Buried Deep Part 31

Their second was failing to establish some kind of customs system.

A group, recently expelled from Europa for attempting to "grow" democracy in alien societies that couldn't understand the concept, needed a new home. Their leader, one Jorge Bouyzon, somehow located Sahara Dome, targeting its export business and its new industries, believing that his group could take over the growing government there.

Bouyzon's big mistake was announcing his intention the moment he and his band of two hundred settlers arrived in Sahara Dome. The settlers took over an abandoned church at the far end of the Dome, and began buying property in the as-yet-unexpanded section of the Dome.

Scott-Olson skipped through the year of back-and-forths. What became clear, as she looked, was that Bouyzon refused to negotiate. When he needed something, he cajoled, threatened, or outright stole it.

The citizens of Sahara Dome hated this new group, and soon worried that the group would overtake the Dome. Bouyzon's people called that democracy-asking for free and fair elections, knowing that their large numbers would at least gain them a few seats on the growing council.

But as the elections were being held, a number of citizens were attacked. Others "lost" their children for a few days, only to have the children returned with a message. Still others were directly told not to register to vote.

It became clear that the "free and fair" elections would go to Bouyzon and his cronies in a landslide.

Allard, in his memoir, tried to dispute this. He claimed this part of the record was a distortion-that his family and his people were good people with only the best intentions for Sahara Dome, that Sahara Dome's government was corrupt, and that the beatings came not from Bouyzon and his friends but from the Dome's own government.

The truth was lost somewhere in the middle. Scott-Olson didn't have time to ferret it out. But what she did discover was that Sahara Dome's original population decided to take matters into their own hands.

In a secret meeting held late one night, Sahara Dome's council approved a vigilante committee to "take care of Bouyzon and his group. Some on the council objected strenuously to the use of violence, and the fact that children were involved. So the new committee and its leaders brokered a truce within the council: Children four and under would not be harmed. Instead, they would go to a foster home and then be farmed out to relatives off-world. The leftover children- those without family elsewhere-would go to a mission off-world and be raised with the stipulation that they could never return to Mars.

Somehow this satisfied the council, many of whom did not want to know what exactly the vigilante committee was going to do.

Da Ponte claimed that the vigilante committee lied to the council, knowing that no one would approve the real plan. The real plan was simple: They took families from the Bouyzon group one at a time, under guard, to a pre-dug hole at the edge of the Dome. The hole was deep, da Ponte said, because that way the good citizens of Sahara Dome wouldn't smell what hid beneath the sand.

The vigilante committee made entire families stand inside that hole, then shot the family members one at a time, from oldest to youngest. Sometimes parents would crumble, clutching a still-breathing baby in their arms.

The vigilante committee would then go into that hole and remove the living children, not bothering to wipe the blood from them as they took the children to the so-called foster home.

My older brother - -he was six - -stood next to me, Allard said in one of his vid interviews, his lower lip shaking. Allard said in one of his vid interviews, his lower lip shaking. He took my hand. He took my hand.

Already they had killed more than a dozen families - - people we all knew. They were lying in the orange dirt, most of their middles gone. The committee's weapons were designed for maximum hurt. The wounds weren't small like those made from most laser weapons. They blasted holes in the center of people, covering everyone around them in warm, sticky goo. people we all knew. They were lying in the orange dirt, most of their middles gone. The committee's weapons were designed for maximum hurt. The wounds weren't small like those made from most laser weapons. They blasted holes in the center of people, covering everyone around them in warm, sticky goo.

My sister-she was ten - -she screamed at them to stop, stop! as first my father, then my mother fell to the ground, covered in their own blood.

Da Ponte had paused then, put a hand to his mouth, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked down, unwilling to stare at the camera any longer.

It was that motion, more than any other, that convinced Scott-Olson this elderly man was telling the truth.

They shot and shot and shot - -my sister went down screaming at them - -and then they turned the gun on my brother. He wet himself - -I could smell it - -but said nothing. His fingers dug into mine. They shot and - - Da Ponte's voice broke. He shook his head, and the vid cut off there. Later, all he added was: For the longest time, they thought I was dead too. For the longest time, they thought I was dead too.

A little boy, less than four years old, his family dead around him, surrounded by maybe fifty other bodies of friends and adults he had known all his life, lying in the sand, clutching his dead brother's hand.

Scott-Olson stopped there. She couldn't take any more.

She didn't know how long she sat there before Nigel opened her door.

"They're starting," he said.

It took her a moment to understand him. She was thinking of a vigilante committee and humans so intent on protecting their little piece of ground that they had murdered children.

"Doc?" Nigel said. "Did you hear me?"

She nodded, then realized what he was talking about. The bodies were coming in. From the latest disaster.

There'd be dead children here, too.

She stood up. She was shaking as badly as da Ponte had been when he recorded that remembrance. How did anyone clean the stain of that from his soul?

Maybe the Disty were on to something. Maybe some events did contaminate a place forever.

