Homegoing

Chapter 11

The thing that keeps the human race trapped on the surface of the Earth is its own previous activities in space. Just as has happened often before in human history, the human race has been defeated by its own success. As soon as the first rockets reached Low Earth Orbit they began shedding pieces of themselves. By the 1980s more than seven thousand objects were routinely tracked—pieces the size of a baseball and up, from a wrench dropped by a space-walking astronaut to abandoned fuel tanks the size of a box car. In those days it required a full day’s computing before any Shuttle flight to plot an orbit that would not result in a catastrophic collision with some spinning piece of space junk. But at least the big pieces could be located. The ones too tiny to be tracked were the real killers. At least half a dozen working satellites were by then known to have been damaged or destroyed. Any scrap of metal—any crumb, even a chip of paint—at the velocities of Low Earth Orbit could puncture and even destroy another satellite. But that was only the beginning. Then along came Star Wars. Some people thought the Strategic Defense Initiative wouldn’t work. Unfortunately, it almost did. After the war, all those thousands and thousands of pop-up lasers and killed satellites and “smart rocks” and exploded missile parts filled the Low Earth Orbit volume with an impenetrable spinning mine field of junk. So space travel came to a shuddering stop, just when it had become almost easy. There were places where the minefield was thinner than other places—the least dangerous were above the planet’s poles—but even in the thinnest places only armored satellites could hope to get through, at great cost in launch mass because of their great weight and the fact that they had to be launched without help from the Earth’s spin. Even those stayed operational only as long as it took for some colliding scraps of metal, plastic, or paint to pit their mirrors and fry their instrumentation. Of manned flights after that, there were none at all. Not successful ones, anyway. Not for more than half a century, and none likely until the junk orbits decay, a matter of hundreds of years.

The Major Seniors saw how obviously hungry the human race was for space, anything that had to do with space. That was good news for the Major Seniors; they decided to authorize the trip to York Commonwealth.

Polly got the news relayed from the lander by Tanya, and she greeted it, as she greeted most news, with an irritated twitch of the forearm. “But the Major Seniors have not instructed which of us to go and not remain behind,” she complained.

“For this reason,” Tanya said smugly, “it appears you must decide. Their order cannot now be questioned. Ship’s orbit has taken it below Earth horizon and not in range of our transmissions.”

Polly switched off the radio and looked at Obie and Sandy grimly. “Then that is how it will be,” she declared. “Let me see. Obie, you are our astronomical expert, therefore you must go.”

“Oh, pellets!” Obie grumbled. “Do you mean that I am to go alone and not with company?”

“Of course not. You would behave irresponsibly and not with adult Hakh’hli prudence. I myself will accompany you.”

“No, I want a friend,” he said in English. “I want Sandy to come with me.”

Polly glared at him, pinching her thumbs together warningly in air. Obie quivered but belligerently stood his ground. After a moment’s thought Polly gave a shrugging twitch of her forearms and declared grandly, “I decide that that is how it is to be; we will all three voyage to this York. Lysander, instruct your Earth female that this is so.”

“Gladly!” he cried, and hurried out ahead of the others to meet Marguery Darp.

The news seemed to make her happy. In fact, they were all happy. Sandy was pleased because Marguery Darp was pleased. Polly was self-righteously pleased to be doing what the Major Seniors wished of her. And Obie—well, Obie had decided to be ecstatic. At the curbside, he showed it with a whole new repertory of cries and cavorting. “New York, New York,” he shouted, leaping to the top of the hotel marquee and down again. “Oh, Sandy! We will have so much fun on the Great White Way! We will give our regards to Broadway, and remember everyone to Herald Square—but what,” he asked, coming breathlessly down beside Marguery Darp, “is a ‘Herald Square’?”

“I think it was an old street corner in New York City,” she said. “I guess it’s underwater now.” And then, to Sandy, she said, “I’m really pleased. Hudson City’s a great town. I have a place there myself, and it’ll be fun showing you around.”

“Thank you,” Sandy said promptly. “I too think it will be fun, only—” He hesitated, swallowing. “Only, will it be necessary to travel again in that very rapid aircraft of yours?”

She patted his arm. “Not at all. We don’t use those vertical-takeoff planes for long distances; they use too much fuel, even if it’s only hydrogen. No. We’ll go by blimp. It’s a little over a twenty-four-hour trip, and I promise you’ll love it. It’s almost like a cruise.”

“A cruise? Like ‘Love Boat’?”

She frowned. “I don’t know what ‘Love Boat’ is, and you’re not starting that again, are you? Because we’ve got a busy day today. If you’re all going off to York, there are about a hundred people here in Dawson who are dying to ask you questions.”

