3.
Ionas Valberg gently leaned forward once again and looked into the grey depths. Beneath him, some fifteen metres below, lay the rocky ground. If he leaned only a bit more, it would take them at least a few days to find him, and a few days more to publish the autopsy report. So his peace would last only until the flood of gossip dragged him out of his grave.
He was sitting on the roof of a mushroom-shaped control tower on the surface of Taryan. He had used his privileged access codes, turning off all the security systems that could raise the alarm or stop him from climbing. Now he was here, sitting at the edge, letting his legs dangle freely over the abyss. What would happen if he did lean forward? What would people think? Would anyone feel guilty? His friends, perhaps, who had been taking turns in visiting him during the last few days, getting him drunk in the vain hope that a temporary oblivion would bring healing? Would they, at the funeral, say to each other: “I should have known what he was up to, I shouldn’t have left him all by himself”? Would Irina feel at least a bit of guilt or would she take it as another proof that she’d made the right decision? Because, if he had been that unsound, that crazy to determinedly cross 2000 kilometres, return to the spot where he’d already spent the wasted three months of his life, get into a spacesuit, hack the security systems, climb the tallest structure in the area and then dive to the ground, then what would their relationship have looked like after twenty years? Would it have been hell or just an intolerable madhouse? No, Irina would not get the point. She was the only person on the planet who would not be forced to understand the truth by his throwing myself off the roof, Ionas concluded.
And the truth was banal – after a yearlong marriage, his wife had left him and gone back to her parents, taking along their three month old son. It was one of those blows that Ionas’ father called “sparring-partners for the soul”. Temptations making sure a man didn’t get comfortable or lazy or turn into an indolent sack of biomass. As far as Ionas was concerned – no, he was not too comfortable and the aforementioned “sparring-partners” could return where they had came from, thank you very much. But his father had had an answer to that, too – all things in life had their whys and wherefores. If one didn’t understand at first why they were hit, in the future the explanation would appear all by itself, like a wall of fire in the sky.
Very few of Ionas’ and Irina’s friends and acquaintances were surprised by their mutual disaster. Naturally, after it had happened, most of them knowingly stated that it could have been expected. Young Ionas had obviously been, well, young and naïve, letting Irina pull him around during their five-year relationship. Some attributed this kind of conclusion to the differing personalities of the spouses: a natural-born Taryan and a colonist coming from Earth as a fourteen-year-old.
Irina was, naturally, convinced she was in the right. After all their plans and hopes, her pregnancy was supposed to be the final touch on their lifelong happiness. But politics interfered and they’d turned from individuals into statistic: two weeks before the birth was to take place, news arrived from Earth that a colony ship “Green Turtle” had started its voyage towards Taryan. According to the schedule, it would arrive in three months to unload its cargo of 100,000 fresh human colonists. This was not unusual as such; there was a total of eight hundred similar ships in operation transporting massive numbers of colonists from Earth to their destinations. But events like this were usually announced at least a year ahead, because this was the time required to make projections and plans at the destination planet and, if necessary, build new habitats.
Of course, the Taryan administration was struck by a burst of panic and general hysteria. The planet was utterly unprepared to receive a new wave of immigrants. If the information had come in time, everything would have been all right, arrangements would have been made, and the new Terrans would have easily been assimilated into the 25 million already on Taryan. But right at that moment there had been real danger that people would not have a place to sleep, other than underground parks and hallways. Naturally, those in charge put their heads and hands together and declared a state of emergency. In quick succession, they dipped their hands deep into the planetary treasury, proclaimed double work shifts at quadruple rates for everyone in the construction industries, with bonuses if “Habitat No.76” was finished in time.
Many rushed to take advantage, but Ionas had already been under an unbreakable contract. All his requests, demands, pleas on behalf of his highly pregnant wife were left unanswered. As a result, he spent the most important months of Irina’s life in a camp: eight hours work, one hour rest, six hours work, nine hours rest, repeat. Naturally, that kind of schedule left no room for any personal life, but for most this was fine – the fees and bonuses were so huge that all who participated in this endeavour could afford a vacation for many months afterwards.
Another wife might have understood the unpleasant set of circumstances. After all, when the job was finished, Ionas would have been able to devote himself exclusively to his new family for the rest of the year. However, the young woman, already spoiled – by Taryan standards – in growing up on decadent old Earth, took Ionas’ absence as a personal insult. On the day he returned home for the last time, tired, exhausted, and in need of domestic happiness, the young mother told Ionas what was coming to him. For good measure, she added a few extra barbs, turned on her heels and left the flat, already emptied of her things.In her arms sat little Andrei, whom Ionas had seen only twice during periods of too short leave.
Ionas spent the next few days in a fugue-state, days spent sitting in the room staring at the wall, evenings filled with friend-inducted alcoholism, nights filled with insomnia and thankfully few lucid moments, where he watched the time go by and noted the passing days.
