But not too sad. Dax had been Tuf’s hole card, and she’d trumped him. She smijed and ran her fingers through Blackjack’s thick smoke-and-silver fur, eliciting another thunderous purr. “The more things change the more they stay the same,” she said in answer to Tuf’s comment.
“This is one of those venerable sayings that collapses upon close logical examination,” Tuf said, “being obviously self-contradictory on the face of it. If indeed things have changed upon S’uthlam, they obviously cannot have remained the same as well. To myself, coming as I have from a great distance, it is the changes that seem most notable. To wit, this war, and your own elevation to First Councillor, a considerable and unanticipated promotion.”
“And a puling awful job,” Tolly Mune said with a grimace. “I’d go back to being Portmaster in a blink, if I could.”
“Your job satisfaction is not the subject under discussion,” Tuf said. He continued. “It must also be noted that my welcome to S’uthlam was distinctly less cordial than on the occasion of my previous visit, much to my chagrin, and notwithstanding the fact that I have twice placed myself squarely between S’uthlam and mass famine, plague, cannibalism, pestilence, social collapse, and other unpleasant and inconvenient events. Moreover, even the most venomously rude races frequently observe a certain rudimentary etiquette toward those who are bringing them eleven million standards, which you recall is the amount of principal remaining on my debt to the Port of S’uthlam. Ergo, I had every reason to expect a welcome of a somewhat different nature.”
“You were wrong,” she said.
“Indeed,” Tuf said. ’“Now that I have learned that you occupy the highest political office on S’uthlam, rather than a menial position upon a penal farm, I am frankly more mystified than ever as to why the Planetary Defense Flotilla felt it necessary to greet me with fierce bombastic threats, dour warnings, and exclamations of hostility.”
Tolly Mune scratched at Blackjack’s ear. “My orders, Tuf.”
Tuf folded his hands atop his stomach. “I await your explanation.”
“The more things change—” she began.
“Having already been pummeled with this cliche, I believe I grasp the small irony involved in it by now, so there is no need for you to repeat it over and over endlessly, First Councillor Mune. If you would proceed to the essence of the matter I would be deeply appreciative. “
She sighed. “You know our situation.”
“The broad outlines, certainly,” Tuf admitted. “S’uthlam suffers from an excess of humanity, and a paucity of food. Twice I have performed formidable feats of ecological engineering in order to enable the S’uthlamese to forestall the grim specter of famine. The details of your food crisis vary from year to year but I trust that the essence of the situation remains as I have outlined it.”
“The latest projection is the worst yet.”
“Indeed,” said Tuf. “My recollection is that S’uthlam stood some one hundred nine standard years from mass planetary famine and societal collapse, assuming that my recommendations and suggestions were dutifully implemented.”
“They tried, damn it. They did try. The meatbeasts, the pods, the ororos, neptune’s shawl—everything’s in place. But the changeover was only partial. Too many powerful people were unwilling to give up the luxury foodstuffs they preferred, so there are still large tracts of agri-land devoted to raising herds of food animals, entire farms planted with neograss and omni-grain and nanowheat—that sort of thing. Meanwhile, the population curve has continued to rise, faster than ever, and the puling Church of Life Evolving preaches the sanctity of life and the golden role of reproduction in humanity’s evolution to transcendence and godhood.”
“What is the current estimate?” Tuf asked bluntly.
“Twelve years,” said Tolly Mune.
Tuf raised a finger. “To dramatize your plight, perhaps you ought to assign Commander Wald Ober to count down the remaining time over the vidnets. Such a demonstration would have a certain grim urgency that might inspire the S’uthlamese to mend their ways.”
Tolly Mune winced. “Spare me your levity, Tuf. I’m First Councillor now, goddamn it, and I’m staring right into the pimpled ugly face of catastrophe. The war and the food shortages are only part of it. You can’t imagine the problems I’m facing.”
