EFFECTS OF OPENNESS / CH. 10:LANDING PREPARATIONS
MARS UNIVERSITY ADMISSIONS DEPARTMENT, TUESOL 6TH SEPEMBER, 9AM
“Hello, I'm calling about the cheap hospitalisation thing,” Hathellah said, “and the person I've passed it on to would like some more details.”
“You've passed on the offer?” the young man at the other end of the line sounded amused.
“Yes, I told the Atlantis ambassador about it yesterday lunchtime and her cousin would like to come for treatment. He's got Queen Karella's full approval to come, too. But, he's just wondering if it would be better to convert his diamonds to Earthling cash, or if it would be better done here?”
“To the ambassador of Atlantis?” he didn't sound quite so amused any more.
“And through her to her cousin, yes. Sorry, is it a bad connection?”
“Urm, sorry, I don't think my brain is thinking very clearly this morning. You've passed on the offer of discounted medical treatment to someone in Atlantis?” She could practically hear him waving across the office for help.
“Yes, twenty-five percent discount, yes? Boris is paralysed from the waist down at the moment, an accident as a child. That's something the doctors ought to be able to fix, isn't it?”
“Sorry, urm, can I take down your name?”
“Yes, it's Hathellah Young, Let me spell that for you, H-A, that's the Mer definite article by the way, T-H-E-L-L-A-H, which was the title of the queen of one of the tribes of the Mer, back before they became a single people.”
“You're Mer, then?” he asked.
“Not full-blooded by a long shot, but yes.”
“And you really told the Mer ambassador about the offer?”
“Yes, I really didn't think much of way it's being made compulsory, but, like I said, her cousin's got a spinal injury, and it can't be treated on Atlantis - they're quite a long way behind us medically.”
“Can I call you back?”
“Of course. I didn't think it was that difficult a question.”
“Sorry, I think the notice did say it was an intended policy, not yet implemented.”
“Of course, but I assume you're not going to tell me you didn't have the discount agreed with the hospital before you went public with it, that would be a really jit thing to do.”
“Actually urm.. let me call you back. Or maybe my supervisor.”
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MARS COUNCIL OFFICES. TUESOL, 6TH SEPTEMBER, 9.15A.M
“Hi, Eloise,” Ruth said, “I heard from my government last night about the delivery date for my seal of office etc.”
“O.K. Why do you need to tell me?”
“Because firstly the International Space Travel Authority rules would be a complete joke if they were applied to a forcefield drone, and secondly because since the Norman Conquest of Britain, or maybe before, all Mer vessels have been classed as military secrets. Therefore, the drone that delivers my stuff won't be obeying most of the ISTA rules, and will be handling it's own landing. Please can the council designate a landing site for it. No need for a runway as it'll be touching down with parachutes. I expect forcefield ones.”
“Oh what fun. ISTA are going to scream.”
“Sorry, we've not signed up yet, and before we do they're going to need to re-write the entire rulebook to include things like 'except where the hull of the vessel is a forcefield' and 'where the unladen weight of the vessel is negligible, the flight-worthiness demonstration does not need to be carried out unladen.'”
“If they include that, then MarsCorp are going to scream about the Jupiter fiasco.”
“Yes, but imagine if the unladen weight of the Jupiter was only a hundredth of the cargo capacity.”
“Hmm. Thrust to mass ratios get interesting, don't they?” OK, right...”
Eloise looked up what information she could, “Hmm... the best I can see here is landing permission for a scientific probe. Would that do?”
“Fine by be.”
“O.K. Please answer the following questions which probably don't apply. What principle is being tested? How about 'does this work?'”
“Sounds good. Or how about 'Is Boris totally mad?'”
“Boris?”
“My mad-scientist cousin, chief designer of the package. More about him soon.”
“I think I'll stick to 'does this work'. Next question, any dangerous chemical propellants?”
“Dangerous chemicals? No.”
“Are any radioactive elements involved in the scientific payload?”
“No.”
“Are any explosive elements included in the design, e.g. explosive bolts.”
“Would a self-destruct system count?”
“Probably. What powers it?”
“The self destruct? Unconstrained fusion.”
“Ohhh Kaay. Mass of the probe, complete with scientific payload?”
“About a tonne.”
