The Immortality Option Part 13

Zambendorf found Sergeant Michael O'Flynn of the vehicle maintenance unit in one of the work bays, rigging a sling with two mechanics in preparation for hoisting the main engine out of a six-wheelpersonnel carrier. At the time Zambendorf and his team had unintentionally started the new Taloid religion that had undone GSEC's previous bid to set Henry up as a puppet, they were supposed to have been confined to the then-orbitingOrion. Zambendorf, however, had talked O'Flynn into letting them "borrow" a flyer, and that was what had enabled them to get down to the surface from orbit. Therefore, O'Flynn seemed the obvious choice to turn to with the current problem of transporting Moses into Padua.

Zambendorf drew the sergeant aside and explained the situation. O'Flynn wiped his hands on a rag, tilting his head and listening without interrupting. It was a solid, bull-necked lump of a head, with a pink face and clear blue eyes half-hidden by wiry brows and a shock of hair on top that was yellow and red in different places. He had always regarded Zambendorf with the amused tolerance that the Irish held toward anyone who could pull one over and get away with it. But when Zambendorf was through, O'Flynn shook his head regretfully.

"Ah, now, I hear what you're saying, and I'm sure you have some very good reasons that I'm not making it me business to go poking into," he said. "But they've had their eyes on me ever since that little performance of yours last time. I was almost s.h.i.+pped back then."

Zambendorf bit his lip. He knew he was putting O'Flynn on the spot, but the stakes were important. "I understand, Mike," he replied. "But you must know about all the political shenanigans that are going on here. Suppose I told you that the whole future of Arthur's nation could be at risk. You said once that Arthur reminded you of Michael Collins turfing the Brits out back home. Well, we think that Arthur's Brits are trying to come back again. That's what we're trying to prevent."

"Karl, really, I can't do anything for you. That j.a.panese s.h.i.+p arriving here has complicated everything. Everything that can move is in demand." O'Flynn waved over his shoulder at the personnel carrier he was working on. "Twelve hours we've got to fix that. It's ridiculous."

Zambendorf persisted. "Mike, we're not talking about hijacking anything this time. All I want to do is fly one Taloid into Padua. Couldn't we arrange for him to stow away on something going that way somehow?"

"Not on one of the military flights, and they're the ones that go to Padua the most often," O'Flynn said. "Too security-conscious. And in any case, I don't have access to those vehicles. The military uses its own techs."

"How about the scientific groups that go there?" Zambendorf tried. "Doesn't NASO fly those?"

"They do. But they're all in a dither with thes.h.i.+rasagi showing up, and n.o.body's going to Padua. In any case . . ." O'Flynn beckoned and led the way over to a medium-haul flyer standing in the next bay.

"Look for yourself. Now you tell me where in that cabin you could put a Taloid, and Taloids couldn't stand the heat, anyway. And where else?" He motioned with an arm to indicate the external engine frame and the fuel tanks, the packed racks of radar and electronics gear, the pumps, and the hydraulic system.

"Where could you hide a Taloid that wasn't supposed to be there?"

Zambendorf couldn't argue. "What about cargo freighters, then?" he asked.

"They're on restricted availability right now," O'Flynn told him. "In any case, we don't send many to Padua. Certainly there isn't one scheduled in the next five days. I've a feeling that you were looking for something a little bit sooner than that."

Despite his need, Zambendorf decided against telling O'Flynn the team's suspicions about interstellar aliens reappearing from the past. The ramifications were simply too diverse to go into. And he believed that O'Flynn was being sincere: in the end, it would do no good. So, following the almost universally sound dictum that whatever was unsaid could always be said another day, Zambendorf withdrew with good grace and left it at that.

But he was still not prepared to admit defeat. Surely, he insisted, with all the comings and goings, confusion and activity, there had to be some way of getting Moses into Padua fast, without resorting to Taloid carts and donkeys.

* * *"Yes, Cyril?" Weinerbaum eased himself down into the seat in the cramped s.p.a.ce before the interface panel and turned off the beeping signal that had summoned him.

"Have thought much time," the squeaky-jerky voice informed him. "I am worry. All Asterians are worry here now." The name that Weinerbaum had given the aliens meant "star people," and he had christened their world "Asteria."

"Worry? Why? What about?" Weinerbaum asked.

"Scientist Weinerbaum is professional of science. Tell yes, science definition. Is seeking for truth that is all objectivity. Facts and testings are decisions. In such ways are unmystified the truths of the universe. Definition as so, yes?"

"The definition is correct," Weinerbaum agreed. As close as the Taloid translator would ever get, anyway. He had learned by that point to avoid getting into impossible semantic circularities by being too finicky.

"Then I, Cyril, am too the scientist," the synthesized voice said.

Weinerbaum listened, trying to penetrate the meaning that lay concealed in the words. As a means of communicating all but the simplest concepts, the method was still hopelessly crude. But there had to be a reason why the aliens were dwelling on this particular, seemingly abstract dimension of the business now. Weinerbaum pondered, searching to divine motive as an adjunct to interpreting what the message was trying to convey. And then he felt a sudden uplifting feeling as he thought he grasped it.