She stepped out of her office. A dozen techs carried bodies inside. Male, female, human, Disty, adult, child.

Her work had finally begun.

48.

The hour had come and gone, and they had no solution. Jefferson sat on the tabletop in the session room, surrounded by Disty and humans, and a handful of other top officials in the Alliance-Peyti, Nyyzen, Ebe-none of whom seemed to follow the Disty protocol, with bare feet and table sitting.

He felt like a fool. He had felt like one ever since Number Fifty-six had had his apparent change of heart-supporting the Moon boycott, a boycott that had spread to Earth (not that that was any surprise-no one expected Earth to welcome Disty refugees).

Number Fifty-six sat across from him, looking less perturbed than he had when Jefferson first arrived-if, of course, Jefferson was reading Fifty-six correctly. The Disty were being as mysterious as ever, but it felt like they were working together.

The temperature in the room had risen, and Jefferson's feet weren't as cold as they had been. His stomach started growling an hour before and he longed for food, but knew better than to eat in front of a Disty.

The negotiation looked like it would never end.

Jefferson set an information pad in the middle of the table. Then he took his hand off the pad, so that he wasn't touching it or the screen when Number Fifty-six picked it up. That would offend the Disty outrageously.

Jefferson nodded at the information he called up. He said in English, "We can't find any available land anywhere in this solar system. Not that's big enough or free enough of Disty to take on this refugee crisis."

"Our information is the same," Number Fifty-six replied in the same language.

"Then we started looking for empty s.p.a.ce stations," Jefferson said, "even some old, still-working generation ships that we could supply with food and other needs for your people. We have found no one thing big enough, but there are a few combined-"

"How would you propose that we transfer our people there without contaminating anyone else?" Fifty-six asked.

"It would have to be an in-s.p.a.ce transfer. The generation ship, for example, would be towed to your people's location, then left there. They'd have to transfer on their own."

"Most of these Disty have no s.p.a.ce experience," Fifty-six said. "This is a tricky maneuver."

"I know." Jefferson nodded to the pad again, trying not to point. Pointing was also considered rude. "We could just fill some ships with supplies, and transfer them over until this crisis ends."

"Thereby contaminating those ship's crews," Fifty-six said.

"We could use some automation," Jefferson said. "It might work. We have-"

"As I said." Fifty-six spoke curtly. "Most of these Disty have no s.p.a.ce experience. They won't know how to get the supplies out of the airlock without risking their own lives. We prefer a single transfer to a safe place, which would then allow us the leisure to settle our differences with you, and solve the problems on Mars itself."

Jefferson didn't like the phrase solve our differences with you. solve our differences with you. He kept hoping that those differences were small enough that Fifty-six wouldn't focus on them, but as this meeting progressed, Jefferson realized that the differences weren't small. He might have temporarily avoided any kind of violent conflict, but there was no guarantee this so-called spirit of cooperation would continue. He kept hoping that those differences were small enough that Fifty-six wouldn't focus on them, but as this meeting progressed, Jefferson realized that the differences weren't small. He might have temporarily avoided any kind of violent conflict, but there was no guarantee this so-called spirit of cooperation would continue.

"I have only one other suggestion," Jefferson said. And it really wasn't his. It had come from the Peyti, who were good at brokering arrangements. But the Peyti representative, who had approached him during that hour-long break, warned him to make sure each idea sounded like it came from a human source.

Right now, the Peyti said, its voice distorted through its breathing mask, the Peyti said, its voice distorted through its breathing mask, the Disty are looking for all ways to blame humans. The Disty will condemn you all if you do not find the solution yourselves. Even then, it is a risk. We have seen this in the past. The Disty are not forgiving. the Disty are looking for all ways to blame humans. The Disty will condemn you all if you do not find the solution yourselves. Even then, it is a risk. We have seen this in the past. The Disty are not forgiving.

"Your solution?" Fifty-six asked.

"We take an existing s.p.a.ce station, like one of the ones...o...b..ting Earth, and evacuate it. The various species who live on that station are not contaminated, so they can go anywhere. We can provide them temporary shelter."

Number Fifty-six templed his fingers. Jefferson was beginning to see that as a quirk: Fifty-six did that only when he was intrigued.

"Go on," Fifty-six said.

"When the station is empty, we open it to the Contaminated Ones, letting them live there until this crisis is resolved."

"If it is not resolved?"

"Then we abandon the station to them, I guess, and have robotic missions service them."

"That last is unworkable," Fifty-six said. "But we might get around it. There is one great problem though."

"What's that?" Jefferson asked.

"If we have to, we might decide to destroy the station and the Contaminated Ones. That would be difficult in Earth's...o...b..t."

Jefferson felt his breath catch. Number Fifty-six spoke of ma.s.s murder as if it were a simple problem of logistics.

Maybe to him it was.

