CV

8

Marcia sent a fax of a statement for the press, as she had promised, and Newland approved it with a few minor changes. Bronson would not like it.

His troubles with Bronson, and perhaps with the whole L-5 movement, went back about five years, when he had first begun to suspect that Bronson’s ties to the aerospace industry and the Pentagon were more far-reaching than he had supposed. It bothered him to know that there were people pushing L-5, not for the advancement of the human spirit, but for a share of the mind-boggling profits to be made from any large construction in space. And he knew that was naive, but once he began questioning other people’s motives, it was inevitable that he should question his own. For the last year or so, whenever he was interviewed about L-5, there had been a small inner voice in his head saying. Are you telling the whole truth?

After the newspaper stories had appeared, of course, there was no point anymore in trying to conceal his presence on Sea Venture. He stayed out of public places as much as he could, anyhow; he disliked the way people carefully did not look at him in his wheelchair, and he disliked crowds. Even Hal was a distraction to him sometimes. He needed to be alone; he needed to think.

The human race had to do something. There were almost six billion people in the world, and five hundred million of them were starving. There was famine in India, Africa, Soutl? America. Acid rains were killing forests all over the Northern Hemisphere. A dozen armed and angry nations were poised with LOW systems to retaliate against any nuclear aggression. It was true that the ocean was an enormous unused resource, vaster than the land. Could it feed and house the billions more to come? Could it relieve the pressures long enough for humanity to solve its problems and survive?

The day after Christmas there was another celebration when they crossed the international date line and Sunday turned into Monday. Higpen called Newland on the phone. “They’ll do some kind of King Neptune performance in the theater, but if you want to see the real thing, come over here about three o’clock.”

“Thank you, Ben,” he said.

In the town square they found what looked to be the whole perm population of Sea Venture. The square itself was packed except for one open lane marked off by ropes; people were sitting on metal bleachers, and others were looking out of windows on the upper level.

“You know you’re one of the stars of the show,” Higpen said in his ear. “You don’t mind, do you? If you’re worried about anything, we can call it off.”

“No, that’s all right,” Newland said with some misgivings.

Higpen left him in a roped-off area with six other people who greeted him shyly. “We’re the greenhorns,” one of them told him. “Our first time over the line—-yours too? Well, don’t worry—they say it isn’t too bad.”

Then a brass band struck up a lively tune. Down the open lane came a curious procession: first the band, high-school students by the look of them, in green and gold uniforms; then a goat in a cart, dressed in a gray jacket and trousers and wearing a hat; then two strikingly handsome people, a man and a woman, dressed in not very much, with pale-green makeup on their bodies and masks on their faces. W'ith a flourish of trumpets, they mounted a platform in front of the fountain.

“Know all ye who are subjects newly come to our realm,” cried the man, “that your fishy king and queen require and demand your fealty. If there be any here who refuse to submit, let them be taken and thrown into our briny deep.”

Another blast of trumpets, and the procession came around again. This time Newland and the rest of his group, Hal included, were ushered to the head of the parade, two by two. When they reached the space below the platform, the green man waved his trident over Newland and Hal, crying, “I baptize you in the name of Father Ocean!” The woman beside him showered them both with green confetti, and then they were being kissed by a number of young women who hung garlands of seaweed around their necks.

After that there was a good deal of shouting and singing; somebody was putting on a skit, apparently, and there was prize-giving, but Newland could not make out much of it. Eventually the meeting began to break up, and Higpen came to rescue them.

“Now you’re citizens of the sea,” he said happily. “That means you belong to our family forever, whether you like it or not.”

“Ben, I like it,” said Newland.