His Majesty's Starship Page 8

  “My pleasure.” Gilmore made himself smile. “Though I have been wondering what purpose these interviews serve.”

  Arm Wild was holding an instrument of some kind in one of his graspers and fiddling with it with the other. Gilmore had the feeling the Rustie glanced up to answer the question, even though his head did not physically move. The all-round vision of the Rusties was a useful tool: was it enhanced by those non-glasses Arm Wild was wearing?

  “In our time on Earth we have had little chance to meet and talk with what I believe you would call ‘the common man’. You are an employee. You follow the directions of your superiors. That makes you valid study material.”

  “I’m flattered,” Gilmore said, though he could tell Arm Wild’s attention was back with his instrument. Gilmore took it to be a recorder. That hadn’t occurred to him – the Rusties wanted to talk to the plebs. And why not?

  So was that why they insisted on this fleet, when they could have transported all the delegates together on their own ship? There must have been over a thousand humans travelling on this voyage; from assorted countries, backgrounds and traditions, provided free of charge for the Rusties to study without any form of interference or bias from the humans’ superiors, and a damn sight more representative than the high-ups with whom the Rusties had been forced to mix back home. Cunning.

  Arm Wild had finished fiddling and he held the instrument up. “Perhaps we could start, Captain, with you simply giving your reasons for coming into space.”

  Gilmore thought, and began. “Why did I come into space? Simple. Two reasons, in fact. I’m a loner, and Earth is too small.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “Certainly. There’s too many people back home. Do the Ru- First Breed know what is meant by claustrophobia?”

  “We do, though we rarely suffer from it. You do not feel happy in a crowd?”

  Gilmore remembered the instructions he had given the crew to be cooperative. He should follow them himself. “No,” he said, “I don’t. But in a small ship’s crew – well, I know we’re all a little alike. We’ve all been through common experiences, we have a common background, and we all respect one another. I could never be a Captain Bligh – you’ll cross reference that name? Fine – but I can get on just by being Captain Gilmore ...”

  (Comments of Arm Wild: The story of Captain William Bligh, mentioned by Michael Gilmore, is emblematic of the differences between our races. William Bligh was the commander of a sea-going naval vessel named Bounty, five hundred years ago. Whilst at sea on board Bounty, William Bligh exercised undue leniency and inept personnel management in its dealing with its crew, and this made many of them confident to challenge its authority without due consensual undertakings. After the rebellion, William Bligh was cast adrift with a few loyal sailors and displayed superb skills of seamanship, returning to civilisation a hero. However, subsequent publicity put about by the pride of the senior rebel, Fletcher Christian, instilled the idea in the popular view that William Bligh was a harsh tyrant, thus justifying the rebellion. Contextual analysis indicates that it is this misconceived image to which Michael Gilmore refers.)

  *

  Hannah Dereshev, Executive Officer (Second in Command)

  Hannah Dereshev’s position has no real counterpart in the First Breed. It is necessary to the humans that the captain be somehow distant from the crew, and the Executive Officer is the one through whom captain and crew communicate with each other, though in matters not immediately related to the running of Ark Royal, neither has any hesitation in addressing the other. To make its position more complicated, all on board agree that Michael Gilmore is the one with the expertise needed to direct the ship’s operations. This would imply that Hannah Dereshev is supernumerary, which plainly is not the case. I recommend further research.

  The captain had been interviewed and suffered no grievous harm, which made Hannah less nervous. She looked at Arm Wild with his recorder and thought that Rusties used their graspers in much the same way as elephants used their trunks. Hannah had once seen an elephant at a zoo casually picking fruit off a pile and popping it into its mouth, while standing at right angles to the pile and not even looking at it, and nonchalantly accepting the praises of the crowd. For some reason it had both amused and impressed her. What was it like to have complete, independent control over even one extra limb, yet alone two? And Rusties could use their graspers and all four feet in complete isolation from each other ...

  “Perhaps we could talk about your cultural background, Lieutenant Commander,” Arm Wild said. He either couldn’t or wouldn’t accept that Hannah’s rank could be shortened just to Commander; perhaps he felt he would be giving as much offence as if she called him just Arm. Rusties mentioned your full name or none at all; perhaps they were the same with ranks. “You describe yourself as Israeli?”

  Hannah was always happy to talk about her background. “That’s right,” she said. “The Israelis-”

  “Yet there is no longer a nation of Israel.” Arm Wild, who was already aware of this fact, stated it as such for his future listeners but the blunt interruption threw Hannah slightly.

  “Not any more,” Hannah said. “There’s Israel in Exile, which is a very grand name for an institution with a lot of money and no land. It’s like a country without anywhere to stay. A virtual nation, if you like.”

  “Like the United Kingdom?”

  “The United Kingdom has UK-1. We have nothing except power and influence. I’m proud to be Israeli, and I have many friends in IIE – and on the El Shaddai, for that matter – but it’s too unstructured for me. I feel happiest in a formal organisation and so I joined the RSF.”

  “You like the military?”

