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So it was with grief-welled eyes that Teresa didn’t even notice sudden waves of color sweep the cabin, briefly clothing what had been gray in hues of spectral effervescence, then quickly fading again.
Outside, among the growing girders and tethers, one or two of the workers blinked as those ripples momentarily affected peripheral vision. But they were trained to concentrate on their jobs and so scarcely noticed as the phenomena came and swiftly passed away again.
By Teresa’s knee, however, the little box quietly and impartially recorded, taking in everything the shuttle’s instruments fed it.
PART IV
PLANET
The planet had orbited its sun only a thousand million times before it acquired several highly unusual traits, far out of equilibrium.
For one thing, none of its sister worlds possessed any free oxygen. But somehow this one had acquired an envelope rich in that searing gas. That alone showed something odd was going on, for without constant replenishment, oxygen must quickly burn away.
And the planet’s temperature was unusually stable. Occasionally ice sheets did spread, and then retreated under glaring sunshine. But with each swing something caused heat to build up or leak away again in compensation, leaving the rolling seas intact.
Those seas… liquid water covering two thirds of the globe… no other world circling the sun shared that peculiar attribute. Then there was the planet’s pH balance — offset dramatically from the normal acidic toward a rare alkaline state.
The list went on. So far from equilibrium in so many ways, and yet so stable, so constant. These were strange and unlikely properties.
They were also traits of physiology.
□ For all you farmers out there scratchin’ in the dry heat, tryin’ to get your sorghum planted before the soil blows away, here are a few little har-hars from bygone days. After all, if you can’t laugh at your troubles, you’re just lettin’ em get the upper hand.
“Yesterday I accidentally dropped my best chain down one of the cracks in my yard. This morning I went to see if I could fish it out, but by golly, I could still hear it rattling on its way down!”
Found that one in a book of jokes told by sod flippers here in the Midwest a hundred years ago, during the first Dust Bowl. (And yes, there was a first one. Had to be, didn’t there?) These gems were collected by the Federal Writers Project back in the 1930s… their version of Net Memory, I guess. Here’s some more from the same collection:
“I had a three-inch rain last week… one drop every three inches.”
“It was so dry over in Waco County, I saw two trees fighting over a dog.”
“It’s so dry in my parts, Baptists are sprinkling converts, and Methodists are wipin’ ’em with a damp cloth.”
As I sit here in the studio, spi
Well, okay, maybe that one wasn’t so good. Here’s two from the book I guess must be even worse.
“My hay crop is so bad, I have to buy a bale just to prime the rake.”
“This year I plan to throw a hog in the corn trailer and pick directly to him. Figure I shouldn’t even have to change hogs till noon.”
Anybody out there understand those last two? I have free tickets to the next Skywriters concert in Chi-town for the first ten of you to shout back good explanations. Meanwhile, let’s have some zip-zep from the Skywriters themselves. Here’s “Tethered to a Rain Cloud.”
• CRUST
Roland fingered the rifle’s plastic stock as his squad leaped off the truck and lined up behind Corporal Wu. He had a serious case of dry mouth, and his ears still rang from the alert bell that had yanked them out of exhausted slumber only an hour before. Who would’ve imagined being called out on a real raid? This certainly broke the routine of basic training — ru
“… Recruits must go through intense stress in order to break civilian response sets and prepare behavioral templates for military imprinting. Their rights are not surrendered, only voluntarily suspended in order to foster discipline, coordination, hygeine, and other salutary skills…”
Only volunteers who understood and signed waivers were allowed to join the peacekeeping forces, so he’d known what to expect. What had surprised Roland was getting accepted in the first place, despite mediocre school grades. Maybe the peacekeepers’ aptitude tests weren’t infallible after all. Or perhaps they revealed something about Roland that had never emerged back in Indiana.
It can’t be intelligence, that’s for sure. And I’m no leader. Never wanted to be.
In his spare moments (all three of them since arriving here in Taiwan for training) Roland had pondered the question and finally decided it was none of his damn business after all. So long as the officers knew what they were doing, that was enough for him.
This calling out of raw recruits for a night mission didn’t fill him with confidence though.
What use would greenies like us be in a combat operation? Won’t we just get in the way?
His squad double-timed alongside a towering, aromatic ornamental hedge, toward the sound of helicopters and the painful brilliance of searchlights. Perspiration loosened his grip on the stock, forcing him to hold his weapon tighter.
His heartbeat quickened as they neared the scene of action. And yet, Roland felt certain he wasn’t scared to die.
No, he was afraid of screwing up.
“Takka says it’s eco-nuts!” the recruit ru
Neo-Gaian radicals might have blown up a dam, someone said.
No, it was an unlicensed gene lab or maybe an unregistered national bomb — hidden in violation of the Rio Pact…
Hell, none of the rumored emergencies seemed to justify calling in peach-fuzz recruits. It must be real bad trouble. Or else something he didn’t understand yet.
Roland watched the jouncing backpack of Corporal Wu. The compact Chinese noncom carried twice the weight any of them did, yet he obviously held himself back for the sluggish recruits. Roland found himself wishing Wu would pass out the ammo now. What if they were ambushed? What if… ?
You don’t know anything yet, box-head. Better pray they don’t pass out ammo. Half those mama’s boys ru
In fairness, Roland figured they probably felt exactly the same way about him.
The squad hustled round the hedge onto a gravel driveway, puffing uphill toward the glaring lanterns. Officers milled about, poring over clipboards and casting long shadows across a close-cropped lawn that had been ripped and scraped by copters and magnus zeps. A grand mansion stood farther upslope, dominating the richly landscaped grounds. Silhouettes hastened past brightly lit windows.
Roland saw no foxholes. No signs of enemy fire. So, maybe ammo wouldn’t be needed after all.
Corporal Wu brought the squad to a disorderly halt as the massive, gruff figure of Sergeant Kleinerman appeared out of nowhere.
“Have the weenies stack weapons over by the flower bed,” Kleinerman told Wu in flat-toned Standard Military English. “Wipe their noses, then take them around back. UNEPA has work for ’em that’s simple enough for infants to handle.”