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[From Paula Wilson’s notes and recordings. RBB]
The Federation device let out a chime and vibrated.
‘Yes. Lara Horvat here.’
‘Secretary Horvat, this is Yol Terend,’ said the familiar tinny voice. ‘I have a personal message from Yol Hareen for you and Ms Wilson’
‘Yes, one moment,’ said Lara and pressed the intercom button. ‘Can you come in, please, Paula.’
‘Hello Ms Wilson,’ said Yol Terend.
‘Good morning, Yol Stograther,’ she said as she entered the room, looking around the room for Yol Terend, and seeing Lara point at the communication device.
‘Yol Hareen regrets that he will not be able to see you again and I am now the Federation ambassador. However, he did ask me to see if you would like to attend the spawning. When it is to be someone’s last spawning, they often invite family and friends to attend. Yol Hareen must have been very fond of you both.’
‘What is involved, Ambassador. I’m not sure that I would want to watch someone die,’ said Lara.
‘The event is held at a private sea pool which will be near Yol Hareen’s home. It is a unique occasion. He will be laid to rest very simply at the end and people will disperse. There is nothing unpleasant to see.’
‘I don’t understand why he asked. It sounds like a family occasion,’ said Lara.
‘He respected you both. Nothing more nor less. Only people he liked will be present.’
Lara looked towards Paula and said, ‘I’ll go if you’ll accompany me.’
Paula nodded.
‘Tell him, thank you. What is necessary for us and what should we bring, how do we dress et cetera?’ asked Lara.
‘Dress smartly. There is nothing to bring.’
‘No flowers or anything?’ asked Paula.
‘Nothing is normally taken. I’ll collect you at six tomorrow morning.’
‘We’ll be ready,’ said Lara.
««o»»
[From White House tapes. RBB]
All signs of the squads of painters had vanished. The White House was, once again, white. President Slimbridge stood in the ivy-covered walkway outside the oval office, the rain cascading down and running off the variegated plant and falling through his field of vision in heavy droplets.
It was all going so badly. How had he got himself into such a mess? Two generals kidnapped, Free America seemingly hitting every parade, sports event and rally with their green paint, Mayne and Beech wanting him dead and a spy in his inner circle to boot.
‘Mr President,’ said Deirdre’s voice from behind him.
‘Yes. What is it?’ he snapped.
‘Mr Mendoza is here, sir.’
He turned and saw his flustered secretary standing in the doorway. He’d torn a strip off her earlier for telling him someone was waiting while the door was open, and the visitor could hear when he said he didn’t want to see him. John Slimbridge, however, was not the quickest to offer an apology for his increasingly regular outbursts of bad temper. ‘Show him in.’
She vanished from the doorway and he entered his office and sat behind the famous desk. David Mendoza entered, wished him a good afternoon and pointed at one of the visitors’ chairs.
‘Yes, sit,’ said the president impatiently. ‘I hope you’ve got some good news.’
‘Well, sir, yes and no. The phone we were tracking en route for the Keys was a decoy, pushed under the tarpaulin of a truck.’
John Slimbridge raised his hands from the desk in despair and allowed them to fall again.
‘We have no new intel on the movements of Mayne or Beech, but we are still looking into it. Give me time.’
‘And the good news, man. What is it?’
‘It depends how you look at it, Mr President. We’ve found the spy.’
The president sat bolt upright in his chair, then leaned forward, ‘Who?’
‘Delve.’
‘Really? General Delve!?’
‘Yes, sir. He’s been feeding information to Beech for some time.’
‘God damn him! Where is he now?’
‘He’s with one of his battalions looking for the insurgents. Somewhere north of Jacksonville. Our failure to pin them down could well be because he’s been working against us.’
The president hit the red button on his intercom. ‘Deirdre, get Mann, Alexander and Delve back here asap.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the tinny voice from the intercom. ‘Is there a particular reason?’
‘Tell them Mr Mendoza has come up with something we need to discuss.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, and the intercom died.
‘What’s the plan, sir?’ asked the head of the FBI.
‘I’ll get Deirdre to tell you when they’ll all be here,’ said the president, wringing his hands as he plotted. ‘Have ten armed men ready to come in and arrest Delve on my signal.’
‘Yes, sir. Is there anything else right now? If not, I’ll get things organised.’
‘No. That’s it for now, but see if you can make some progress on Mayne and Beech.’
‘Yes, sir. Without Delve’s interference, we might be more successful.’