  “Don’t get me wrong! I’m not a uniform-loving fascist and I don’t dumbly obey orders from my superiors. Our people have suffered enough from that type in the past. If the captain gave a stupid order I’d be the first to tell him; in fact, he trusts me to do so. But it is a fact, I think, that I function best in this kind of environment ...”

  (Comments of Arm Wild: The context of Hannah Dereshev’s description of a ‘virtual nation’ should alert readers of the First Breed to the fact that such a situation is in fact unusual for the humans. Most humans continue to respect political boundaries – sometimes natural, often artificial – even though there is very little degree of consensus, except in a purely passive way, as to who belongs to which nation. Though the reliance on national boundaries has decreased within the last few centuries, awareness of them appears to remain at an instinctive level in the human mind. Thus we have humans who in the one grasper give allegiance to a chosen leader – as is the case of the crew of Ark Royal, for example – and who in the other secretly yearn for the old days of division.)

  *

  Samad Loonat, Chief Engineering Officer

  This one’s position on this ship equates very well with the First Breed ethos. Samad Loonat holds its position because, quite simply, it is the member of the crew most familiar with the technology needed to manage the engines and other technical systems on board. It is because of this that it holds its present position and enjoys supreme authority in its realm of aptitude.

  Arm Wild came straight to the point.

  “You are Chief Engineering Officer of Ark Royal, Lieutenant. What brings you into space?”

  Samad grinned. “I’m here because of the kit.”

  “The kit?”

  “The machines. Gadgets. Doohickis,” Samad expanded. “I knew I wanted to go into an engineering environment, and space is where all the action is. I applied to be an officer because ... well, because I thought I could do it. Quite simply, I want to be the best engineer that I can, and this seemed to be the best way to go about it.”

  “You seek to optimise your natural ability?”

  “That’s exactly what I was saying to myself-” Samad caught himself, remembering Gilmore’s injunction that the crew would cooperate. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “The
others have talked about their backgrounds,” Arm Wild said. “Could you tell me about your own?”

  “What sort of background?”

  “Ethnic, religious if applicable ...”

  “Oh, that. I’m a Moslem from Bangladesh.”

  “I see,” Arm Wild said. “I understand there is a long history of antagonism between those of the Moslem persuasion and those of Lieutenant Commander Dereshev’s race and religion, and yet I believe you are pair bonded? Married?”

  “You believe correctly,” Samad said.

  “It is not an obstacle?”

  Samad pursed his lips. “I believe there are places on Earth where we couldn’t walk hand-in-hand down the street. Up here in space, there’s room for everyone.”

  “Others do not share this point of view. How do you explain that?”

  “They’re wrong,” Samad said simply. “Sorry, that’s an easy and glib answer but it’s the only one I have.” He smiled. “And we both agree on the Christians, anyway ...”

  (Comments of Arm Wild: The historical context of Samad Loonat’s background is important. It the product of a culture that has fought several times for self-rule and which, the last time, lost. The humans have difficulty in accepting defeat: there is no consensual mechanism to help them accept the will of the conquerors. Samad Loonat, despite its allegiance to the United Kingdom, like Hannah Dereshev seems to owe a deeper allegiance to an intangible culture. Fortunately this culture and that of the United Kingdom are not incompatible.)

  (NB the nearest First Breed translation of ‘doohicki’ might be ‘thingumibob’.))

  *

  Julia Coyne, Systems Officer

  We come to the first human not immediately connected with the command structure of the ship. Julia Coyne, so far as I can tell, has no particular specialty that might have led to its being selected for this crew. In terms of abilities, it is what the humans call an ‘all-rounder’, though its specific charge is the systems on board Ark Royal.

  Due to its dark skin it is the member of the crew I have the least difficulty in identifying, but amongst the humans it is gauche to point out such a distinction; although if this individual were, say, taller than the others, there would be no problem in pointing out the difference.

  Like many other humans before her, Julia found herself caught out by the Rusties’ 270o vision. Arm Wild’s body and head were facing her, and her guitar was behind him, well outside the peripheral vision of a human standing in the same position. Yet-

  “That is a musical instrument, is it not?” Arm Wild said, indicating with his free grasper. The gesture, and his mild tone, watered down the initial impression Julia had had of an accusation.

  “Yes, it’s a guitar. I gather you don’t have music?” Julia had picked that fact up somewhere and it had lodged with her out of sympathy. She felt so sorry for the aliens.

  “We do not have an equivalent,” Arm Wild agreed.

  “Do you have any form of art?”

  “Most certainly, but for some reason our brains are not designed for music. Of course, a good reciter will make use of rhyme and rhythm to produce an effect that I gather is similar. I have seen many an audience greatly moved in this way. For instance, I would challenge anyone to come away from a performance of ‘The Attack of the Alpine Clan’ by the great Leaf Ruby without feeling profoundly moved.”

  Julia smiled. She had wondered how she would get on with the alien, but any being that could talk about art with appreciation would find a soulmate in her. “I’d say the same of a performance of the Ode to Joy,” she said. “Would this Leaf Ruby be on the Roving?”

  “Where else would it be?”

  Julia raised her eyebrows. “I thought the Roving was only a colony world.”

  For a moment Arm Wild was silent, as though Julia had actually caught him out on something. “I see your point,” he said. “Yes, Leaf Ruby is there. It is a native of the Roving.”