“Perhaps not the fine detail,” said Tuf, “yet the broad outlines are readily discerned. I make no claim to omniscience, but any reasonably intelligent person could observe certain facts and from them draw certain inferences. Perhaps these deductions thus arrived at are wrong. Without Dax, I cannot ascertain the truth of that. Yet somehow I think not.”
“What puling facts? What inferences?”
“Firstly,” said Tuf, “S’uthlam is at war with Vandeen and its allies. Ergo, I can infer that the technocratic faction that once dominated S’uthlamese politics has yielded up power to their rivals, the expansionists.”
“Not quite,” said Tolly Mune, “but you’ve got the right puling idea. The expansionists have gained seats in every election since you left, but we’ve kept them out of power with a series of coalition governments. The allies made it clear years ago that an expansionist government meant war. Hell of it is, we still don’t have an expansionist government, but we got the damned war anyway.” She shook her head. “In the last five years we’ve had nine First Councillors. I’m the latest, probably not the last.”
“The grimness of your current projections suggests that this war has not yet actually touched your populace,” Tuf said.
“Thank life, no,” said Tolly Mune. “We were ready when the allied war fleet came calling. New ships, new weapons systems, everything built in secret. When the allies saw what was waiting for them, they backed off without firing a blast. But they’ll be back, damn it. It’s only a matter of time. We’ve got reports that they’re preparing for a major strike.”
“I might also infer,” said Tuf, “from your general attitude and sense of desperation, that conditions upon S’uthlam itself are already deteriorating rapidly.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“It is obvious,” said Tuf. “Your projection may indeed indicate mass famine and collapse to be some twelve standard years in the future, but this is hardly to say that S’uthlamese life will remain pleasant and tranquil until that moment, whereupon a bell will ring loudly and your world will fall to pieces. Such an idea is ludicrous. As you are now so close to the brink, it is only to be expected that many of the woes symptomatic of a disintegrating culture will already be upon you.”
“Things are—puling hell, where do I begin?”
“The beginning is frequently a good place,” said Tuf.
“They’re my people, Tuf. That’s my world turning down there. It’s a good world. But lately—if I didn’t know better, I’d think insanity was contagious. Crime is up some two hundred percent since your last call. Murder is up five hundred percent, suicide more than two thousand percent. Service breakdowns become more common daily—blackouts, systems failure, random strikes, vandalism. We’ve had reports of cannibalism deep in the undercities—not isolated instances, but entire puling cannibal gangs. Secret societies of all kinds, in fact. One group seized a food factory, held it for two weeks, and fought a pitched battle with world police.
“Another bunch of crazies have taken to kidnapping pregnant women and . . . ” Tolly Mune scowled; Blackjack hissed. “This is hard to talk about. A woman with child has always been something special to the S’uthlamese, but these . . . I can hardly even call them people, Tuf. These creatures have cultivated a taste for—”
Haviland Tuf raised a hand, palm outward. “Say no more,” he said. “I have grasped the inference. Continue.”
“Lots of solitary maniacs, too,” she said. “Someone dumped highly toxic waste into a food factory holding tank eighteen months ago. More than twelve hundred fatalities. Mass culture—S’uthlam has always been tolerant, but lately there’s a hell of a lot more to be tolerant of,
if you catch my float. There’s this growing obsession with disfigurement, death, violence. We’ve had massive resistance to our attempts to re-engineer the ecosystem according to your recommendations. Meatbeasts have been poisoned, blown up, and fields of pods set afire. Organized thrill gangs hunt the goddamned wind-riders with harpoons and high-altitude gliders. It makes no goddamned sense. The religious consensus—all kinds of weird cults have been emerging. And the war! Life only knows how many will die, but it’s as popular as—hell, I don’t know, it’s more popular than sex, I think.”
