CROSS-CULTURAL EFFECTS / CH. 12:HOMEWARD BOUND
KARELLA AND CHRISTOPH'S HOME, ATLANTIS, SATURDAY DECEMBER 22ND
“How are you feeling?” Karella asked Mrs de Gruchy.
“Not very well, thank you,” she smiled wanly, holding her bucket close.
“And you Elsie?” Sathie asked.
“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Elsie replied.
“Hmm, so.... who did you find to kiss you then?” Sathie asked.
“Sathie!” Elsie protested.
“What's this?” Mrs de Gruchy asked.
“Sathie suggested that I could have another variant first, which tastes even more vile than this unless you find someone who's had potion, you can persuade them to drink something unpleasant, and want them to kiss you. Yuck. I'd prefer to risk feeling horrible.”
“I hope Zelda's going to do OK, shuttling the other children back and forward,” Mrs de Gruchy said.
“She's doing fine, I assure you.” Karella said. “It was her idea anyway, and it does make sense, in terms of time.”
“And I am going to be so envious that they get to go by spaceship.” Elsie said.
“And just how did you think I was planning to take you back, silly?” Sathie asked.
“But I thought Zelda had the only Guillemot?”
“But her Guillemot has never been to Mars. The Albatross three has. OK, it doesn't swim under water as well, but you've got a perfectly good school field, let alone the airport.”
“Unless there's fog.”
“The good thing about antigravity... you can go really slowly if you want to. Not to mention open the door and ask someone where they've left the airport.”
Elise laughed so hard at the image that brought to her mind, that her stomach started to hurt. Then she realised it wasn't the laughing, and grabbed a bucket.
“Don't worry, Elsie. It doesn't normally last more than twenty-four hours.”
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ST BRELADE'S, JERSEY, SATURDAY 11AM.
Anxious parents gazed once more towards the West. This time, they saw strange lights in the sky. A minute later the bird-shaped glowing wings flickered out of existence, and an adult — Mr de Gruchy — and six excited children got out.
There were cries of 'Bye Zelda, thank you!' and the bird seemed to bounce into the air. It's wings re-appeared and it shot off with only the sound of the wind. The children ran to their parents, chattering excitedly about weightlessness, not being sick, Atlantis, how bright the stars they'd just seen had been and flying submarines.
“Sounds like a school trip of a lifetime,” one of the fathers commented to Mr de Gruchy.
“From what I hear, there might be another class getting a similar trip. Or even a regular exchange programme.”
“What happened to the bigger submarine?”
“Nothing, just the pilot worked out that this way she could get us all home in time for an after-lunch wedding.”
“Oh, right.”
“I think it's amazing she didn't ask anyone else to fly us here. But I guess she takes her responsibilities seriously.”
“Sorry, why shouldn't she have flown you?”
“Because of her wedding.”
“Her wedding?”
“Yes, she's getting married and then that space-going submarine is apparently taking them off on their honeymoon.”
“It was very quiet.”
“Yes. It's got antigravity, apparently. The wings just help with stability.”
“And is Atlantis as wonderful a place as they say?”
“It's crowded. Can you imagine? Half a million people in what's basically a two kilometer diameter artificial island?”
“They need immigration controls.”
“That's the locals. Tourists are extra,” Mr de Gruchy said.
“No wonder they built the tourist dome, then. Half a million?”
“Yes in about three square miles.”
“Crazy. How do they cope?”
“It's amazing, really. Basically most people live in huge sparkling fairytale tower blocks, twelve families to a floor, more than a hundred stories high, most of them. Their homes are spacious enough, it's just clever design and stacking really high. And they keep it clean. I'm not saying they tidy up litter, I mean no one litters. One of the lads dropped a peanut on the street and the nearest Merman politely pointed out that half a million peanuts or crisps per day would make a real mess and made him pick it up.
There's no agriculture inside the dome, of course, but there are parks. And big swimming pools. It's an amazing city.”
“It'd be nice to visit.”
“Am I right in thinking you sit on the Assembly, sir?” Mr de Gruchy asked,
“Yes, you are,” Mia's father replied.
“I'm glad my memory didn't fail me. Would you be able to wait until the next space-ship full arrives?
I'd like to introduce you to our tour-guide and pilot. It was about a fifteen minute trip this way but I think she said she'd go faster on the way back. When they return from their honeymoon, her husband will be formally named as Atlantis ambassador to the States of the Channel Islands. I'm sure she'd be very happy to meet you.”
“Atlantis is planning to grace us with a full ambassador? Not just an honorary consul?”