“I've got a maximum weight category here of a hundred kilos. Wait a moment while I modify the form... Right, next question, does it have attitude control?”
“Yes.”
“Cross-range capabilities?”
“What does that mean?”
“Basically is it all depending on where and when it hits the atmosphere, or can it maneuver?”
“Oh, I understand it'll be sprouting wings at some point.”
“Estimated landing circle?”
“Oh, I've got that somewhere... a hundred meters in wind up to fifty kilometres an hour.”
“On a parachute?”
“I think it's just for the last couple of hundred meters.”
“OK. Heat shield?”
“Forcefield.”
“Why am I not surprised. Now... how long can it stay in orbit in case of traffic in the area?”
“I don't think it's going to orbit at all.”
“Eeek. Can you check?”
“Yes. It's going to circle for a bit which ought to give people time to move away.”
“Oh, right. Ground control capabilities?”
“None at present.”
“Telemetry?”
“Locator signal once landed. Please specify frequency, etc.”
“Urm, any chance of it emitting something while it's circling?”
“From what I understand, getting radio through the forcefield is tricky. Would something like a flashing light work?”
“Sounds much better than nothing.”
“OK, I expect Boris can do something like that.”
“Some kind of irregular but repeated signal would be best, so no one mistakes it for anything else.”
“Like Morse code?”
“If possible, great.”
“OK. I'll get Boris on it.”
“Now... estimated launch date?”
“Next day or three, apparently.”
“Really? OK. Landing in what, three or four months?”
“Boris wants it to get here for my birthday, Frisol week.”
“OK, Boris is mad. What's powering the thing?”
“Military secret forcefield contained reactor.”
“But not fission, I presume.”
“No.”
“Reaction mass as function of payload?”
“Not much. Exact numbers military secret.”
“External navigation control?”
“Fully automatic, including collision avoidance radar and lidar.”
“Now it gets silly... Source of equipment?”
“Atlantis.”
“Source of any rocket motors, Atlantis, I guess?”
“Yes.”
“Proven reliability of this configuration?”
“Proven as in mathematically, or proven as in we've done it before?”
“The latter.”
“First try.”
“This is funny, you might like this. According to this computer, from the weight and parachute numbers, you are recommended to land between five and ten kilometres from a technical support dome, whatever that is, but from the lack of orbits and so on you must aim at an entirely unoccupied spot on Mars, where unoccupied means no dome within two hundred kilometres, and, the bit I really love, you needed to give traffic in the landing area notice three weeks ago.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Looking at the map for a bit of Mars with no domes on it, so you can land five to ten kilometres from them.”
“Oh, right. Want me to ask you the next question.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“What's that?”
“Boris wants to follow up on a manned version. Only that one is going to have an anti-gravity device fitted.”
“I thought that was science fiction.”
“It is, the textbook at school proved it was totally impossible. Boris spotted a mistake in the calculations apparently.”
“How old is Boris?”
“My age.”
“Drat, he sounds like my kind of guy.”
“Sorry, Hathellah Young got there first.”
“Oh well. So, you're talking about landing permission for a piloted military vessel?”
“Yes. Or you can call it diplomatic if you prefer, that sounds less scary. It's not going to be armed.”
“Diplomatic would mean it's carrying a diplomat or stuff for a diplomat or head of state.”
“Yes. How about the royal seal of the princess of the Outer Mer.”
“Who's that?”
“Hathellah granddaughter of Hathellah granddaughter of Hathellah, great-granddaughter of Hathellah, etcetera for over three thousand years. Hathellah is a title, really, and means 'the princess'. We all thought the line had died out a couple of centuries ago, but no, she's here.”
“So she's the one who's claimed Boris?”
“Yes. Oh, expect to hear some screams from the University's experimental philosophy department about Boris and Hathellah any time soon.”
“Any chance you can tell me more?”
“I'll tell you that Boris is paralysed from the waist down, after a back-injury when young.”
“Hold on... their ethics test thing hit Hathellah? I told them it needed redrafting.”
“She has chosen to ignore certain guesses she's heard about which department of the university the offer of a twenty five percent discount on medical fees came from. I checked, but you don't need to tell them that.”
“And Boris is coming?”
“He's always wanted to come to Mars. Please do feel free to tell them that you've had a landing request for his experimental spaceship.”