Obie made a face. Sandy didn’t, because he did not want to be undignified in Marguery Darp’s presence, but all the same he complained, “They’re always asking us questions. Don’t we get any time off?”

“This evening,” she said firmly. “After all your interviews. We’ll have a kind of a bon voyage party, up on the rooftop. All right? But now let’s get busy.”

Busy they certainly were. For the morning’s interrogation they were all three confronted by half a dozen polite, insistent questioners. And the questions they asked! Why did the Hakh’hli freeze their eggs instead of letting them hatch? What were the names of the Earth films shown to the entire ship’s company? What was the Hakh’hli word for “magnetic repeller”? What would happen if, say, something like a little asteroid struck the interstellar ship in its drive compartment? Even Polly shivered when she was asked that last one. “It would be terrible,” she said, presenting her tail to be licked in sympathy (but none of the humans understood the gesture, and Obie and Sandy were too far away). “It would wreck the ship.”

It was a sour note to end the morning’s questioning. Polly muttered darkly that she didn’t see how she could even eat after that, but of course she and Obie did. Sandy was not so lucky. Marguery Darp had disappeared on some errand, and all he had was a sandwich before the afternoon session began.

This time he was questioned alone, by three separate waves of interrogators. Most of them he had never seen before, and though they unfailingly told him their names and, wincing, accepted a handshake of greeting, he could not tell them apart. The first batch wanted to hear his personal story, starting with the Hakh’hli discovery of his parents’ spaceship. They took a full hour to cover every detail of his childhood, his education, and his relationships with the other members of his cohort—with ChinTekki-tho and MyThara, too. It was almost the first time Sandy had given his dear, lost nursemaid a thought since the lander pulled away from the interstellar ship, and he almost wept with sorrow and guilt. The second batch was more specific. In his training, they said, he had spoken of games and contests. Were any of those, well, military? (Oh, no, he assured them; the wrestlers used to fight to the death, but even they didn’t do that any more.) And no one used ‘weapons’? (Of course not! Why would a Hakh’hli use a ‘weapon’ against another Hakh’hli?) Not even ‘police’? (But of course not again! The Hakh'hli didn’t have ‘police’— what would they be needed for? The Major Seniors did not permit ‘crime,’ and no Hakh’hli would go against the wishes of the Major Seniors.)

After the first two shifts of questioners, the third was almost like a casual chat. One count in that shift’s favor was that Marguery Darp was a member. She sat down in front of him and said simply, “We want to know everything there is to know about the Hakh’hli, Sandy. So please just start at the beginning—whatever you think the beginning is—and tell us whatever you think we ought to know.”

That was easy enough. The more Sandy saw of Marguery Darp the easier he found her to talk to. He simply sat there, telling her everything he could think of about Hakh’hli and titch’hik and the way the magnetic repellers made the lander lurch as they came in and the fact that his mother, or anyway some part of his mother, was still alive, or in a manner of speaking alive, in the genetics files on the interstellar ship; and she listened. She listened very well. She didn’t speak, except now and then to give an encouraging grunt or a “Then what happened?” but her broad, strong, interested face spoke for her.

It was almost an annoyance when there was a knock on the door. Hamilton Boyle leaned in to report that the two Hakh’hli were finished with the afternoon’s interrogation; they were having their “cookies and milk,” and did Sandy want to go with them? Marguery answered for him. “Oh, I don’t think so, Ham. We’ll go upstairs and get a drink until they’re ready to join us—if Sandy doesn’t mind.”

Well, of course he didn’t mind. In fact, it was close to perfect. “What would you like?” Marguery asked as they found a table, warm in the afternoon sun. “I’m going to have a cup of coffee. Care to try one?”

“Certainly,” he said, bracing himself for another ordeal by ingestion but pleased for a chance to try to redeem himself for that unisex poem. As the waitress brought the two cups and the silver pot, he reached for his pocket, but as he opened his mouth to speak Polly and Oberon appeared in the doorway. He scowled at them. “I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said accusingly.

“We wouldn’t be here if the Earth people were behaving properly,” Polly said disagreeably, advancing out into the sunshine of the patio. She had every appearance of being in a pinching mood.

“What’s the matter?” Sandy asked.

She bore down on Marguery Darp. She said, “I’ve been talking to our cohort-mates. Do you know that some of your Earth people have been taking ‘souvenirs’?”

Marguery looked astonished. “What do you mean, souvenirs?”

“They’ve stolen pieces of the lander shield. Tanya says big chunks of it have been cut away while they were in stun time.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Marguery said contritely. “Did you mention it to Hamilton Boyle?”