“I'm not fully aware of the differences, I'm afraid,”
“A consul is mainly for the benefit of tourists, arranging visas, that sort of thing. An ambassador is government to government talks.”
“Oh, the latter, certainly. Queen Karella would like discussions on matters of common interest, such as tourists, which are a new problem for them.”
“They have problematic tourists already, eh?”
“Some, yes. Behaviour is not normally a problem, since everyone gets warned about most of the women carrying blowpipes, but the bigger issue is what to do about people overstaying, coming as tourists and then claiming asylum, or even trickier are the ones looking for romance. They thought that was covered, in that they make it clear that adulterers are shark food and they'd deport anyone caught fornicating unless they decided to marry. But there have been a number of tourists falling in love, marrying according to Atlantis law, and then waking up to the problem that their home government won't let their new spouse come and live with them.”
“That's not the government's problem, surely?”
“It is if they deport the couple for overstaying, and they'd need to deport to separate destinations. They're not going be a party to breaking up a married couple.”
“So what are they doing so far?”
“Not deporting them, and when their funds start running low — which has been really quickly, since so far all the cases have been students — making them work for their living. But the government doesn't want an army of menial labourers who need watching.”
“I hope they're not going to ask us to accept them.”
“No. But they'd like to discuss the whole making tourists behave properly thing.”
“They've brought half of that problem on themselves by allowing the marriages.”
“Agreed. But a marriage under their law only takes two witnesses to the taking of an oath. There's too many assumptions, that the couple have been dating for ages, and so on. Or that the lovers just need to regularize what they've gone and done.”
“Sounds like they need separate laws for tourist marriage,”
“I suggested that. They're utterly convinced that sleeping together before marriage means the decision to marry has been made and that everyone should recognise that, but they'd see it as sin and they don't want to pass laws that would present sin as the only route to marriage.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“But presumably they've got some way of dealing with teenagers who end up in bed while underage?”
“I haven't actually asked. I expect that there would be some kind of marriage vows with some extra vows about never again until we're old enough, and then maybe chaperoning too.”
“As I understand it, any kind of forced marriage is seen by the united nations as a human rights violation.”
“Well yes, the Mer's don't think us land-folk know how to keep our promises either. They see that consensual intercourse is establishing a spiritual life-long union terminated only by death or adultery (which they count as only a shark away from death), and if it's happened then it's only right that the state and individuals concerned should recognise it. If you're talking about forced marriage which is little more than legalised rape, then they'd be very against that, and would hand the aggrieved party a carving knife.”
“I think I approve of their theology, but I do wonder how long before they're forced to change their laws.”
“Don't hold your breath. They certainly don't want to invite divine judgement on Atlantis. Nor do we, either, given the mess that'd make of the planet.”
“I don't suppose you know if they planted one of their antimatter bombs anywhere around here do you?” Mia's father asked, “It's one of those 'don't know, not sure who to ask' things.”
“Sorry, I didn't know the Assembly didn't know. I'm sure you can ask Zelda. Actually... Mia, could you ask Elsie to ask people there? That's probably faster.”
“Of course, Mr de Gruchy. Dad, let me introduce Sean Girard.”
“Ah, the hero of the beach?” then, turning to Sean he asked, “Mia says you'll be going to youth group with her?”
“Yes, Mr Giffard.”
“Make sure Mia introduces you to our dog then. We wouldn't want him getting the wrong meaning when we have you for tea, as I'm sure we will do.”
“Dad, that joke is ancient,” Mia said.
“Does that make it less humorous, Mia? Girard... your dad wouldn't be Ernest Girard, would he?”
“Yes, Mr Giffard,” Sean said, not sure if his and Mia's fathers knowing each other was a good sign or not.
“Well, well, well! Say hello to him for me. Does he still have that lovely ketch?”
“The Julia? Yes.”
“How time flies... must be twenty years since your dad and I used to sail around the island for tourists every summer. Then your dad met your mum and he didn't need a hired hand any more. Mia, if you get the invitation, do go for a sail on the Julia, for the sake of your parents' nostalgia if nothing else.”
Seeing her confusion, he added, “That's where we met, you see. She had some relatives visiting, I don't think you've ever met them, actually, and she was playing tour guide.”
“Dad, message from princess Sathzakara, 'Sorry: Cherbourg and Portsmouth'.”
“Naval bases. I'm not surprised, really. Cherbourg is a bit close for comfort.”
“Dad, you've heard of their rock-cutters?” Mia asked.