“OK, and you expect him to land next week sometime too?”
“I hope he's going to practice flying the thing before just strapping himself in, so I expect it'll be more like a fortnight after that.”
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ATLANTIS, THURSDAY, 6TH SEPTEMBER
[Sally, I am Queen Karella, why are you crying?]
[He said I'm a freak.] Sally said.
[You're not a freak, you're Outer Mer. He is trying to divide the mer, which must not happen.]
[Divide the Mer?]
[Have you learned why oaths must be kept? The big battle where the bad king got eaten by sharks?]
[Yes. He was nasty.]
[The Outer Mer all had toes like yours, and their queen was called Hathellah. Have you heard of Hathellah? And all the other Hathellahs?]
[She was a princess.]
[Yes. I was talking to Hathellah yesterday, she doesn't want to split the Mer into Inner Mer and Outer Mer again, but she will if people call Outer Mer nasty names.]
[They said Hathellah died.]
[Lots of Hathellahs have died, Sally. That doesn't mean there isn't one now. She lives a long long way away, on Mars, at the moment.]
[If he wants to split the Mer, does that make him a shark?]
[Warn him what he's doing before calling him a shark. But if he keeps doing it when he understands, then yes, he is a shark.]
[Do I kill him then?] Sally, aged six, asked.
[No, Sally, not all sharks need killing. Leave that decision to grown-ups. Tell your parents and your teachers that Queen Karella Farspeaker told you Hathellah lives, and if prejudice is allowed she will have to take up her crown and divide the Mer. And if your teacher will not listen to you, then you come and tell me, OK?]
[I'm not a freak?]
[You're Outer Mer, Sally, just like Boris Gravitymaster, who's done lots of very very clever things. People called him a freak too, but they were wrong.]
[I don't know about Boris Gravitymaster.]
[Don't worry, your teacher probably doesn't either, I expect. But when you do learn songs about him, which you will, then remember, he's Outer Mer too. Now, you tell that bully to stop being a shark.]
[Yes, your Majesty.]
Karella listened to Sally's thoughts a little longer, to see if she needed to intervene again. She heard the teacher asking what she'd said to make the boy cry, and Sally's brave response, telling the teacher for the first time why she cried so often, and what Karella had told her. And she heard the teacher's stern rebuke of the boy, and anyone else in the class who thought it was funny that Outer Mer didn't have webbed feet.
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MARS UNIVERSITY ADMISSIONS DEPARTMENT, 10AM
“Hello, Hathellah Young?” A different, older voice said.
“Yes? Who's speaking?”
“I'm William Edge, from the linguistics department, I've just overheard some colleagues saying you have rather an unusual name, and since that's my field, I wonder if you could tell me what you know about it.”
“Oh! Yes, OK.”
“It's Mer in origin, is that right?”
“Yes. Thell is an ancient Mer word for prince, king, or ruler, and I'm not quite sure when it happened but it got a bit of Semitic thrown in; the definite article at the beginning and feminine suffix at the end.”
“But Mer isn't a Semitic language?”
“Not that I've heard. I'm afraid I don't speak it.”
“Your name's been passed down from generation to generation?”
“Oh yes, it's been passed down from grandmother to granddaughter for generations. I'm Hathellah granddaughter of Hathellah, granddaughter of Hathellah, great-granddaughter of Hathellah, and so on.”
“It's a common Mer name then?”
“What? No not at all.”
“It's obviously derived from a title, do you know the history?”
“Yes. Before the Mer made treaties with the Pharaohs or anyone else for that matter, there were two tribes who had a lot of battles. One tribe had historically lived on the Atlantic coast of Africa, probably the North of Gibraltar too. They were called the Outer Mer, and the others, the Inner Mer had lived in the Mediterranean. There are physiological differences you understand, so we can still tell.
The outer Mer were fed up with being smashed to pieces by Atlantic storms and moved into the Med. The inner Mer didn't like that, but eventually after both armies were pretty much destroyed, vows were taken to not fight one another any more, and they laid the foundation of Mer law. That conflict led to a lot of changes in the culture, including the women becoming the warriors and guards, and the men saying they'd only fight if there was a risk to their families. A lot of generations later, the queen of the Outer Mer decided that it was a complete waste of her time signing into force the same laws that the Inner Mer were enacting — they'd decided to basically rule by committee anyway. So Hathellah, as her title was then, took off her crown and said 'I don't need to wear this any more, I've got kids to feed,' but she was smart enough to lay down some conditions for her semi-abdication. She still had a role on the council, and any time she or her successor wanted she could pick up her crown again and split the people once more.”
