Free The Songs of Distant Earth by Arthur C. Clarke Page B

of a future they had planned but might never share: Mirissa was here and now – full of life and laughter, not frozen in half a millennium of sleep. She had made him feel whole once more, joyful in the knowledge that the strain and exhaustion of the Last Days had not, after all, robbed him of his youth.
    Every time they were together, he felt the pressure that told him he was a man again; until it had been relieved, he would know little peace and would not even be able to perform his work efficiently. There had been times when he had seen Mirissa’s face superimposed on the Mangrove Bay plans and flow diagrams, and had been forced to give the computer a pause command, before they could continue their joint mental conversation. It was a peculiarly exquisite torture to spend a couple of hours within metres of her, able to exchange no more than polite trivialities.
    To Loren’s relief, Brant suddenly excused himself and hurried away. Loren quickly discovered the reason.
    “Commander Lorenson!” Mayor Waldron said. “I hope Tarna’s been treating you well.”
    Loren groaned inwardly. He knew that he was supposed to be polite to the mayor, but the social graces had never been his strong point.
    “Very well, thank you. I don’t believe you’ve met these gentlemen – ”
    He called, much more loudly than was really necessary, across the patio to a group of colleagues who had just arrived. By good luck, they were all lieutenants; even off duty, rank had its privileges, and he never hesitated to use it.
    “Mayor Waldron, this is Lieutenant Fletcher – your first time down, isn’t it Owen? Lieutenant Werner Ng, Lieutenant Ranjit Winson, Lieutenant Karl Bosley …”
    Just like the clannish Martians, he thought, always sticking together. Well, that made them a splendid target, and they were a personable group of young men. He did not believe that the mayor even noticed when he made his strategic withdrawal.
    Doreen Chang would have much preferred to talk to the captain, but he had made a high-velocity token appearance, downed one drink, apologized to his hosts, and departed.
    “Why won’t he let me interview him?” she asked Kaldor, who had no such inhibitions and had already logged several days’ worth of audio and video time.
    “Captain Sirdar Bey,” he answered, “is in a privileged position. Unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t have to explain – or to apologize.”
    “I detect a note of mild sarcasm in your voice,” the Thalassa Broadcasting Corporation’s star newsperson said.
    “It wasn’t intended. I admire the captain enormously, and even accept his opinion of me – with reservations, of course. Er – are you recording?”
    “Not now. Too much background noise.”
    “Lucky for you I’m such a trusting person since there’s no way I could tell if you were.”
    “Definitely off the record, Moses. What does he think of you?”
    “He’s glad to have my views, and my experience, but he doesn’t take me very seriously. I know exactly why. He once said, “Moses – you like power but not responsibility. I enjoy both.” It was a very shrewd statement; it sums up the difference between us.”
    “How did you answer?”
    “What could I say? It was perfectly true. The only time I got involved in practical politics was – well, not a disaster, but I never really enjoyed it.”
    “The Kaldor Crusade?”
    “Oh – you know about that. Silly name – it annoyed me. And that was another point of disagreement between the captain and myself. He thought – still thinks, I’m sure – the Directive ordering us to avoid all planets with life-potential is a lot of sentimental nonsense. Another quote from the good captain: “Law I understand. Metalaw is bal – er, balderdash”.”
    “This is fascinating – one day you must let me record it.”
    “Definitely not. What’s happening over there?”
    Doreen Chang was a persistent lady, but she knew when to give up.
    “Oh, that’s Mirissa’s favourite