“Never seen one, but yes.”
“They look really like a light sabre, if you ask me. They're fusion-powered, and actually suck in water from the air, so they're self-recharging normally, but the fusion is antimatter-ignited. They consider it far safer than a battery that might burst into flames if you tread on it. They're very used to storing antimatter. The only problem is those bombs were booby-trapped to stop anyone moving the things, so they need to be careful, and follow the instructions really carefully. But they've defused some.”
“I hadn't heard that.”
“Now you have. Oh, the other problem, is that the bombs apparently talk to each other to say 'yeah, everything's all right, no need to go bang', so they want to make sure they don't break that communication network.”
“They can't just set up a transmitter that says that?”
“Not really; the bombs are clever enough to spot a fake. Strangely enough, they didn't want their 'you really don't want to kill us' deterrent to be defrauded by someone with a hydrophone,” Sean explained.
“Why is that a problem?” Mr Giffard asked.
“It just means they need to be careful what order they get rid of them in, Dad. That's bad news for the countries they decided were most likely to try and wipe them out: they got the first ones, so they get to keep them longest,” Mia said.
“And are they publishing that sequence?”
“No,” Mia said, “because they have some flexibility, and certain countries aren't exactly welcoming them with open arms or showing they've left the age of chaos behind.”
“Mia, you've never been this interested in local politics, let alone international politics.”
“I know. Sorry, Dad. I guess sitting down to a question and answer session with a ruling monarch talking about the death penalty and mercy and looking after half a million people who deep down at heart just want to play games all days really got me thinking.”
“Keep on thinking, Mia, it's good for the world when people do.”
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MESSAGE TO MR AND MRS WHITE, JERSEY
Dear Mum and Dad,
You know I told you about the sea-cucumber drink? There's another thing the Mer drink with octopus or squid or something. Sathie said it might make me sick, but I really wanted to try it. It looks like she was right. It's not food poisoning, just some strange reaction lots of people get when they try it the first time, apparently. After that it just tastes nasty. It's supposed to be very healthy, so Mrs de Gruchy had some too. According to the Mer they don't know anyone who's drunk it who's ever had pneumonia, and Mrs de Gruchy has had that two of the last three winters, so she thought it sounded like a good idea. It tastes absolutely foul, and we've decided it's not recommended, even for the health benefits. Anyway, since she gave it to us, Sathie will be flying us home in a spaceship she piloted most of the way to and from Mars. She says she can try and land us in the Church car-park, assuming we're healthy by then, but I think she's joking. I'll sign off, because I'm going to be sick again.
love, Elsie.
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KARELLA AND CHRISTOPH'S HOME, ATLANTIS, 2PM
“All delivered, Zelda?” Karella asked.
“Yes, apart from these two victims of Sathie's cooking.” Zelda said.
“They'll probably survive,” Sathie said, “I've never heard of any fatalities from drinking potion, anyway.”
“There's going to be one if you make any more jokes,” Elsie groaned.
“Elsie, threatening princesses who've given you top secret mermaid medicine isn't nice,” Sathie said.
“I know. Are you sure my letter to mum and dad was OK?”
“You've been asking that every hour. Mum said it was perfect.”
“Good. My stomach isn't. I was really hoping I'd be able to be at your wedding, Zelda.”
“There's always the kill or cure method,” Sathie said, thinking of what was commonly agreed to be myth or placebo effect.
“What's that?”
“Have some more. Sometimes it speeds up whatever's happening to you, so you feel all perfectly fine, other times... it doesn't.”
“You mean... drink more?”
“A full cup full,” Zelda said, playing along.
“I hardly had more than a sip. You said that was enough,” she glared as Sathie, over the rim of her bucket.
“It is. But that little makes it take longer,” Zelda fibbed.
“Oh, give it to me,” Elsie said. She took a sip and pulled a face. “The whole cup? Really?”
“You are likely to throw up,” Karella said, “But longer you can keep it down, and the more that gets past your stomach the faster it does its work on you, and the sooner you feel better. So.. try not to.”
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KARELLA AND CHRISTOPH'S HOME, ATLANTIS, 2.30PM
“How are you doing, Elsie?” Zelda asked.
“Nausea fading. What about you Mrs de Gruchy?”
Mrs de Gruchy looked up from her book. “I had a big dose the first time, so I've been feelling better for a while now.”
“Really?” Karella said, looking at Zelda in amusement, “that's great.”
“If I'm really getting over this, Zelda, can I record your wedding?”