“That's fascinating. So do you know exactly when the name dates from?”
“Well, I guess it must have been when the Mer lived on the Cannanite coast, but that could be any time from Abraham to David. As far as I know her abdication was around the time of David. There are more accurate records in Atlantis, I expect.”
“Wow. That's a lot of history in a name! Do you know of any others who have your name?”
“Of course not. You don't get two Dukes of York, do you?”
“You... your name is still a hereditary title?”
“Yes. I'm the princess of the Outer Mer, with all customary rights and powers, etc.”
“Thank you for your time, your highness.”
“My pleasure.”
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FINDHORN-BUNTING COMPLEX. 11.30 AM
Simon ended the call and made another one.
“Hi Alice, love, very strange question for you from some colleagues.”
“Oh yes?”
“Do you know much about the inner workings of Mer politics or psychology?”
“Other than don't break an oath, you mean?”
“Probably.”
“What's this about?” Alice asked.
“Department of experimental philosophy have quite possibly got themselves into deep deep trouble.”
“With Mer?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds fun. What have they done?”
“What was supposed to be an ethical dilemma test seems to have backfired.”
“Go on, what have they done now, offered some Mer a decent swimming pool and found out that means something at least half the size of Hellas?”
“No, it looks like Robert's got that side of things on track. It's to do with his sister. She ended up being picked to get what looked like an official letter telling her she'd be fired unless she signed up to something questionable. Her supervisor was primed, but it seems she didn't go to her, but took what was supposed to just be background story seriously enough to involve Ruth's cousin and even Karella, and it also seems that she's some kind of royal figure herself.”
“Princess of the Outer Mer, yes, James and Margaret were all in a bit of a tizzy about it yesterday.”
“So it's real?”
“She's got some unusual powers, like the right to choose anyone she likes as a husband, as long as he's not actually married already. Think dynastic marriage with the girl having full and absolute power of decision, all sworn to by irrevocable treaty millennia ago and tested by case law too.”
“OK, so one confirming tick on something they hoped was fantasy. Do you think any of it might be a wind-up?”
“In what sense?”
“Might it be that she hasn't been in contact with Boris the force-field wizard about him getting a long-standing spinal injury fixed at twenty-five percent discount?”
“That's what they offered? Why?”
“The whole blurb said that there was a new policy coming into effect saying that admission staff had to agree to advertise discounted Martian medical services to people who might need operations, and they wanted to know if people would be willing to sign such a dodgy thing because of their jobs or who they'd complain to — their supervisor, the head of the university, and so on.”
“Stupid of them to specify the discount then, wasn't it? They forgot an important rule of research, didn't they? Don't make promises to trick people. Given what I've heard about the state of medicine there, they ought to be glad that a tenth of Atlantis isn't going to sign up.”
“So you think she's really contacted him?”
“Mer do joke, Simon, but as far as I've seen they're very careful not to make idle threats.”
“I'll pass that on then.”
“Do.”
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MARS COUNCIL OFFICES, 12.30PM
“Hello, Eloise Maugh speaking?” Eloise said into the phone.
“Hello Ms Maugh, I'm ringing from the experimental philosophy department, we were wondering if you can help.”
“Your experiment's gone wrong?”
“Err, yes.”
“How?”
“Someone's invited someone to Mars on the basis of it.”
“Well, you'd better start issuing apologies then, hadn't you?”
“It turns out one of our subjects is either part Mer or a very convincing actress. Does the name Hathellah mean anything to you?”
“Yes, but it's a title more than a name, apparently. It got mentioned in connection with a new Mer spaceship due to take off from Earth in a couple of weeks. Her royal seal will be on board, apparently.”
“A second cargo pod?”
“No, this one is going to be a piloted version, apparently, by a cousin of the Mer ambassador.”
“Named Boris?”
“Boris Fieldshaper Gravitymaster, yes. Oh, her excellency said he was thinking of talking to medics, is there some connection?”
“So we fear. How do you apologise to Mer, Maam?”
