Ring Around the Sky - Allyn Gibson [20]
“The problem is the solution,” said Gold quietly.
Tev shrugged.
“Captain,” said Gomez, “it’s worth a shot. It’s not as if we have anything to lose.”
Gold nodded slowly. “I see one problem. A big problem.” He looked straight at Tev. “If I know Tellarites, they won’t like an outsider telling them how to do things.”
Gomez hastily resumed her seat. She spoke quickly, excitedly. “But it would save their world. First Minister Grevesh would see that. Minister Eevraith would see that. It’s the best possible solution.”
Tev spoke, his voice low and hushed. “The captain is correct. The Kharzh’ullans wouldn’t accept the idea, not if we proposed it to them. Pride defines Tellarites, just as honor defines Klingons, creativity defines humans, and logic defines Vulcans. It is part and parcel of who we are and how we see ourselves. Tellarite pride kept the Kharzh’ullans from asking for help a year ago. Tellarite pride would keep them from seeing the rightness of our solution to their problem.” Tev shook his head. “No, we cannot tell them how to save their world.”
“What are you suggesting, Tev? That we take it on ourselves to just drop the elevator without telling them?” said Gomez. “I somehow doubt they’d appreciate that.”
Tev locked eyes with Gomez. “The Tellarites have to tell us how to save their world.”
Chapter
7
Eevraith looked up into Kharzh’ulla’s night sky. It was rare for the Ring overhead to be visible at night—unlike a moon, the Ring was too close to the planet for it to ever leave Kharzh’ulla’s shadow—and tonight proved no exception. To the east and west, however, close to the horizon where the Ring’s arc still fell in sunlight, the Ring shone bright and silver against the dark sky. One of his first proposals as transportation minister was for running lights to be mounted along the Ring’s edge, to make the whole of the Ring visible day and night, but cost-benefit analysis found no practical use for such a system. Perhaps when Grevesh retired, and he took the reins of government as Grevesh’s chosen political heir, then things might be different.
Prelv’s streets were largely deserted as he walked through Old Town. This section of Prelv had once been the original settlement, and around it the apparatus of government and industry had developed. But cities, when given space, grew outward, leaving behind buildings out of date and no longer needed, and such had happened with Old Town. One of the proposals Grevesh had put forth when he ran for first minister fifteen years before had been to turn the area into a memorial museum and park devoted to those early days, and on that platform the masses elected him.
Eevraith did not much care to mingle with the common folk—too low-class for his tastes, and too prone toward sentiment for the old ways—but he recognized their value to his chosen career; had it not been for them, Grevesh might still have been an academic, and Eevraith might have been a mere councillor, not transportation minister.
Still, had he not urgent business in Old Town, Eevraith would not have been there, not at this hour. He would rather have been home, in bed with his wife, and not on an unknown errand at the behest of a cryptic message: “As you value your career, meet me tonight at two bells at the Chrainolga.” The Chrainolga was a cathedral, built in service to one of Tellar’s ancient religions, one relating to ancestor worship. He stood before the building, an imposing structure that dated back to the colony’s earliest days, and the only building in Old Town still used for its original purpose. Three towers rose above the building’s vast sanctuary hall, and Eevraith mounted the steps to the Chrainolga’s massive doors. He had been here only twice before, both times for Grevesh’s political appearances, and certainly for no personal or spiritual reasons of his own.
Atop the steps stood a robed Tellarite. Eevraith had seen the type before, clerics of the religious priest-hood. They had never been a factor in past campaigns,