozen. To those of us, Redmen and paleskins alike, whose religious beliefs include some form of afterlife, what would happen to the spirits of these eternally nondead is of grave concern.
"And on the purely material side," he concluded, "there is the feeling that we are making fools of ourselves by pouring resources into a project which will show no return, resources which would go a long way to improving life on Earth for a great many people."
Nolan shook his head vigorously, and said, "Of course there will be no return, not for many centuries if ever. But one does not count the cost, or expect a return, on the time and effort and self-induced poverty spent in educating one's children so that they can make a successful life for themselves and their children's children in a far country. We are considering the future success of the far-traveling children of mankind, and no personal sacrifice is too great for them.
"This question was expected and we were given many answers to it in our briefings," Nolan went on quickly, "but that answer is the simplest and, I believe, true. As for your worries about the afterlife, there are many reassuring things that I have been instructed to say, but as an unbeliever I would have difficulty making them sound sincere. My own position is much too subordinate for me to have any influence on the composition of the colonist payload, but their interests are being represented by myself and other officers with teaching qualifications, so that their history and culture will not be lost to them. On the New World they will marry and raise children and, in time, find their own people to represent their interests in the traditional ways.
"But there are risks at every stage," Nolan rushed on, "many of which will be unforeseen, and there is no certainty that our children's children and those of you who remain on Earth will ever meet. And there can be no material return other than the deep, philosophical satisfaction of knowing that we have made of ourselves a star-traveling race who may one day—"
He broke off as Wanachtee abruptly held up his hand.
"Peace, Brother," he said dryly, then went on, "These are the answers, unpleasant as some of them are, that I want to hear. But between our superiors the questions and answers are more wordy, more statesmanlike, more uncertain, and, perhaps, more subject to change and negotiation. That is why many of us prefer to hear them from a junior officer with no political or theological constraints, one who believes them to be true, and who has complete faith in the rightness of the project. I do not suggest that any of your superiors are dishonest, simply that you give the same answers with more feeling and conviction, so that even your doubts carry reassurance by their very honesty. Whether you realize it or not, you are a major asset to the project at the present time, and the monsignor—"
"Please," Nolan broke in with an embarrassed laugh. "If all this flattery is the prelude to asking a favor, well, anything I have is yours up to and including both legs. The arms I need for surgery. But you yourself have just admitted that I am useful to O'Riordan at the present time. But my usefulness is coming to an end. The qualities which you find so laudable will become unnecessary once the voyage begins. Hell and damnation, Wanachtee, no amount of well-meant flattery will affect that situation. Or make me forget it for more than a few minutes."
He had expected the other to show anger, but instead the Redman smiled and said, "Please allow me to flatter you further, by reminding you of a very basic psychological truth. People facing the unknown, or any other danger or difficulty that they think might be beyond their capacity to handle, seek the help of a friend, someone they can trust to protect them. You may have more friends and influence than you realize. You told me about your promise to Ciaran, which must include the Aztec Princess, and there is—"
"As an ex-Captain of the Imperial Guard," Nolan broke in, "he would have great influence with the Empress, as would the Princess of a nation which is a major contributor to the project. But they will be in cold sleep, and any prior instructions they might have given about me could be safely ignored. When they awaken on the New World, I will have been dead for centuries, on Earth, and they could do nothing about it."
"I had been about to say," Wanachtee resumed patiently, "that there is Silver Elk."
Nolan stared at the Redman in astonished disbelief. "Your ... your Great Chief would speak for me?"
Wanachtee sat forward in his chair, his features relaxed but his body displaying the stillness of concealed tension as he said, "Silver Elk is old and frail. The worn moccasin which serves him as a heart is feeble and erratic in its beating. The Healers have forbidden him all the pleasures that make life endurable, he says, and your performance with the Sea Dragon model made his old heart skip several beats. For the few moments of excitement you gave him, and for the first time in many years seriously endangering his life, he is most grateful. Had you been less committed to the project, he would have offered you a high position in the Corporation.
"Silver Elk is a Great Chief," the Redman went on, a note of almost savage pride creeping into his voice, "and his influence throughout the Federated Nations is great. The contribution of Westland to the project is second only to that of Hibernia herself. Neither O'Riordan, the cardinal-captain, nor the Empress will refuse him. If you want to fly on Aisling Gheal then fly you shall."
"Oh, come now ..." began Nolan.
"If you do not go," Wanachtee ended simply, "nobody will go. Silver Elk has that power."
Nolan stared at the Redman, feeling both reassured and frightened and no longer disbelieving. If Wanachtee said that his Great Chief had the power to abort the Aisling Gheal program, then it was so. That such power could be wielded on his behalf was an idea he had difficulty in accepting, and there was still a certain tension, perhaps an embarrassment or some other mental discomfort, emanating from the other's body that told Nolan that once again he was being used.
For a long moment Nolan looked into Wanachtee's eyes, then he said quietly, "I am most grateful for the support of Silver Elk. If there is any small favor I can do for him in return, he has only to ask."
Wanachtee leaned back into his chair. "You are not a fool, Healer," he said. "But please believe this. You have Silver Elk's favor, whether or not you do as he asks, and your place on the ship is assured whether or not you do what he asks."
"Then I shall certainly do as he asks," said Nolan. "Will you be involved?"
