Charles Sheffield: Summertide

Stranger yet, every visitor wanted to be on the surface of Quake at Summertide.

When Birdie Kelly returned he did something that he reserved for emergencies. He knocked on the door before he came in. The action guaranteed Perry’s instant attention.

Kelly was holding yet another folder, and he was not alone. Behind him stood a thin, poorly dressed man who stared about with bright dark-brown eyes and was apparently more interested in the room’s meager and tattered furnishings than in Perry himself.

His first words seemed to bear out that idea. “Commander Perry, I am pleased to meet you. I am Hans Rebka. I know that Opal is not a rich planet. But your position here would surely justify something better than this.”

Perry put down the folder and followed the other man’s inquisitive eyes as they surveyed the room. It was a sleeping chamber as well as an office. It held no more than a bed, three chairs, a table, and a desk, all battered and well used.

Perry shurgged. “I have simple needs. This is more than enough.”

The newcomer smiled. “I agree. All men and women would not.”

Regardless of whatever other feelings his smile might hide, part of Rebka’s approval was quite genuine. In the first ten seconds with Max Perry he was able to dispose of one idea that had come to him after reading the other’s history. Even the poorest planet could provide great luxury for one person, and some men and women would stay on a planet because they had found wealth and high living there, with no way to export it. But whatever Perry’s secret, that could not be it. He lived as simply as Rebka himself.

Power, then?

Hardly. Perry controlled access to Quake, and little else. Permits for offworld visitors went through him, but anyone with real clout could appeal to a higher authority in the Dobelle system council.

So what was the driving force? There had to be one; there always was. But what was it?

During the official introductions and the exchange of meaningless courtesies on behalf of the government of Opal and the General Coordinators’ office for the Phemus Circle, Rebka turned his attention to Perry himself.

He did it with real interest. He would rather be exploring Paradox, but despite his contempt for the new assignment he could not turn off his curiosity. The contrast between Perry’s early history and his present position was just too striking. By the time Perry was twenty years old he had been a section coordinator in one of the roughest environments the Circle could offer. He had been subtle in handling problems, and yet he had been tough. The final assignment for one year to Opal was almost a formality, the last tempering of the metal before Perry was judged ready for work in the Coordinators’ office.

He had come. And he had stuck. In one dead end job for all those years, unwilling to leave, lacking all his old drive. Why?

The man himself gave no clue as to the source of the problem. He was pale-faced and intense, but Rebka could see as much pallor and intensity just by looking in the mirror. They had both spent their early years on planets where survival was an achievement and thriving was impossible. The prominent goiter in Perry’s neck spoke of a world where iodine was in short supply, and the thin, slightly crooked legs suggested an early case of rickets. Scaldworld’s tolerance of plant life was grudging. At the same time Perry appeared in excellent health — something that Rebka could and would check in due course. But physical well-being only made it clearer that there must be mental problems. They would be harder to examine.

The inspection was not one-sided. While the formal exchanges of government greetings were taking place, Rebka knew that Perry was making his own assessment.

Did he hope that the new supervisor would be a man burned out from previous service or excesses, or perhaps some lazy pensioner? The Circle government had its share of people looking for sinecures, idlers willing to let Perry and others like him run the operation any way they wanted to, provided that the boss was not asked to do any work.

Apparently Perry wanted to find out whom he was dealing with and would waste no time in doing so, for as soon as the final courtesies had been exchanged he asked Kelly to leave and gestured Rebka to one of the chairs. “I assume that you will take up your duties here very soon, Captain?”

“More than soon, Commander. My duties on Opal and Quake have begun. I was told that they commenced at the moment the ship touched down on Starside Port.”

“Good.” Perry held out the green folder plus the fourth and latest document that Kelly had handed to him. “I was in the middle of reviewing these. I would appreciate it if you would take a look and give me your opinion.”

In other words, let me see how smart you are. Rebka took the documents and skimmed them in silence for a minute or two. He was not sure what the test was, but he did not want to fail it. “These all appear to be in the correct official format,” he said at last.

“You see nothing unusual in them at all?”

“Well, perhaps in the diversity of the applicants. Do you often have visit requests from outside the Dobelle system?”

“Very seldom.” Perry was nodding in grudging respect. “Now we get four requests, Captain, in one day. All want to visit Opal and Quake. Individuals from the three major groups, plus a member of an Alliance council. Do you know how many visitors a year we usually get to Dobelle? Maybe fifty — and they all come from our people, worlds in the Phemus Circle. And nobody ever wants to go to Quake.”

Max Perry picked up the folder again. Apparently Rebka had met some initial acceptance criterion, because Perry’s manner had lost a little of its stiffness. “Look at this one. It’s from a Cecropian , for God’s sake. No one on Dobelle has ever seen a live Cecropian. I haven’t seen one myself. No one here knows how to communicate with one.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Rebka focused again on the sheets in front of him. “She’ll have her own interpreter. But you’re right. If you get only fifty a year, four in a day is way outside statistical limits.” And you haven’t said it to me, he thought, but as far as you’re concerned it’s f i ve in a day, isn’t it? These requests arrived at the same time I did. So as far as you are concerned, I’m just another outsider. “So what do they all want, Commander? I didn’t read their reasons.”

“Different things. This one” — Perry poked at the page with an emaciated finger ” — just came in. Did you ever hear of a man called Julius Graves? He represents the Fourth Alliance Ethical Council, and according to this he wants to come to Opal to investigate a case of multiple murder , somehow involving twins from Shasta.”

“Rich world, Shasta. A long way from Dobelle, in more ways than one.”

“But if he wants to, according to the way I read the regulations, he can overrule anything that we say locally.”

“Overrule us, or anyone else on Dobelle.” Rebka took the document from Perry. “I never heard of Julius Graves, but the ethical councils carry the weight of all the groups. He’ll be a hard man to argue with.”

“And he doesn’t say why he’s coming here!”

“He doesn’t have to.” Rebka looked again at the application. “In his case, this request is a formality. If he wants to come, no one can stop him. What about the others, though? Why do they want to go to Quake?”

“Atvar H’sial — that’s the Cecropian — says her specialty is the evolution of organisms under extreme environmental stress. Quake certainly qualifies. She says she wants to go there and see how the native life-forms adapt during Summertide.”