“Indeed,” said Tuf. “I am unsurprised. I take it the imminence of disaster remains a closely guarded secret of the S’uthlamese High Council, as in years past.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Tolly Mune said. “One of the minority councillors decided she couldn’t hold her bladder, so she called in the puling peeps and pissed the news out all over the vidnets. I think she wanted to win a few million more votes. The hell of it is, it worked. It also kicked off another goddamned scandal and forced yet another First Councillor out of office. By then there was no place to look for a new human sacrifice but upstairs. Guess who got grabbed? Our favorite vidshow heroine, controversial bureaucrat, and Ma Spider, that’s who.”
“You are obviously referring to yourself,” said Tuf.
“By then nobody hated me much any more. I had a certain reputation for efficiency, the remnants of a popular romantic image, and I was minimally acceptable to most of the big council factions. That was three months ago. So far it’s been one hell of a term of office.” Her smile was grim. “The Vandeeni listen to our newsfeeds, too. Simultaneous with my goddamned promotion, they decided S’uthlam was, I quote, a threat to the peace and stability of the sector, end quote, and got together their goddamned allies to try and decide what to do about us. The bunch of them finally gave us an ultimatum: enforce immediate rationing and compulsory birth control, or the alliance would occupy S’uthlam and enforce it for us.”
“A viable solution, but not a tactful one,” Tuf commented. “Thus your present war. Yet all this fails to explain your attitude toward me. I have been able to offer your world succor twice before. Surely you did not feel I would be remiss in my professional duties on this third occasion.”
“I figured you’d do what you could.” She pointed a finger. “But on your own terms, Tuf. Hell, you’ve helped, yes, but always on your own terms, and all of your solutions have proved unfortunately impermanent.”
“I warned you repeatedly that my efforts were mere stopgaps,” Tuf replied.
“There are no calories in warnings, Tuf. I’m sorry, but we have no choice. This time we can’t allow you to clap a stick-on bandage over our hemorrhage and shunt off. The next time you came back to check on how we were faring, you wouldn’t find a puling world to come back to. We need the Ark, Tuf, and we need it permanently. We’re prepared to use it. Ten years ago you said that biotech and ecology were not our areas of expertise, and you were right. Then. But times change. We’re one of the most advanced worlds in human civilization, and for a decade we’ve been devoting most of our educational efforts to training ecologists and biotechs. My predecessors brought in top theorists from Avalon, Newholme, and a dozen other worlds. Brilliant people, geniuses. We even managed to lure some leading genetic wizards off Prometheus.” She stroked her cat and smiled. “They helped with Blackjack here. A lot.”
“Indeed,” said Tuf.
“We’re ready to use the Ark. No matter how capable you are, Tuf, you’re only one puling man. We want to keep your seedship permanently in S’uthlamese orbit, with a full-time staff of two hundred top scientists and genetic technicians, so we can deal with the food crisis daily. This ship and its cell library and all the lost data in its computers represents our last, best hope, you can see that. Believe me, Tuf, I didn’t give Ober orders to seize your ship without considering every other goddamned option I could think of. I knew you’d never sell, damn it. What choice did I have? We don’t want to cheat you. You would have been paid a fair price. I’d have insisted.”
“This assumes I remained alive after the seizure,” pointed out Tuf. “A doubtful proposition at best.”
“You’re alive now, and I’ll still buy the damned ship. You could stay aboard, work with our people. I’m prepared to offer you lifetime employment—name your own salary, anything you want. You want to keep that eleven million standards? It’s yours. You want us to rename the puling planet in your honor? Say the word, and we’ll do it.”
“Planet S’uthlam or Planet Tuf by any name would be as overcrowded,” Haviland Tuf replied. “Should I agree to this proposed purchase, undoubtedly it is your intent to use the Ark only in these efforts to increase your caloric productivity and thus feed your starving people.”
“Of course,” said Tolly Mune.
