came to see Paradise and Paradise turned into—” He stopped and turned to her.
“You know all this,” he said accusingly.
She shook her head.
“Trans-Temp—”
“Told me nothing.”
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “perhaps it’s best. Perhaps it’s best. What we need is a person who knows nothing. Perhaps that’s exactly what we need.”
“Shall I go home?” said Alyx.
“Wait,” he said harshly, “and don’t joke with me. Paradise is the world you’re on. It’s in the middle of a commercial war. I said commercial war; I’m military and I have nothing to do here except get killed trying to make sure the civilians are out of the way. That’s what you’re for. You get them” (he pressed something in the wall and it turned into a map; she recognized it instantly, even though there were no sea-monsters and no four winds puffing at the corners, which was rather a loss) “from here to here,” he said. “B is a neutral base. They can get you off-planet.”
“Is that all?”
“No, that’s not all. Listen to me. If you want to exterminate a world, you blanket it with hell-bombs and for the next few weeks you’ve got a beautiful incandescent disk in the sky, very ornamental and very dead, and that’s that. And if you want to strip-mine, you use something a little less deadly and four weeks later you go down in heavy shielding and dig up any damn thing you like, and that’s that. And if you want to colonize, we have something that kills every form of animal and plant life on the planet and then you go down and cart off the local flora and fauna if they’re poisonous or use them as mulch if they’re usable. But you can’t do any of that on Paradise.”
She took another drink. She was not drunk.
“There is,” he said, “every reason not to exterminate Paradise. There is every reason to keep her just as she is. The air and the gravity are near perfect, but you can’t farm Paradise.”
“Why not?” said Alyx.
“Why not?” said he. “Because it’s all up and down and nothing, that’s why. It’s glaciers and mountains and coral reefs; it’s rainbows of inedible fish in continental slopes; it’s deserts, cacti, waterfalls going nowhere, rivers that end in lakes of mud and skies—and sunsets—and that’s all it is. That’s all.” He sat down.
“Paradise,” he said, “is impossible to colonize, but it’s still too valuable to mess up. It’s too beautiful.” He took a deep breath. "It happens,” he said, “to be a tourist resort.”
Alyx began to giggle. She put her hand in front of her mouth but only giggled the more; then she let go and hoorawed, snorting derisively, bellowing, weeping with laughter.
“That,” said the lieutenant stiffly, “is pretty ghastly.” She said she was sorry.
“I don’t know,” he said, rising formally, “just what they are going to fight this war with. Sound on the buildings, probably; they’re not worth much; and for the people every nasty form of explosive or neuronic hand-weapon that’s ever been devised. But no radiation. No viruses. No heat. Nothing to mess up the landscape or the ecological balance. Only they’ve got a net stretched around the planet that monitors everything up and down the electromagnetic spectrum. Automatically, each millisecond. If you went out in those mountains, young woman, and merely sharpened your knife on a rock, the sparks would bring a radio homer in on you in fifteen seconds. No, less.”
“Thank you for telling me,” said she, elevating her eyebrows. “No fires,” he said, “no weapons, no transportation, no automatic heating, no food processing, nothing airborne. They’ll have some infrared from you but they’ll probably think you’re local wildlife. But by the way, if you hear anything or see anything overhead, we think the best thing for all of you would be to get down on all fours and pretend to be yaks. I’m not fooling.”
“Poseidon!” said she, under her breath.
“Oh,
“You know all this,” he said accusingly.
She shook her head.
“Trans-Temp—”
“Told me nothing.”
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “perhaps it’s best. Perhaps it’s best. What we need is a person who knows nothing. Perhaps that’s exactly what we need.”
“Shall I go home?” said Alyx.
“Wait,” he said harshly, “and don’t joke with me. Paradise is the world you’re on. It’s in the middle of a commercial war. I said commercial war; I’m military and I have nothing to do here except get killed trying to make sure the civilians are out of the way. That’s what you’re for. You get them” (he pressed something in the wall and it turned into a map; she recognized it instantly, even though there were no sea-monsters and no four winds puffing at the corners, which was rather a loss) “from here to here,” he said. “B is a neutral base. They can get you off-planet.”
“Is that all?”
“No, that’s not all. Listen to me. If you want to exterminate a world, you blanket it with hell-bombs and for the next few weeks you’ve got a beautiful incandescent disk in the sky, very ornamental and very dead, and that’s that. And if you want to strip-mine, you use something a little less deadly and four weeks later you go down in heavy shielding and dig up any damn thing you like, and that’s that. And if you want to colonize, we have something that kills every form of animal and plant life on the planet and then you go down and cart off the local flora and fauna if they’re poisonous or use them as mulch if they’re usable. But you can’t do any of that on Paradise.”
She took another drink. She was not drunk.
“There is,” he said, “every reason not to exterminate Paradise. There is every reason to keep her just as she is. The air and the gravity are near perfect, but you can’t farm Paradise.”
“Why not?” said Alyx.
“Why not?” said he. “Because it’s all up and down and nothing, that’s why. It’s glaciers and mountains and coral reefs; it’s rainbows of inedible fish in continental slopes; it’s deserts, cacti, waterfalls going nowhere, rivers that end in lakes of mud and skies—and sunsets—and that’s all it is. That’s all.” He sat down.
“Paradise,” he said, “is impossible to colonize, but it’s still too valuable to mess up. It’s too beautiful.” He took a deep breath. "It happens,” he said, “to be a tourist resort.”
Alyx began to giggle. She put her hand in front of her mouth but only giggled the more; then she let go and hoorawed, snorting derisively, bellowing, weeping with laughter.
“That,” said the lieutenant stiffly, “is pretty ghastly.” She said she was sorry.
“I don’t know,” he said, rising formally, “just what they are going to fight this war with. Sound on the buildings, probably; they’re not worth much; and for the people every nasty form of explosive or neuronic hand-weapon that’s ever been devised. But no radiation. No viruses. No heat. Nothing to mess up the landscape or the ecological balance. Only they’ve got a net stretched around the planet that monitors everything up and down the electromagnetic spectrum. Automatically, each millisecond. If you went out in those mountains, young woman, and merely sharpened your knife on a rock, the sparks would bring a radio homer in on you in fifteen seconds. No, less.”
“Thank you for telling me,” said she, elevating her eyebrows. “No fires,” he said, “no weapons, no transportation, no automatic heating, no food processing, nothing airborne. They’ll have some infrared from you but they’ll probably think you’re local wildlife. But by the way, if you hear anything or see anything overhead, we think the best thing for all of you would be to get down on all fours and pretend to be yaks. I’m not fooling.”
“Poseidon!” said she, under her breath.
“Oh,
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