««o»»
[From Paula Wilson’s notes. RBB]
Lara and I were transported directly to the bridge of the Eskorav where we were welcomed by both Ambassador Terend Stograther and Captain Ya Istil Sperafin. Terend looked his usual dapper self with everything complementing his olive-green skin. Istil was naked. His somewhat disturbing sac-like body providing all the colour which could ever be required. I had chosen a short black cocktail dress and white cape, while the secretary general wore a dark hickory brown trouser suit.
I handed over a package to the ambassador. ‘Ambassador Trestogeen told me he had an archive about Earth. This is my biography of Perfect Okafor. Could you ensure it is put with his files?’
‘Certainly, Ms Wilson. I’ll give it to a member of his family. They’ll put it into his office where there will be a permanent record of his work over the years.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How long to Yol Hareen’s home world? Pestoch, is it?’ asked Lara.
‘A few hours,’ said Ya Istil. ‘You three go and relax in the viewing lounge. I’ll call you when we are approaching the star system.’
Spending some quality time with the ambassador provided many revelations about the thinking around an independent USA. Yol Terend was of the same mind as Yol Hareen and everything seemed to be on course for the rest of the world joining the Federation if the vote was positive. During the flight we worked through many of the border functions which would have to be set up to prevent technology leaking into America and to control currency transfers.
A light lunch was provided and a couple of hours later the captain called us back to the bridge. A beautiful world was hanging motionless before us, surrounded by glittering rings.
As we entered, I gasped at the magnificence of the scene, then said, ‘I recognise that – it’s Arlucian.’
‘Correct. Arlucian is the third planet in this system and Pestoch is the fifth,’ said Ya Istil.
‘I recognised the rings.’
‘Dazzling,’ said Lara.
‘You must visit the moon sometime, ma’am. It is absolutely gorgeous and some of the shrubs are astonishing. Remind me to show you some video on the journey back. I think I have it on my tablet,’ I said.
‘I will,’ said the secretary general.
The view from the bridge suddenly changed as the Eskorav banked and swung to port, and then there was a brief slip into hyperspace, turning the cosmos emerald green with lemon flecks. It lasted barely four minutes before space returned to its natural black, only this time with a splendid, predominantly blue globe hanging centre stage.
We were both stunned into silence by the scene.
The right hemisphere of Pestoch exhibited the fairy-light effect of all civilised planets. Jewels of white, amber and yellow clumped together indicating coastal towns and cities, while the routes between them played like necklaces or chains of illuminated strands upon the black of the uninhabited continents at night.
The daylight side of the planet was ninety per cent water. White swirls and wisps of clouds set off the azure blue of the seas which was only broken by islands in various shades of green.
‘Wow!’ said Lara. ‘Marvellous. How much of the world is water?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Ya Istil, ‘but I’d guess at more than eighty per cent overall. We’re heading for that island which looks a little like a broken egg.’
The Eskorav slid down its invisible glidepath towards the island which began to show that it was larger than it looked from space. I estimated that it was the size of Ireland. The ship came to rest, hovering a metre above the ground.
‘Air?’ asked Lara.
‘No problem,’ said the ambassador. ‘More oxygen than Earth so expect to feel a little lightheaded from time to time. Just stand still and take slow and shallow breaths if it affects you.’
The stairway awaited us, and the ambassador led us down to the ground where a Pestochian was awaiting our arrival. She was considerably larger than Yol Hareen but held out a fin in a friendly manner. We all shook it.
‘I am Sloreen Trestogeen, one of Hareen’s many sisters. Pleased to meet you. Follow me. The event will begin shortly,’ she said.
‘Will we understand what is happening?’ I asked.
‘I’ll have one of my relatives, Ya Dolodreen, interpret for you,’ Ya Sloreen said.
We left the landing area and walked about a hundred metres down to a harbour area.
[This description was part of Paula Wilson’s notes to which she kindly gave me access. RBB]
The land was covered in a short, spiny seaweed-green coloured grass. The harbour formed an almost closed letter C with the open side facing out into a turquoise sea. In the harbour, the water was very clear, but still had the shade of mint in colour. Dozens of large Pestochians were swimming in a coherent shoal, their iridescent scales sending sparkles of cobalt into the air and the spray which was being thrown up.
‘Hi, I’m Ya Dolodreen,’ said a much smaller Pestochian who joined us on the harbourside. ‘I’ll try to let you know what is happening.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lara, introducing herself and me.
‘At the moment you are seeing a shoal of female Pestochians, none of whom will be related to Yol Hareen. Most are strangers, taking the opportunity to expand their gene pool, but there will also be good friends among them. They are building anticipation. The faster they swim and the more they interact, the more excited they become,’ said Dolodreen.
‘Have you taken part in one of these?’ I asked.