“I haven’t seen Hamilton Boyle since I discovered the crime. You must deal with it. It is an offense to the Hakh’hli to steal parts of our lander. I want it stopped.”

Obie put in, “I told her it didn’t matter, Sandy. It was only the old shield anyway; it was all going to be replaced.” He ducked as Polly turned toward him, but added defensively, “Well, it’s the truth.”

Marguery Darp said firmly, “No, Obie, she’s right. That was a bad thing to do, and I’ll see that it doesn’t happen any more. I apologize, Polly.”

Polly flounced. “And that’s not all of it. Your Boyle person has been grilling me all afternoon about how the lander works, what kind of fuel we use, whether we can take off again without refueling—it is very tiring, to be asked so many questions! And that other person has been doing the same to Oberon, and Titania and Bottom and Helena and Demetrius have all been interrogated. We come in friendship! We should not be cross-examined like Perry Mason!”

“Who’s Perry Mason?” Marguery asked; and then said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that we’re all so very curious about you, uh, you very advanced people from space.”

Sandy decided to get into the conversation. “It’s all right, Marguery. We understand that. If you have any other questions, ask them.”

Marguery hesitated, nibbling at her lower lip and smiling a little. “You’re sure you’re not too tired?”

“Of course not!”

“Well—” She thought for a moment, then smiled apologetically. “There is one little thing that I’ve been wondering about. It’s silly, really, but—your names.”

She stopped there. Waiting for the question, Sandy said encouragingly. “Yes? What about them?”

“Well, this is really unofficial. Just my own curiosity, but they don’t sound like Hakh’hli names or anything, do they? Where did you get them?”

“Oh, our names,” Sandy said, flushing. “Well, they’re just a kind of a joke, you know.”

And Obie jumped in, relaxed now that Polly had stopped making pinching motions with her thumbs. “Yes, a kind of a joke,” he said happily. “They come from a play. An Earth play; we all did it, years ago. We performed it for the whole ship! They were fascinated! It was a great hit; of course, they didn’t understand the language—it was the first we did in English. Sandy? Can we show her? Polly?”

“Show me what?” Marguery Darp asked, sounding a little apprehensive.

“We can’t. We don’t have Theseus here,” Sandy objected.

Obie wriggled in protest. “We don’t need him. I know his lines! And I’m sure Polly knows her own part still, and maybe you could do Egeus—here, let’s do it!”

Obie leaped, laughing, to the top of a parapet and began to declaim:

“Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace. Four anxious days bring in

Another moon, but oh, methinks, how slow

This old moon wanes, like to a step-dame or a dowager,

Long withering out a young man’s revenues.

“Now you, Polly,” he coaxed.

Polly looked sullen, but played along. “All right,” she sighed.

“Four days will quickly steep themselves in night.

Four nights will quickly dream away the time.

And then the moon, like to a silver bow

New-bent in heaven, shall behold

The night of our solemnities.”

As Sandy opened his mouth, trying to remember the next lines for Egeus, Marguery said, startled, “But that’s Shakespeare!”

“Right, right!” Obie cried happily, leaping down beside her. “It’s called A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Oh, it was wonderful, the way we did it. Shall we go on?”

But all Sandy could remember of Egeus’s part was “Full of vexation come I, with complaint against my child, my daughter Hermia,” and then he stalled.

“Aw, try,” Obie coaxed. Sandy shook his head. “Well, we could get the others on the radio,” he offered wistfully, but Marguery shook her head, marveling.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “I see the point. Really, that’s wonderful. Is that how you all learned English?”

“One of the ways. That was the best, only ChinTekki-tho got angry at MyThara for getting us to do it. He said we were learning the wrong dialect.”

“We really weren’t,” Sandy said, loyal to MyThara still. “We all knew the difference.”

“But we did keep those names,” Obie said. “Which is lucky for you, Marguery Darp, because you wouldn’t want to have to learn our Hakh’hli ones. Don’t you want to do just a little more, Polly?”

Polly waggled her forearm negatively. “I’m going back to tell Tanya you said that the vandalism would be stopped,” she told Sandy frostily, “so she can advise ChinTekki-tho. Are you coming with me, Obie?”

“No, no! I’m going to stay here and talk to Marguery about New York New York—Times Square, Harlem, Wall Street—” Weeping, he leaped away, singing to himself.

Marguery stared after him. “What did he mean about your real names?” she asked Sandy.

He shifted position, trying to follow Obie as he leaped happily around the almost-empty sun deck. “Well, the Hakh’hli names tell a lot about the person,” he began, and explained about the way the name reflected lineage and status in the Hakh’hli society; and how the numbers that followed the names reflected the egg batches in storage, which led inevitably to the Hakh’hli habit of freezing eggs as soon as they were laid, so as not to overburden the ship’s carrying capacity.