So, here we are, he’d realised. This morning he’d woken up, poured some stimulants into himself, taken a shower, shaved, fixed his hair and eaten something good for a change. So when he’d called his friends and told them he would like to spend some time alone, his fresh-faced appearance that smiled at them from their comm screens convinced them he needed to be allowed to do as he pleased, at least for a bit. After breakfast, he walked accross Tatra a bit, went around a few parks and sat on a few benches, but none of these spots suited him. He returned home and called Aleksei Koniev, and listened to a recording saying that he was temporarily unavailable. Ionas left him a voice message, although he didn’t know what he had to say. He sat in his room for a little while, and then decided that he was better off walking and went out.
The transport capsule took twenty minutes to cross 2000 kilometres and reach the now complete “Habitat No.76”. It took him another ten minutes to push through the crowd of newly arrived colonists. He was going for to the maintenance sector that was the easiest spot from which he could reach the surface. As he passed through the wide streets and roofed public squares, Ionas passed near large screens that showed the current voting tally on the habitat’s new name. The list had dropped to twenty names. The most popular ones were “Trinidad” with 12,637 votes and “Novy Brno” with 12,237 votes. Right behind them was “Nassau” with 11,984 votes while all the other options were well below 6000. The list was going to be cut in two days, which meant that the arrivals would have their name in less than two weeks.
So, here he was, in a spacesuit at the top of a mushroom-like tower, fifteen metres above ground level. He started swinging his legs again, as if sitting on a small wall in a park, two feet from the grass, as if he were with friends on summer holidays, and as if his life was in perfect order. Ionas knew that the tower and the neighbouring buildings would remain functional for another six months, until the last inspection made sure that the habitat deep within the rocks was completely safe. Then they would switch off the power, pull out the life-support systems and leave the whole complex to the conservation of cold vacuum.
Way below him, some fifty metres away, were the sleeping quarters. Ionas looked for the one he’d spent ninety nights in. He watched for a few moments, and then raised his eyes to meditate on the dark horizon. There were a few lights on the rocky plain, and some were moving. Ionas guessed that they were cleaners collecting the remaining equipment and vehicles left on the surface. Behind them, in the distance, there were rocky hills, unchanged for billions of years.
A communicator beep returned him from reverie. He twitched, almost falling over the edge. He regained his balance and pressed the switch at the neck of the spacesuit.
“Ionas, it’s me,” said the voice of Aleksei Koniev. “I got your note. I’m sorry, I wasn’t available. I have a lot of things to do these days. Actually, I left you a note, did you get it?”
No, Ionas had not. Actually, he realised he hadn’t checked his messages for a while. As far as he was concerned, the universe could have collapsed, he wouldn’t have realised it.
“I tried to call you, but you were away. I heard what happened. Are you all right?”
Ionas shrugged. “As much as possible, under the circumstances,” he said.
The silence lasted for a few seconds. “You’re outside? On the surface? In a spacesuit?” Koniev sounded concerned. Ionas smiled.
“I’m relaxing,” he said. “Thinking. I’m on the surface above the ‘76′, near my old workplace. What do you want?”
“I wanted to see you and I still do, when you get the time. There’s something that needs to be done, but I wouldn’t want to…”
“All right, I’ll call you when I get nearby,” Ionas interrupted. “I’m sorry, I’d like to be alone now,” he said and hung up. There’s something that needs being done, he repeated to himself. His life was falling apart, and Koniev needed something to be done.
He straightened up and turned to the sun. Taryan’s white dwarf was always in the same position in the sky – here from the low southeast – giving the whole scenery a shade of death. It should have been called Nemesis, not Taryan, Ionas thought. They probably would have if it was not for that crazy Hun, the chairman of the local colonisation committee, who dug out his family history, reinvented it, added a touch of local colour, spiced with some patriotism – et voila. And thy name was Taryan.
Ionas checked the oxygen supply – he could stay here at least for another hour. He closed his eyes and leaned back, to the cold surface of the metal roof. He wondered how much will it take for the coldness to get through the suit. Doesn’t matter, he decided. There are some things he should consider right now.
He thought about the possibility that all of this was his own responsibility. He based this on the principle that if a dog bites its master it’s not the dog’s fault, but the master’s error for not realising in time what the bastard was up to and shooting it on the spot. This explanation would fit his present desire to spend the rest of his life in his now empty flat, staring at the empty grey wall. It didn’t fit doing what he, at the moment, wanted to think any real man would do: go out and get completely drunk, then break into Irina’s parents’ place and beat the shit out of his still legal wife and spend the next three years in prison or some social rehab institution. I guess I just have to let it pass, he thought. Just like every time when you feel injustice has been done, and you can do nothing to correct it. Sure, you can get revenge, strike with a flaming sword of justice in order to at least feel better, but you couldn’t do anything constructive. Something to make Irina come back.