"Yes, my brother," said Wanachtee. "Nothing in the world will stop me from being involved."
He smiled and stood up. Plainly excited now, he went on, "There are urgent arrangements I must make. A message must be left for the monsignor telling him that you are doing a favor for the Great Chief. We will say that one of the influential Plains Chieftains, a grandson of Silver Elk, has asked for a private visit by you to the younger members of his family. That story will explain your absence until your people leave for Cathay. An aircraft must be made immediately available and trusted friends at the complex warned to expect us ..."
Nolan held up a hand. With an edge to his voice he said, "I have two questions. What exactly am I going to do? And is there time to finish my drink?"
Wanachtee chose to ignore the sarcasm. "I'm sorry, Healer, your briefing would best be given nearer the time and place. I do hope Mojave Center has a spacesuit large enough to fit you. And no, but we can take the bottle with us."
They did not take the bottle with them nor, after boarding a company aircraft less than an hour later, had Wanachtee or himself shown any interest in the contents of its well-stocked bar. It was a subsonic aircraft bearing the emblem of a black buffalo and three black arrows on a red field, the mark of the family that virtually owned the land and facilities of the Mojave Space Center. He did not meet or even see the pilot.
Nolan slept during most of the trip, and was wakened by the Redman shaking his shoulder. Wanachtee pushed a suit of coveralls and a cap at him and told him to put them on quickly. But when Nolan started to remove his headband to transfer it to the cap, the other shook his head. Wanachtee's cap was already in place, concealing the band, and its long peak and the shoulder-length suncloth covered his ears, neck, and most of his face.
By the time Nolan was similarly dressed they were descending steeply toward the floodlit gantries, safety bunkers, and square, unlovely administration blocks of the launch facility that was second only to that of the Imperial Spaceport at Tara. Sunrise was still two hours away.
"Now," said Nolan, rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes, "are we near enough to the time and place for me to be told what is going on?"
Wanachtee was silent for so long that Nolan assumed the answer was no, but when the Redman did finally speak, there was more doubt and pain in it than any human voice had a right to contain.
"Are we doing the right thing?" he said, not looking at Nolan. "Silver Elk believes in the project. You believe in it. The Empress, the cardinal-captain, the monsignor ..."
"Not necessarily in that order of importance," Nolan broke in, trying to inject a lighter note, and failing. Awkwardly, he went on, "I did not train as a Healer of the Mind, Red Brother, but I will listen while you talk out your hurt."
"As does everyone else whose wisdom and experience I respect," Wanachtee went on, as if he had not spoken. "We are trying to plant anew the seed of mankind, with all the rich variety of its people and cultures squeezed into a tiny cluster of metal pods. But sometimes I wonder if the seed pods are too small, too tightly packed with mutually reactive constituents, too much like one of the nuclear bombs used in the old Cathay-Nippon wars."
There was a sudden bump and a rumble as the aircraft touched down. Automatically, Nolan released his seat belt, but the other man did not move.
He went on soberly, "We are expecting the proud Redmen to live in complete accord with our even prouder and more autocratic Aztec brothers, with the tradition-dominated colonists of Nippon and Cathay, with the colonist minorities of Europe and Greater Nubia whose differing cultures and traditions have led to conflict in the past. Our colonists are not all low-level menials who will accept and adapt to any changes which may be forced on them by others. For the most part they are people who gained their places through influence, sheer ability, or both. It is not a mixture that will combine easily."
Nolan looked at Wanachtee's impassive face and into the tortured, pleading eyes and gave the answer that for the first time since he had joined the project seemed dreadfully inadequate. Reassuringly, he said, "The plan is to give all of the colonists instruction in the history and culture of all the groups, so that the violent lessons of the past will not have to be relearned, and we will go forward together in peace to even greater things."
But Wanachtee was not reassured. He said, "That is a noble intention. But it could be that we are transplanting the seeds of a small and bloody civil war, which will be followed by a descent into savagery, the loss of all wisdom and traditions, and, if enough of the colonists survive it, a long and even more bloody climb back to civilization. Is that to be the fate of the finest and most able of our people, of our friends and loved ones?"
Nolan had not expected Wanachtee, outwardly the epitome of the worldly wise and ambitious young executive of a major Redman corporation, to be capable of such deep, patriotic feeling. His concern for the future of his people on the New World seemed almost personal.
They avoided the brightly lit passenger reception gate and entered through the aircraft maintenance area. Nobody gave them a second glance as Wanachtee led him along endless corridors whose directional signs and office-door titles changed gradually from the language of air to that of space transport. A headbanded technician avoided looking at their faces as he took them along another short corridor, up boarding steps, and through the narrow hatch of a shuttle's control deck.
Wanachtee did not introduce the two men waiting there. Pointing at the larger of the two spacesuits clipped to the aft bulkhead, he said, "Take off the coveralls and put that on, everything but the helmet. It will save time later. Our brothers will assist you to dress. Payload ready?"
The question was not for Nolan. The two men nodded and, still without speaking or reacting in any way to his pale face and black starship uniform under his coveralls, began dressing both of them. Through the cargo-bay port he could see two spacesuited figures strapped into temporary seating and several large, space-sealed containers. When the two men were finished, they put on the coveralls Nolan and Wanachtee had been wearing and left.