“I don't know. Honestly, politely and given how fast they can make decisions, I'd say very very quickly, before he extends his ship and tells all his friends what you've offered.”
“Extends his ship, Maam?”
“Based on what I've learned this morning, I'd say that it's well within his capabilities as their preeminent forcefield designer to make his forcefield-hulled ship a bit bigger, say to hold two dozen instead of six at the moment.”
“Six?”
“Current crew capacity is six people, so I'm told.”
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MARS UNIVERSITY ADMISSIONS DEPARTMENT. 2PM
“Your highness, on behalf of my colleagues, I admit we have made a series of mistakes, and we apologise.”
Hathellah looked at the worried man who she'd heard muttering to her supervisor outside her not-very-soundproof office door.
“Oh?” she said, “This sounds interesting.”
The man winced, “The letter you received in the post yesterday was a fake, produced by the experimental and practical philosophy department as part of an ethics research project. It was intended to cause an ethical dilemma and we wished to link peoples responses to their philosophical or religious outlook. We didn't intend anyone to... take the entire subject as seriously as you have.”
“You wanted to cause an ethical dilemma but not one that people would take seriously?” Hathellah asked, archly.
“We primed what we felt like were all the likely contact points: the council's employment tribunal, supervisors, the help desk person you called this morning... Each one was asked to inform you of the nature of the experiment and ask you to fill in a supplementary questionnaire...”
“Your help desk person initially thought it was funny that I'd contacted someone, they then became worried when I told them enough that they realised they might be in trouble. At no time did they seek to do inform me of the nature of your experiment.”
“Ah, no, they became flustered at the thought it had gone so badly off track.”
“You then sought help from a number of people?”
“Yes, Maam.”
“Intending, I presume, to find out if I was in any way meeting your deceit with deceit of my own.”
“Yes, Maam.”
“But you only decided to apologise when you found no deceit, am I right?”
“Sorry, maam.”
“Nor have I heard anything from you except that you are concerned with your own interests. You have not even asked me what my reaction was to the letter, instead you hope to avoid an extremely embarrassing situation for your department.”
“Sorry, your highness. What was your reaction?”
“I thought I and my like-minded colleagues in admissions had lost our jobs through constructive dismissal, I found the attitude in the letter entirely offensive and in no way was I going to be able to sign up to such a statement. I scrapped my lunchtime plans, and went home fully expecting to be crying onto my parents' shoulders like the wounded child I felt like. The only thing that stopped any of that was the presence of the Mer ambassador greeting me by my title. It was only my brother recognising that the phone number was not from the administration dome that led me do doubt the information in the letter.”
“So you did doubt it.” He said, clearly relived, “I'm very pleased to hear that, your highness.”
“Yes, I doubted it, and that relieved my fears that my job was in danger, but your letter made it quite clear that there was an arrangement in place for discounted treatment, and so I passed on the letter to the Ambassador for her cousin's benefit; her majesty Karella has granted him permission to come to talk to the medics.”
“But... there is no such agreement.”
“Oh, that's sad for you. You really shouldn't make false promises to foreign heads of state; that could get you in all sorts of trouble. How fortunate for you I'm only a ruling monarch if I choose to tear up a three thousand year old peace treaty. And although I was tempted to yesterday, as Queen Karella's ambassador can confirm, I think Karella got my point and agrees with me, so it's probably not going to be necessary.”
“Ah, thank you for making that point clear, your highness.”
“But of course you are the ethics department, and it would be most unethical of you to consider promises to one person more important that those to another merely because of status, don't you think?
"So, I'd guess that the only ethical response is that anyone who's been promised reduced treatment rates by your department ought to have those reductions honoured, don't you? I'm sure your departmental budgets and personal funds can cover it, and just think what a good lesson in ethics it would be for your students!”
“Your highness... thank you for sharing your thoughts on the matter. Can I ask just how many people you've passed that promise on to?”
“I passed it on to one person, the ambassador's cousin, along with a warning that you might be of such low moral character that you think nothing of making promises you have no intent of honouring. But he thought that unlikely, and has dreamed of coming to Mars for years. So, he comes. Her Majesty, queen Karella Farspeaker, made the conversation possible so is fully aware of what was said. Your response and the university's reputation are in your hands.”