  “I’d like to attend one of Leaf Ruby’s recitals,” Julia said. “Would that be possible?”

  “It can be arranged. To this interview, Lieutenant. You have probably gathered from your crewmates that I usually first ask about your background, and your reasons for being in space.”

  “Okay,” Julia said. Just stay off my sex life, there’s a good Rustie. “I think I went into space because I was after ... after something different. On Earth, everyone has to be exactly alike, though it wasn’t always like that. Once the Italians wrote the greatest music in the world – or say they did. Once the English were the greatest sailors. And so on. You don’t get that now; you can get just as good music in England, France, Germany ... we’re one big mass of similarity. But the individuals head for the sky. That’s me. Look at this ship! We’re a collection of very different individuals. That’s what I like about the spacer community – the diversity you get from person to person ...”

  (Comments of Arm Wild: Julia Coyne came into space to seek individuality and diversity, yet it happily subsumes its identity into a crew. Such a dichotomy. Such aptitude.)

  *

  Peter Kirton, Software Officer

  Of the three non-command humans, Peter Kirton is most senior according to their standards; it is younger than the last interviewed, Julia Coyne, but is more experienced and has passed more tests to qualify for seniority. Such is the human way.

  Peter Kirton was aware he tended to rub his hands together nervously when talking to strangers, and he was sitting on them to prevent it. His eyes were fixed firmly on Arm Wild’s translator unit, slung around his neck beneath his wedge-shaped chin.

  “Um – that device fascinates me, Arm Wild,” he said. “How does it work?”

  One place Arm Wild could not see was under his chin. He followed the direction of Peter’s gaze and his free grasper brushed the unit. “I have no idea,” he said. “How would you make it work?”

  “Some form of artificial intelligence,” Peter mused. “Not necessarily sentient ... A neural network could handle the context, the semantics ... But it never seems to pause in making the translation, so it must think ahead to what you’re about to say.”

  “That I do know,” Arm Wild said. “We take an average of half as long in communicating the meaning of a single sentence as a human speaking Standard does. We have finished our sentence before the unit is half way through its translation. We have to be quite patient in speaking to humans.”

  “I’ll try not to hold you up,” Peter said with a cautious smile.

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, I’ve never actually heard your voice,” Peter said.

  For a second, a gasping hiss filled the cabin. “Now you have,” Arm Wild said. “My translator is set only to pick up subvocalised speech. It is less off-putting to humans to hear just the one tongue.”

  “Too true,” Peter said, smiling again. “Let me guess. It translates our words for you and plays them direct into your ear? Cochlea stimulation, or something.”

  “So I believe.”

  Peter looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, we’re at a disadvantage. I’ll never know exactly what you say. You could deliver the vilest First Breed insult every time you refer to me, and you could set your unit to translate it as ‘Peter’.”

  “And why would I do that?” Arm Wild asked.

  “No reason,” Peter said.

  Arm Wild brought the conversation round to the subject of Lieutenant Peter Kirton.

  “I wanted to be an engineer, I suppose,” Peter said. “Get my hands dirty. But have you ever been on Mars? Of course you have, silly question, sorry. What I meant was, did you absorb the atmosphere? The scene? The society?”

  “As much as is possible for an alien. Why do you ask?”

  “Because every other Martian is an engineer! We have to be. We live in a totally artificial world. Mars is still one big spaceship where a million little things can go wrong every day that could wipe a lot of people out.”

  “We were surprised when the government of Mars showed no
interest in this delegation,” Arm Wild said.

  Peter laughed. “Come on! They’ve already spent a century trying to make Mars habitable, they’ve committed themselves to a programme that’ll last centuries more, and then you lot turn up and announce that there’s another Earth-type planet ready-made for us. They’re annoyed.”

  “You evidently do not share this opinion.”

  “No, but I can tell why they do.”

  Arm Wild nudged the conversation back to its original course. “You said every Martian is an engineer.”

  “That’s right. A hardware engineer. So, I decided to be different. I got into software instead. But since on Mars, that means studying the code for the air conditioning plants and not much else, I broadened my horizons.”

  “To the Royal Space Fleet.”

  “They were the only ones recruiting at the time. This job came up, I could do it, so ... here I am.”

  (Comments of Arm Wild: this interview I found the most disquieting, through no fault of Peter Kirton’s. This human is in charge of the ship’s software, and that includes the ship’s artificial intelligences. Speaking to it reminded me that as long as I am on board Ark Royal, I am surrounded by disembodied minds in the ship’s fibre optics – entities that can only be discoursed with through mouthtalk or even written language: no possibility of fulltalk at all. It must be like a pride of cripples. It is not satisfactory simply to say that humans are used to it – how are they used to it? How can such a society exist?)

  *

  Adrian Nichol, Assistant Engineer and Chief Pilot

  After much cogitation, I am still not convinced that Adrian Nichol’s arguments actually make sense. Adrian Nichol is plainly convinced that they do. I present them for consideration.

  “I’m here because what human wouldn’t be?” Adrian said. He was leaning forward eagerly, twirling his thumbs around each other without realising it.