Tuf’s face was blank and serene. “I am pleased to learn that it has never occurred to you or to any of your associates on the High Council that the Ark might be employed in its original capacity as an instrument of biological warfare. Sadly, I have lost this refreshing innocence, and find myself prey to uncharitable and cynical visions of the Ark being used to wreak ecological havoc upon Vandeen, Skrymir, Jazbo, and the other allied homeworlds, even to the point of genocide, thereby preparing those planets for mass colonization, which I seem to recall is the population policy advocated by your troublesome expansionist faction.”
“That’s quite a goddamned implication,” snapped Tolly Mune. “Life is sacred to the S’uthlamese, Tuf.”
“Indeed. Yet, poisonous cynic that I am, I cannot help but suspect that ultimately the S’uthlamese may decide that some lives are more sacred than others.”
“You know me, Tuf,” she said, her tone crisp and chilly. “I would never allow anything like that.”
“And if any such plan was enacted over your objections, I have no doubt that your letter of resignation would be quite sternly worded,” Tuf said flatly. “I find this insufficiently reassuring, and have a hunch, yes, a hunch, that the allies might share my sentiments on this point.”
Tolly Mune chucked Blackjack under the chin. The cat began to growl deep in his throat. Both of them stared at Tuf. “Tuf,” she said, “millions of lives are at stake, maybe billions. There are things I could show you that would curl your hair. If you had any puling hair, that is.”
“As I do not, this is obvious hyperbole,” said Tuf.
“If you’d consent to shuttle in to Spiderhome, we could take the elevators downstairs to the surface of S’uthlam—”
“I think not. It would seem to me to be conspicuously unwise to leave the Ark empty and undefended, as it were, in the light of the climate of belligerence and distrust that presently festers upon S’uthlam. Moreover, though you may think me arbitrary and overfastidious, with the passage of years I find I have lost whatever small degree of tolerance I once had for swarming crowds, cacophony, rude stares, unwelcome hands, watery beer, and minuscule portions of tasteless food. As I recall, these are the principal delights to be found upon the surface of S’uthlam.”
“I don’t want to threaten you, Tuf—”
“Nonetheless, you are about to.”
“You will not be allowed to depart the system, I’m afraid. Don’t try to hoodwink me like you did Ober. That business with the bomb is a goddamned fabrication and we both know it.”
“You have found me out,” Tuf said expressionlessly.
Blackjack hissed at him.
Tolly Mune looked down at the big cat, startled. “It’s not?” she said in horror. “Oh, damn it to hell.”
Tuf engaged the silver-gray feline in a silent staring contest. Neither of them blinked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tolly Mune said. “You’re here to stay, Tuf. Resign yourself to it. Our new ships can destroy you, and they will if you try to pull out.”
“Indeed,” said Tuf. “And for my part, I will destroy the cell library if you attempt to board the Ark. It appears we have arrived at a stalemate. F
ortunately, it need not be of long duration. S’uthlam has never been far from my thoughts as I voyaged hither and yon across starry space, and during the periods when I was not professionally engaged, I have engaged myself in methodical research in order to devise a true, just, and permanent solution to your difficulties.”
Blackjack sat down and began to purr. “You have?” Tolly Mune said dubiously.
“Twice the S’uthlamese have looked to me for a miraculous salvation from the consequences of their own reproductive folly and the rigidity of their religious beliefs,” Tuf said. “Twice I have been called upon to multiply the loaves and fishes. Yet it occurred to me recently, while engrossed in a study of that book which is the chief repository of the ancient myths from which that anecdote is drawn, that I was being asked to perform the wrong miracle. Mere multiplication is an inadequate reply to an ongoing geometric progression, and loaves and fishes, however plentiful and tasty, must in the final analysis be found insufficient to your needs.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tolly Mune demanded.
“This time,” Tuf said, “I offer you a lasting answer.”
“What?”
“Manna,” said Tuf.
“Manna,” said Tolly Mune.
“A truly miraculous foodstuff,” said Haviland Tuf. “The details need not concern you. I will reveal all at the proper time.”
The First Councillor and her cat looked at him suspiciously. “The proper time? And when will it be the proper puling time?”