"Um," Jefferson said, feeling reduced to an attache at his first posting. "Ah, if we displaced hundreds of people on an emergency basis-people of all species-we'd have to do so with the understanding that their home wouldn't be destroyed."

"If we can't resolve the contamination," Number Fifty-six said, "we would have no choice."

"We would," Jefferson said, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Many non-Disty might choose to live with the problem."

"And be forever banned from interaction with the Disty? They wouldn't even be able to go to cities in which there were Disty. It would be more than an inconvenience." Number Fifty-six glanced at his colleagues, all of whom watched the proceedings with great interest. "Of course, we would pay for any loss of property."

"We wouldn't be able to get people to agree in the first place," Jefferson said. "We'd be doing this for humanitarian reasons, and you would negate those reasons with-"

He almost said murder, murder, but he managed to stop himself just in time. but he managed to stop himself just in time.

Number Fifty-six seemed to know where the comment was going anyway. He tilted his oblong head as he looked at Jefferson. Fifty-six's eyes were glistening in the diffuse artificial light.

"That word, humanitarian, humanitarian, is so very interesting, isn't it?" Fifty-six said. "Its cultural a.s.sumptions, its biases, are all there in the first five letters. Honestly, we Disty don't care to be humanitarian. It is not in our nature." is so very interesting, isn't it?" Fifty-six said. "Its cultural a.s.sumptions, its biases, are all there in the first five letters. Honestly, we Disty don't care to be humanitarian. It is not in our nature."

Jefferson felt his cheeks grow even wanner. "I wasn't implying that you would be making any humanitarian moves. I did say, however, that my people would be acting from that impulse. They might find it offensive to our cultural values to make a humanitarian gesture, only to see that gesture result in destruction."

He gave himself points for not sounding too defensive, and for managing to avoid the word murder murder yet again. yet again.

"You are saying that unless we follow your rules in receiving your help, we will cause a great cultural disruption among your people."

"Yes," Jefferson said.

"Yet you tell us often that humans have no unifying culture. You have many cultures and are quite proud of that fact. You claim diversity is your strength."

"Some things are universal."

"Yet the cause of this crisis seems to be a lack of humanity," Number Fifty-six said.

"Excuse me?"

"A ma.s.s grave. My sources tell me that the bodies within it died at the same time, a time when there were no Disty on Mars. So perhaps some other alien group came into Sahara Dome and destroyed a hundred humans in a single angry gesture, or the humans did this to themselves."

Jefferson took a shallow breath. It took all of his strength not to look at the diplomats behind him or at the Peyti sitting one step up. He couldn't give Fifty-six this point. It would undermine every argument to come, particularly if the Disty wanted to use some s.p.a.ce station as a short-term solution.

"We are not responsible for those deaths," Jefferson said. "Whatever conspiracy theories your government is developing are wrong. We had no knowledge of those bodies until this turned into a crisis."

"Someone did," Fifty-six said. "Someone used a disgraced corpse to call attention to the ma.s.s grave, knowing the Disty would be forced to look through the land before declaring it clean. Someone knew. And if the deaths were caused by humans acting against humans, then that someone was human."

Jefferson was out of his depth. "We are trying to save lives here. If you persist in blame and squabbling, your own people will die."

"You imply we should then take the fault," Number Fifty-six said. He slipped off the table. "They might have to die anyway. This contamination is the greatest we have seen in hundreds of years. If we cannot effectively decontaminate, the Contaminated Ones will have to die before they can infect anyone else. You seem to think this does not move me. It does. But I know the risks to my people. Do you know the risks to yours?"

Jefferson wasn't sure how to take that. Was it a threat?

"This will get resolved," he said.

"Another human trait," Fifty-six said. "Unrealistic optimism. Just because you believe it does not make it so."

Jefferson had had enough. "That's a strange thing to tell me, when there is nothing physically wrong with the Disty you're planning to slaughter."

The diplomats behind him gasped. The Peyti raised their fingertips in a sign of displeasure. The Ebe closed their eyes, and the Disty-all but Fifty-six-left the room.

"You are so certain there is no physical consequence to us from this contamination?" Fifty-six asked.

Jefferson had already fumbled. He saw no reason in trying to make up for it now.

"Yes," he said. "If there was physical contamination, you would have had signs of it long before the bodies were dug up. Your people would have been ill for decades-every single one who lived in that section of Sahara Dome."

Number Fifty-six seemed small as he stood beside the table. "Your ignorance astounds me. And it should not, considering I have spent most of my adult life among your people. I have thought, in my years in service to this strange dream of allying with cultures that are so foreign from mine as to be unintelligible, that eventually some would learn. You You would learn. But you do not. You believe what you see and feel, and deny everything else." would learn. But you do not. You believe what you see and feel, and deny everything else."

Jefferson felt the rebuke but didn't understand it. Was Fifty-six saying they were physically contaminated? How did that work, then?

Number Fifty-six templed his fingers, bowed slightly, and started to leave. Then he stopped.