“Oooh, planning to embarrass the future ambassador to your island?” Karella teased.
“No, I just thought it'd be nice...”
“It's OK, Elsie, Karella's teasing,” Zelda said.
“Elsie, remember to put that in your C.V.: I've been teased by the most powerful woman on the planet.” Mrs de Gruchy said.
“I'm just Elsie's friend's mum, Mrs de Gruchy. I'd much rather be a mother than a queen.”
“And your people love you for that, your majesty,” Zelda said. “By the way, I spoke to Mia's father, who's on Jersey's council. Mia's been trying to allay his fears about the Cherbourg bomb, but it'd be really nice to be able to tell them it's gone.”
“It's not probably not a key part of the network is it, given the other ones around that part of the world? And France are coming along well. Yes, I think that's a good thought, Zelda. Mabel!” she called.
“Yes, Mum?” Sathie's big sister came in.
“Message to bomb disposal, would getting rid of the Cherbourg bomb cause any problems?”
“I hope not,” Mabel said, “I saw it had gone to the top of the provisional list this morning, and I was supposed to check it was OK with you. I think Tristan might have been asking the same question. I'd thought it might be better not to ask you with our guests here.”
“Well done. Any other changes?”
“Yes, they want to move some others higher, for network stability, and they say sorry about the politics.”
“Oh. I'll just go and check.”
“I've got the list here, Mum.”
“That's good. Hmm, OK, I suppose so. That's got possibilities, actually. Zelda, any objections to some more guests at your wedding?”
“Not at all, anyone in particular?”
“Mikhail and all his house guests,” Karella said.
“They boys are going to be a handful, I expect.” Zelda warned.
“Well, I want to talk to Mikhail and Yuri most of all. Mabel, can you get a message to the to the Russian ambassador that says I'd particularly like to talk to him and Yuri, but Yelena, the boys, and Anastasia and the captain are welcome too.”
“Why the captain?” Mabel asked.
“Because Anastasia and he would probably love the chance of dancing the night away.” Karella said.
“And the wedding's at four?” Mabel checked.
“Yes. Apologies to them for the short notice.”
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EMBASSY OF ATLANTIS, MARS, MONSOL 22ND DECEMBER
“Hello, stranger!” Ruth greeted Robert, “Does you being here mean what I hope it means?”
“What it means, oh beautiful one, is that my lovingly crafted thesis is now in the uncaring hands of the university's administration office, who said 'Oh, well, well done for getting it finished before Christmas, we'll give you a receipt and enter it in the book, but I'm afraid it's too close to Christmas to do anything else.'”
“So what does that mean?”
“They're admitting that they've got absolutely no plans to do anything about getting it to examiners before the New Year.”
“Oh, how convenient.”
“How is the treaty doing? Sorry for not asking earlier.”
“Dad is just checking it for problems, then he'll send it to Atlantis for everyone there to check too. Other news is Zelda's just getting married.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, she's apparently got a submarine version of an Albatross, and has been ferrying people around at hypersonic speeds for the past few days. And her new husband is going to be ambassador to Jersey and the other Channel Islands, once they're back from their honeymoon. Quite where on Earth or in the solar system that will be, I've not asked.”
“Hmm. They're going to be getting away from it all, are they?”
“They are. And so could we, at least, get away from here.”
“What, leave your lovely swimming pool?”
“It'll still be here when we're back. We could play tourist if you like. I've been learning to fly the Albatross 2. It's not like it's Boris's personal vehicle.”
“Oh! And it's not needed for anything official?”
“According to Karella, it's officially needed to keep us free from interruptions, and safe from radiation.”
“I love you Ruth.”
“I love you, Robert. Why don't we get married?”
“Hmm. We said a week. Monsol the twenty-ninth?”
“I think I'm going to be ready on Satursol if you are.”
“I'll ask pastor Tom.”
“Simon said you were just doing final finishing touches, so I asked Tom yesterday,” Ruth admitted, “He normally takes off the week that includes New Year.”
“But he's free on Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“I'd better start making some calls, hadn't I?” Robert said.
“Simon and Alice are free too,” Ruth volunteered.
“I think my future bride is getting as impatient for our wedding as I am,”
“I just had some free time,” Ruth said, “you don't mind?”
“Why would I mind? So, could you please call Tom and fix a time? And I'll tell my parents and Hathie, and rope them into spreading the news.”
“And then I'll tell Eloise and get her to pre-warn everyone at the Council that invitations are on their way.”
“Are we really going to organise this in five days?”
“Four, love. No problem.”
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