“And Polly says that if you human beings had done that,” Obie called from three tables away, “you wouldn’t have got yourselves into all this trouble.”

“Thank her for her good advice,” Marguery said, which caused Sandy to give her a sharp look. The words and the tone had not matched.

“That’s irony, right?” he asked.

She started to answer, then sneezed instead. Sandy, startled, asked, “Are you all right?”

“Just say gesundheit, all right? I’m fine. What were you asking me?”

“I said—”

“No, now I remember what you said,” she interrupted. “Yes, Sandy, that was irony. There’s something about your friend Polly that gets my nose out of joint.”

He stared at her. “Your nose out of—?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I just mean she irritates me. I’m sorry about that.”

“Why would you be sorry? She irritates me, too. She irritates all of us; she’s always been the bossiest one in the cohort.”

“Oh, really?” Marguery seemed to relax. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad to hear that. I wouldn’t like to think that all the Hakh’hli were as snotty as she is.”

“ ‘Snotty’?”

“Mean, uh, well, unlikeable. As a matter of fact,” she added, looking to the far end of the terrace, where Obie was practicing high jumps, “I do like Obie. He’s a little, ah, youthful, isn’t he? But he’s cute.”

“He’s my best friend,” Sandy said. He thought about asking exactly what “cute” meant in that context and decided against it. “He and I, well, we’ve been together all our lives, you know—” And he yawned.

“Aren’t you getting enough sleep?”

“I just can’t sleep as long as you people do,” he said defensively. “We only sleep two twelfth-days, back on the ship, and it’s hard to stay in bed longer than that. Anyway,” he added, “I was awake last night doing something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s another poem,” he said, and passed the paper over to her.

This

is to

my

dearest Marguery

whom I much love

with all my sins

of which I do hope

there will be shared

great numbers, jointly

undertaken with Marguery

herself, happily and often

Love Yes!

Love Yes!

Love Yes!

Love You!

Yes! You!

She gave him an ambiguous look and thought for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I guess you got the gender right this time, anyway,” she commented at last, handing it back.

Sandy had hoped for more. “Don’t you like it?”

She looked at him with fond exasperation. “Well, hell, of course I like it. Kind of. You do come right to the point, don’t you? But anybody would like having a poem written to her, wouldn’t she?”

“I don’t know. I hoped so.”

“Well, she would. I would. Only—” She hesitated. “Only, look, Sandy, this is all very confusing, you know? I’ve got a job to do, and I don’t want to be mixed up.”

“No more kissing, you mean?” Sandy asked doubtfully.

She laughed, and then ducked as Obie landed near her. He peered over her shoulder and then said, “He finally showed the poem to you?”

“He showed it to me, all right.”

“I think it’s a really good poem,” Obie said loyally. “For one in English, I mean. He could write a lot better in Hakh’hli if you wanted him to.”

“Why don’t you leave us alone?” Sandy demanded. Obie gave him an injured look but leaped away. Sandy said apologetically to Marguery Darp, “He’s pretty excited about going to New York.”

“It isn’t exactly ‘New York’ any more, Sandy—”

“Well, York, then. Or whatever you call it. Anyway, we’ve seen so many old films about it . . . and, really, he’s quite young, you know.” And the funny thing was that when he heard himself say that he realized that he had been thinking it for some time. Marguery’s comment had been right on target. The Hakh’hli of his cohort, with all their rambunctious, playful, heedless, sometimes sulky ways were really rather childish—not at all like John William Washington, who was not only adult but, something no Hakh’hli would ever understand, “in love.”

But Obie heard him. “I am not a child,” he cried, “Look how far I can jump! Could a child do this?”

And, eyes on Sandy, he launched himself to the top of the elevator housing and squatted there, grinning down at them.

“I guess he is a little young,” Sandy said apologetically.

Marguery nodded without comment. Then she looked over Sandy’s shoulder. “Oh, there it is!” she cried. “See it, off to the left there, just above that cloud? It’s our blimp! It’ll stay here overnight, and then we’ll get on it tomorrow for the trip to York.”

Sandy craned his neck to see, delighted. From behind him he heard Obie call, “Here I come!”

And he jumped—his eyes on the blimp, and not on the parapet he was aiming for.

That was a mistake. He misjudged his trajectory—just slightly—too much. He did hit the railing, but he didn’t stop there. Marguery screamed; Sandy shouted and jumped up to reach for the Hakh’hli, but it was too late. Obie, legs scratching in terror as he tried to stop himself, hit the parapet. He bounced and kept right on going, over the edge. They could hear him squealing all the way down to the ground.