’No,’ she said and giggled, ‘I’m far too young. But I will, one day,’ Dolodreen seemed very excited but, I felt, somewhat embarrassed. I suppose, in a clumsy way, I had asked the Pestochian equivalent of a young virgin if she was about to take part in a breeding ceremony.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to intrude.’
‘It is all right, Ya Paula, but it is supposed to be an ultimate experience, so, at my age, I can’t wait.’
‘Can I ask how old you are?’
‘I’m seven.’
‘How do your years compare with Earth’s?’
‘No, that is Galactic Standard years.’
‘Ah,’ I said, ‘they are similar to ours.’
‘And how old are the females who are taking part?’
‘Anything from nine to thirty.’
‘And what is your life expectancy?’ I asked, determined to try to understand her coming of age.
‘About thirty.’
Yol Terend said, ‘Pestochians have very short lives compared to most species.’
That was so profound I fell into silence. Dolodreen was adolescent and Hareen had lived less time than I had myself. How tragic. An aspect to alien lives which had never crossed my mind.
‘Where is Hareen right now?’ asked Lara.
‘He is preparing himself in the small building over there,’ she said, pointing at a marbled structure on the side of the harbour.
The shoal swam faster, all breaking the surface twice during each harbour circuit and the now considerable crowd cheered at each sound as they hit the water after leaping clear of the surface. The silence of the crowd, the noise of the fish splashing at the surface, the leaping clear and the crashing back into the depths accompanied by everyone cheering was so exciting. Lara and I joined in as we heard Ya Dolodreen shout out her encouragement to the shoal.
All of a sudden, Hareen left the hut and stood on the harbour wall. The sight of him caused the shoal to break its circling and dash in his direction, each of the forty or fifty fish throwing themselves dolphin-like into the air before him. Once, twice, three times and again and again and again, they leapt five or six times their body lengths into the air, spraying him with the spume-laced water. The entire crowd was now screaming and chanting a strange song which was in their own language, not Galactic Standard. We didn’t need to ask what the song meant. It was clear it was encouragement and each line ended with a deafening cheer and the shoal leaping into the air before Hareen.
In an instant the water was cloudy and the activity even more frantic.
‘They’re eggs being released,’ said Dolodreen.
‘Yes. Wow!’ I acknowledged, staggered at being so privileged to be invited to watch this most intimate of events.
Hareen bent his body and launched himself into the seething mass of fish and eggs, regularly rising to the surface and screaming in ecstasy before being dragged down into the depths by the frenzied females who rubbed against him and pushed and pulled him around. The impacts and large number taking part looked as if it would kill him, yet time and again he broke the surface and gave a unique howl of obvious pleasure. I felt embarrassed. We were intruding here. This should be private. Should we even be watching?
It continued for fifteen or twenty minutes, with each breaking of the surface by Hareen gradually becoming weaker until he arose no longer and floated motionless at the surface, his sparkling scales morphing into a dull, lifeless grey as the shoal dragged him from the harbour further out to sea.
The spawning was over, the stilling water slowly clearing and the cloud of fertilised eggs drifting silently to the bottom. Huge gates closed across the harbour entrance and the crowd gradually dispersed.
I couldn’t speak. I simply stood immobile, watching the sea, a little like the end of a regatta when the spectators began to amble back to their homes. Hareen was dead. We had watched a person die from an overpowering ecstasy. I really was intruding here. Dolodreen had gone too.
I turned to the ambassador and Lara somewhat traumatised. As Terend guided us back to the Eskorav, I choked up.
‘So, that’s it? Ambassador Trestogeen’s dead?’ asked Lara.
‘Yes, he’s gone. His family will go and find the body, cremate it and the ashes will be scattered in the family garden,’ said Yol Terend.
‘It seems such a waste,’ said Paula.
‘Not to him. He had to do it. An instinct,’ said Yol Terend. ‘In the harbour lie untold millions of eggs which will gradually hatch and swim out to sea. Postachians’ minds don’t begin to develop until they are about a foot long. It is a dangerous time for them. The adults will then find the survivors and begin their schooling. Fewer than one per cent will reach adulthood.’
‘What would have happened to Hareen on the five previous occasions?’ I asked.
‘He would have been rescued and spent a week in care, being regenerated.’
‘Why not this time?’ asked Lara.
‘It has a debilitating effect and the body would not survive another encounter. He would have died in the next year or two anyway. Don’t feel sad for him. He was looking forward to it and he died in absolute rapture – at least that is what he told me would happen. It is how Pestochians reproduce. Part of their way of life. In the past, before the regeneration process, males rarely lived beyond their first spawning. Often they were deliberately killed by the females.’
‘Okay,’ we both said, barely comprehending the enormity of Hareen’s choice.
The return journey to Earth was a sober affair indeed.