conducted in a highly ritual and regulated manner. XC nations would never go to war because one of them had invaded the XC equivalent of Poland, because that kind of thinking was alien to the XCs. It was difficult for an XC nation to run short of resources and need more land, when half the population was asleep for up to half a year at any given time. And those friendly culling games seemed to take care of excess population growth.
On the minus side, when they did go to war it was at the drop of a hat, ritual or no, and a large part of the ritual was to go at the other side hammer and tongs until both sides were so depleted they couldn’t go on. They didn’t target civilians, but that was only because there was no such thing. Warfare for the XCs had been such a constant that they didn’t even give their wars names for future reference. There were theories, based on what little could be made of their dating system, that their outbreaks of war and peace and war and peace had been cyclical, somehow predictable; but they were only theories and mentioned in a footnote. Joel was after hard facts.
Another plus-fact was that XCs now spoke of the Era of War and there was no denying
it was in the past
. XCs hadn’t had a decent, all-out scrap on a global scale for nearly a century. The XC leaders did seem to realize what their technology could do, and XC politics was a constant struggle between reason, the awareness of possible self-extinction, and their instinctive desire to eat their opponents.
All of which was overshadowed by the whopping great minus-fact of what they had done to the third world of their solar system.
But that had been nearly a century ago; certainly nothing to do with the lifeboat’s two unwanted passengers. But at the back of his mind was the permanent knowledge of what their parents, or maybe grandparents, had done, and of what these two could easily do themselves if they so chose.
His stream of thought was interrupted by a beeping. It came from his aide. He frowned and looked at the display. The frown faded into a grin.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Of course.’ It was past midnight, SkySpy time. It was 13 June 2153.
He thought about letting Boon Round in on the secret, then decided not to. Boon Round reversed the old saying that misery loves company. Boon Round’s company could easily
be
misery.
So Joel hummed to himself. ‘Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Joel, happy birthday to me.’
When he came out of the shower, he went straight to the medifac and dialled up a couple of stay-awake pills. He wasn’t going to sleep with the XCs on board.
Six
Day Twelve: 14 June 2153
The world was dead, and looked it; an ashen, powdery grey-black like the remains of a fire on a wind-swept hillside. Joel had stood at the windows of spacecraft and gazed upon the Roving and Earth, and he had basked in the warmth of the bright blues and greens reflected back at him. Looking at the approaching drab sphere before him, he shivered.
‘How are our guests?’ he said without looking away.
Boon Round glanced at the display which showed the interior of the airlock.
‘Still asleep,’ he said.
Eventually the two XCs had hunkered down on their haunches at the back of the cabin, rocking very slowly from side to side. Their eyes were open but a cautious hand waved in front of them produced no response. Joel had wondered if this was the long sleep he had heard about or just a kind of resource-saving semi-coma. But the advantage was that the XCs were right next to the airlock. He and Boon Round had been able to pull them in and seal the inner hatch; a frantic, quick-as-possible manoeuvre that seemed to have lasted twice as long as it actually took, both of them convinced that the XCs would wake up at any time and revert to being mobile masses of teeth and claws. But they had done it quickly enough and the two were confined before they could wake up fully.
To curb any possible waking
On the minus side, when they did go to war it was at the drop of a hat, ritual or no, and a large part of the ritual was to go at the other side hammer and tongs until both sides were so depleted they couldn’t go on. They didn’t target civilians, but that was only because there was no such thing. Warfare for the XCs had been such a constant that they didn’t even give their wars names for future reference. There were theories, based on what little could be made of their dating system, that their outbreaks of war and peace and war and peace had been cyclical, somehow predictable; but they were only theories and mentioned in a footnote. Joel was after hard facts.
Another plus-fact was that XCs now spoke of the Era of War and there was no denying
it was in the past
. XCs hadn’t had a decent, all-out scrap on a global scale for nearly a century. The XC leaders did seem to realize what their technology could do, and XC politics was a constant struggle between reason, the awareness of possible self-extinction, and their instinctive desire to eat their opponents.
All of which was overshadowed by the whopping great minus-fact of what they had done to the third world of their solar system.
But that had been nearly a century ago; certainly nothing to do with the lifeboat’s two unwanted passengers. But at the back of his mind was the permanent knowledge of what their parents, or maybe grandparents, had done, and of what these two could easily do themselves if they so chose.
His stream of thought was interrupted by a beeping. It came from his aide. He frowned and looked at the display. The frown faded into a grin.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Of course.’ It was past midnight, SkySpy time. It was 13 June 2153.
He thought about letting Boon Round in on the secret, then decided not to. Boon Round reversed the old saying that misery loves company. Boon Round’s company could easily
be
misery.
So Joel hummed to himself. ‘Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Joel, happy birthday to me.’
When he came out of the shower, he went straight to the medifac and dialled up a couple of stay-awake pills. He wasn’t going to sleep with the XCs on board.
Six
Day Twelve: 14 June 2153
The world was dead, and looked it; an ashen, powdery grey-black like the remains of a fire on a wind-swept hillside. Joel had stood at the windows of spacecraft and gazed upon the Roving and Earth, and he had basked in the warmth of the bright blues and greens reflected back at him. Looking at the approaching drab sphere before him, he shivered.
‘How are our guests?’ he said without looking away.
Boon Round glanced at the display which showed the interior of the airlock.
‘Still asleep,’ he said.
Eventually the two XCs had hunkered down on their haunches at the back of the cabin, rocking very slowly from side to side. Their eyes were open but a cautious hand waved in front of them produced no response. Joel had wondered if this was the long sleep he had heard about or just a kind of resource-saving semi-coma. But the advantage was that the XCs were right next to the airlock. He and Boon Round had been able to pull them in and seal the inner hatch; a frantic, quick-as-possible manoeuvre that seemed to have lasted twice as long as it actually took, both of them convinced that the XCs would wake up at any time and revert to being mobile masses of teeth and claws. But they had done it quickly enough and the two were confined before they could wake up fully.
To curb any possible waking
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