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Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
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thought she knew why. The surveillance satellites were performing
precisely as advertised, and they had marvelously detailed analyses of the chemical makeup of the environment, but although the air was nearly perfect—more so than they had dared hope for, the planet itself was not cooperating. Thick, dense cloud cover and omnipresent storms prevented seeing all but the most cursory of details about the IBs below. There were IBs, that much was obvious from the few tantalizing glimpses of structures that the satellites had been granted, but the inhabitants themselves were still a mystery. The few facts known were that they built individual and grouped structures that included what might be cities, and that they cultivated the land. The rest was a mystery
—for on the few occasions that the clouds had parted to reveal the terrain below, either the inhabitants themselves were not making an appearance, or the tree cover was too dense to see through, or the famous cameras, that could record a license plate in Nairobi, were pointed in the wrong direction and gazing down on yet another cloud-covered expanse.
Small wonder Britton was not in a particularly good mood.
Ysaye threw herself into the breach and changed the subject.
“Any idea yet, sir, when we will be going down to the planet?” she asked. That
they would be sending an expedition down was now a certainty, given the way that the Minions of Murphy’s Law had been plaguing them. It appeared that the only way to actually find out anything would be to go in person. A dangerously primitive but proven technique.
“A couple of hours,” said Britton. “The captain says we’re sending one of the
reconnaissance shuttles down, and landing in this area here,” he pointed it out on the computer screen, one briefly and blessedly free of clouds. “It’s fairly close to the range of mountains, and covered with snow, but it’s a plateau, as nearly as Cartography can figure out.”
Britton paused to aim another disapproving glance at David, who simply
shrugged, and nodded at the screen, as if to say, “I did my best with what I had.”
“It seems to me as arbitrary as most decisions,” Evans said. “Surely, there must be more hospitable areas.”
Ysaye knew as the figurative emotional temperature dropped a few degrees that
Evans had, at last, overstepped his bounds. She hoped he’d get more than a reprimand…
“I don’t pretend to be in on all administrative thinking, or to understand what
makes our superior officers decide what courses to take,” Britton said coldly. “But this is not a democracy; this is a ship, and I obey my superiors without complaint. Anyone who has different notions can feel free to step outside the dome and contemplate them for a moment.” Evans paled, and Britton smiled grimly. “I’m told that is the Captain’s preferred way of handling those with mutinous notions.”
Ysaye applauded silently. Evans was an inspired xenobotanist, but he was not
particularly popular with his shipmates. Britton would have been well within his rights to take the matter farther…and she rather hoped that he would.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. Britton seemed content when Evans nodded
stiffly, his lips compressed into a thin line. “This area was chosen for isolation, both from the resident IBs and from anything we might damage when landing. Since we have not been able to gather any reasonable amount of data about the natives, it was judged prudent not to approach them too directly. But since we have no idea how they might regard damage to their agricultural property, it also seemed prudent to avoid all cultivated areas; we’re not likely to burn up anything landing here, or crush anything, or otherwise damage terrain. Unless, of course, they cultivate snow, which does not seem terribly likely. Unfortunately, to fill all necessary criteria, we end up landing in a relatively inhospitable area.”
“There are a lot of factors
precisely as advertised, and they had marvelously detailed analyses of the chemical makeup of the environment, but although the air was nearly perfect—more so than they had dared hope for, the planet itself was not cooperating. Thick, dense cloud cover and omnipresent storms prevented seeing all but the most cursory of details about the IBs below. There were IBs, that much was obvious from the few tantalizing glimpses of structures that the satellites had been granted, but the inhabitants themselves were still a mystery. The few facts known were that they built individual and grouped structures that included what might be cities, and that they cultivated the land. The rest was a mystery
—for on the few occasions that the clouds had parted to reveal the terrain below, either the inhabitants themselves were not making an appearance, or the tree cover was too dense to see through, or the famous cameras, that could record a license plate in Nairobi, were pointed in the wrong direction and gazing down on yet another cloud-covered expanse.
Small wonder Britton was not in a particularly good mood.
Ysaye threw herself into the breach and changed the subject.
“Any idea yet, sir, when we will be going down to the planet?” she asked. That
they would be sending an expedition down was now a certainty, given the way that the Minions of Murphy’s Law had been plaguing them. It appeared that the only way to actually find out anything would be to go in person. A dangerously primitive but proven technique.
“A couple of hours,” said Britton. “The captain says we’re sending one of the
reconnaissance shuttles down, and landing in this area here,” he pointed it out on the computer screen, one briefly and blessedly free of clouds. “It’s fairly close to the range of mountains, and covered with snow, but it’s a plateau, as nearly as Cartography can figure out.”
Britton paused to aim another disapproving glance at David, who simply
shrugged, and nodded at the screen, as if to say, “I did my best with what I had.”
“It seems to me as arbitrary as most decisions,” Evans said. “Surely, there must be more hospitable areas.”
Ysaye knew as the figurative emotional temperature dropped a few degrees that
Evans had, at last, overstepped his bounds. She hoped he’d get more than a reprimand…
“I don’t pretend to be in on all administrative thinking, or to understand what
makes our superior officers decide what courses to take,” Britton said coldly. “But this is not a democracy; this is a ship, and I obey my superiors without complaint. Anyone who has different notions can feel free to step outside the dome and contemplate them for a moment.” Evans paled, and Britton smiled grimly. “I’m told that is the Captain’s preferred way of handling those with mutinous notions.”
Ysaye applauded silently. Evans was an inspired xenobotanist, but he was not
particularly popular with his shipmates. Britton would have been well within his rights to take the matter farther…and she rather hoped that he would.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. Britton seemed content when Evans nodded
stiffly, his lips compressed into a thin line. “This area was chosen for isolation, both from the resident IBs and from anything we might damage when landing. Since we have not been able to gather any reasonable amount of data about the natives, it was judged prudent not to approach them too directly. But since we have no idea how they might regard damage to their agricultural property, it also seemed prudent to avoid all cultivated areas; we’re not likely to burn up anything landing here, or crush anything, or otherwise damage terrain. Unless, of course, they cultivate snow, which does not seem terribly likely. Unfortunately, to fill all necessary criteria, we end up landing in a relatively inhospitable area.”
“There are a lot of factors
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