He wasn’t aware for how long he just lay there, covered by clear starry sky. Then he felt the floor he was lying on start to vibrate. He waited a few moments, and then sat up, his legs still hanging over the abyss. He didn’t turn when he felt the airlock opening, and he didn’t turn when footsteps approached, the thumping conducted through the superstructure all the way to his butt. He did turn as Aleksei Koniev lowered himself and sat next to Ionas, putting his legs over the edge too, as if sitting on the verge of a fifteen-metre cliff was something he did every day.
They looked at each other a few moments, and then Koniev moved his helmet to touch Ionas’. “I thought you might like to talk,” he said. The voice that traversed into the Ionas’ helmet seemed distant, as if coming from a neighbouring room separated by a thin wall.
“I said I wanted to be alone,” replied Ionas.
Koniev shrugged. “I know what you said.”
They were quiet for a while. Touching helmets and sitting at the edge of a roof, they must look like two pigeons in love, Ionas mused.
Could anything be further away from the truth?
Koniev leaned forward, looked fifteen metres down and suddenly pulled back. “I thought native Taryans were sensitive to heights.”
“I guess not,” said Ionas, looking at the stars. He sighted a spot slowly gliding accross the sky. The “Green Turtle”. It was still here, it wouldn’t go away.
“You know, if you want to kill yourself, there are more interesting ways,” Koniev said. Ionas felt something move in his stomach. Where had he heard this? Some ancient film or a novel, a detective or something saving a women from committing suicide by enlisting her for a secret mission into Africa.
“If I wanted to kill myself, don’t you think I would have done it already?” replied Ionas.
Koniev adjusted his sitting position. “I think that you don’t know what you want at the moment.”
“So you came to tell me that?”
Koniev shrugged. Ionas separated their helmets and looked around. To the right, lights moved, a few kilometres away. Ionas remembered a trip a few years back, they’d gone to Atlantis, an ocean cruise. After they’d got out of the port, they visited the archipelagos; the night sky and the sea joining in an opaque black sphere with the dim scattered lights of distant islands and somewhat less dim sparkles of nearby ships and yachts. Ionas had never seen anything like it until now, on Taryan.
Koniev turned to Ionas and touched helmets again. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to do another job.”
“Of course,” Ionas replied, maybe too fast. Koniev stared at him through the faceplate. Ionas continued: “That’s what you said when you called half an hour ago, isn’t it?”
Koniev nodded, the surface of his helmet scraping across Ionas’. “I wouldn’t have asked you if the situation wasn’t critical.”
“Hasn’t it always been critical?”
Koniev shrugged. “I believe it has. But this time…” he stopped and looked down. “I understand that you are going through a… tough period. But the job won’t be too hard. And it’s not fieldwork. I need you to do something with the construction plans.”
“Desk job, eh?”
“Just about.”
Ionas whiffed. “I think I don’t want to have anything to do with gangsters at the moment.”
“Gangsters?”
“Did you forget already? Guys from the Glasspearl? A malfunctioning generator, new parts, taking them through the spaceport control?”
Koniev laughed. “Those were not gangsters. Not even remotely! Would you like to see their personal profiles?”
“The ones you’ve prepared especially for this occasion?”
“No, the ones I plan showing you when the degree of trust between you and me is somewhat higher than right now.”
“As if it could be any lower.”
“You’d better believe it could, lad.”
Ionas puffed and squirmed. As he moved, his and Koniev’s helmet got separated, then softly clunked, and then separated again. Koniev touched them together.
“I told you, no field work. All I want you to do is remove the security from the net and block watchprograms from some guard systems.”
Ionas looked him in the eye. “Security?”
“Yes. Ionas.” Koniev grinned. “I want you to help me with some sabotage.”
Out of Aleksei Koniev’s expression, Ionas realised in horror that this would be another one of Koniev’s offers that he couldn’t refuse.
In the months that followed Ionas occasionally remembered that conversation; two isolated men on a desolate planet surface, in spacesuits, in vacuum. He remembered the emptiness and his thoughts of suicide, of the past and of the future. He remembered closing a chapter of his life, preparing the conclusions and getting ready to get up and leave, enter the tower and return home, and live normally.
If that had been how it had come out, it would have been his personal victory. He’d taken a blow, fallen to the ground, and then got back up, shook the dust off and kept on going. All because of that hour of lonely sitting at the edge dragging him back from the edge. But Koniev had come, instead. The boss, the mentor, the leader, grabbing him by scruff of the neck and pulled him out of the abyss. The cavalry rescue that nobody called for, a saviour who was not needed. In the months that followed, Ionas had asked himself a single question over and over: What would I have done if Koniev had not come? He was pretty certain that he would have made it, alone and without anybody’s help. But, as it turned out, he would never know.
Worst of all was the unspoken possibility, forever hovering above Ionas’ head like some post festum Sword of Democles, that Koniev, of all people, actually had saved his life.
