The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(98)
The priest could not tell from his expression whether the Envoy’s words concealed true interest or a veiled threat, though he feared it was the latter. In any event, he was unable to stop himself from continuing his reproaches, even though he was careful to voice them in a tone of extreme deference.
“I do, sir. We are the fifth generation, as I said before,” he declared solemnly. “And as I’m sure you will easily appreciate, our ancestors’ planet is almost mythical to us. My father died without his life on Earth ever having made sense, as did my grandfather before him . . . However, we are blessed,” he hastened to add, “for we are going to achieve their dream of meeting the Envoy and welcoming our true race.”
The Envoy simply smiled disdainfully, as though the colony’s sufferings and joys were a matter of indifference to him. At this, the priest threw all caution to the winds.
“My ancestor killed and adopted the appearance of a man who wore a ruff!” he exclaimed, as though that accessory humans draped around their necks in olden times illustrated better than anything their lengthy wait. “Since then, we have infiltrated their world, procreating discreetly amongst ourselves in order to survive, and above all watching over the war machines our ancestors buried underground.”
“Father Wrayburn,” the Envoy interjected in a conciliatory tone, “I assure you there is no need for you to continue listing all your grievances. I am well aware of the excellent job you have been doing in our colony here on Earth, as I have personally been in charge of evaluating the various reports on the conditions of the planet, which you have sent us so punctually. And rest assured,” he added, fixing the priest with a menacing gaze, “had I not been satisfied with your work, I would have recommended to the Council that we exterminate the colony and send new explorers.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the priest was quick to reply, alarmed by the Envoy’s last words. “We always gather here in my church at the appointed time, joining our minds to send our transmission through the Cosmos. It is our duty, sir, and so it has been done.” He paused, as though considering whether it was opportune or even wise to go on. Finally, after fingering his teacup nervously, he added, “However, I confess we nurtured a secret hope that a response from our mother planet might one day be forthcoming. Yet it never was. Still, we continued to do our duty, sending reports about the planet we were monitoring to a world that, regardless of its silence, we were forced to assume still existed and was receiving the bottles we launched as requested into the ocean of the universe. Surely you will agree that is an act of faith.”
“As you know, explorers are volunteers. They accept their lot, with all its consequences, for the good of the race,” the Envoy retorted, attempting to dampen the priest’s bitterness. “And it is their responsibility to raise the awareness of their descendants to prevent them from building up the resentment I perceive so clearly in you, but which I shall overlook, given that, as you point out, you belong to the fifth generation.”
“I appreciate your indulgence,” the priest replied submissively, deciding he had gone far enough, both with his complaints and in revealing so clearly his feelings toward the humans. It would be very dangerous to continue irritating the Envoy, and through him the Council and the emperor. Who was he, after all? A mere fifth-generation volunteer, a nobody. And so, he resumed in the humblest of voices: “I did not mean to give that impression, sir. But in our most recent messages we also informed you of our delicate situation. We are perishing, as you must know. It is difficult for us to procreate, and we die younger and younger. Something in the air on this planet affects us, yet we can’t find out what that is because, as you understand, we lack the necessary expertise.”
“I appreciate your frustration,” the Envoy cut in with a weary gesture that made it clear he intended to end the discussion there. “But it is na?ve of you to imagine that the difficulties experienced by a colony would concern our mother planet. What do a few lives matter compared to the fate of an entire race? Besides, you know that a process of selection dictates where we go. The most favorable planets have preference, and Earth was never among them.”
“Then the situation must be terrible if Earth is now considered the best option,” the priest reflected bitterly. “Are there really no other more favorable planets to which our race can move?”
“I’m afraid not,” the Envoy acknowledged somewhat ruefully. “We have exhausted their resources at an increasingly rapid pace. Our continual evolution makes that almost inevitable.”
“Well, even so, the important thing is that you have arrived in the nick of time,” the priest said in a conciliatory tone. “And I do not refer only to saving our colony. Earthling science is progressing by leaps and bounds. A few hundred years more, and conquering this planet would have been much more difficult.”
“You exaggerate, Father. From what I have seen, the Earthlings’ so-called Industrial Revolution is lamentable. I have no doubt we will crush them with ease,” the Envoy declared emphatically. “In any case, my arrival was delayed, as you are probably aware.”
“Yes, our colony received your signal sixty-eight years ago,” the priest confirmed, “when I was only a few months old. But then suddenly it vanished. No one ever knew why. We were surprised when we picked it up again, and in London.”