A brotherhood across the stars! The alien was trying to express the idea that the shared quest after truth made them kindred spirits in a common enterprise that transcended origins. Truth was universal, as was the method for acquiring it.

"We are fellow seekers after truth, Cyril." Weinerbaum lowered his tone in solemn recognition of the moment, even though the quality would no doubt be lost in translation. "The same purpose, the same truths. Across all stars, among all beings."

"Yes! Yes!" Cyril left no doubt that Weinerbaum had gotten the point. "Reason of brains like Weinerbaum must rule in all worlds. Is inevitable goal of evolution."

Weinerbaum felt gratified and flattered. "One day, perhaps. But the progress of reason meets many obstacles."

"Greed of possessions. Those who hungry power to compel slaves other beings. Inferior minds.

Destroyers of knowledge and cities," Cyril supplied. "History of Asteria tells long stories of same evils.

And is true likewise Earth?"

"Regrettably." Weinerbaum sighed sadly and nodded to himself. "A long, weary tale. Probably also universal."

"Reason why Asterians worry is time only days now beforeOrion Earth launch," Cyril said. By this time the Asterians were able to interpret Earth's units of time absolutely, having been given the length of a Terran year as the number of vibrations of the cesium-133 atom. It ran to seventeen decimal places. "

Orionwill bring Terran controlling soldiers," Cyril went on. "Seize dictated t.i.tan machine surface.

Common threat to Weinerbaum-Cyril scientist-brothers discovering t.i.tan secrets-truths."

A vision of minds from different parts of the galaxy cooperating, each bringing its unique insights to bear on a common purpose, pa.s.sed before Weinerbaum's eyes as he stared at the console. The purity of intellect, unsullied by pa.s.sions or delusion. At that moment he felt far closer in spirit to the strange configurations of alien thought patterns circulating in the boxes somewhere beyond the panel than he did to the authorities back on Earth. "I understand. Believe me, I do understand, Cyril," he said fervently.

"And I agree. But there's nothing I can do."

"Would do if could do?" Cyril asked him.

Weinerbaum gave a snort and answered mechanically. "If I could? What, stop the military force from being sent here? This work is far too valuable to risk being interfered with by people who don't understand it. Yes, of course I would."

There was a short pause, as if Cyril were hesitating over something. "Weinerbaum Cyril togethercan stop launch."

"What?" Weinerbaum sat up sharply. "What are you talking about? How do you mean?"

"Launch schedule is controlled under computers connecting Earth-planet net. Net is accessed through laser trunk here t.i.tan. If Weinerbaum organize Terran engineers arrange Asterians' access, Asterians seize up and halt launch process cras.h.i.+ngly. Then no military here, no scientists work interferings."

Weinerbaum frowned, glancing around to make sure that no one else was listening. He sat forward in the chair and lowered his voice. "Wait a minute. What are you saying? . . . If I could get you access into the Earthlink, you'd be able to disrupt the prelaunch schedule? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Is so, Weinerbaum. DelayOrion Earth departure until saner minds control. Meanwhile, brothers in science free to explore mysteries of t.i.tan. No interruption from inferior minds. Is good deal, yes?"

Weinerbaum's first reaction was to balk. But as he thought more, he saw that fate was daring him to accept the challenge that it now held out. Compared to what was beckoning him here, NASO and the military had been small fry. Now he was being given the chance to recruit the aid of aliens, alien scientists who would bring to his cause methods that he estimated as being advanced a hundred years at least beyond Earth's. It could be the beginning of the end of Earth's rule by greed and chicanery, the dawn of a new age of reason. The moment was upon him. Was he up to it?

Then a flicker of doubt clouded the vision. Weinerbaum anxiously focused his gaze back on the panel. "Cyril, if I did this, I would want your a.s.surance on one thing."

"Brother in science has only to ask."

"You will confine your attention strictly to matters affecting theOrion launch. No other aspects of the global net are to be interfered with. That is clearly understood?" Then, suddenly, Weinerbaum felt rather foolish. He was dealing with an advanced intellect from a culture that had crossed s.p.a.ce before humankind's ancestors had come down from the trees, for heaven's sake. Who did he think he was, sitting there lecturing like a schoolmaster addressing a sneaky student?

"Trust me," Cyril replied.

Weinerbaum returned to Genoa Base later that day. Shortly after arriving, he went to the base commander's office to see Harold Mackeson.

"To be honest with you, Harry, I don't like the way the military is beginning to dominate what we're doing here," he told Mackeson. "The work we're doing out at ES3 is a good example of what I mean.

Somebody has decided that it could have military relevance, and I'm not allowed to tell you what it is.

They've insisted on this security nonsense, and I've really not much choice but to go along with it."

Adroit, he thought to himself. Mackeson knew the military was handling security and transportation for ES3, so the explanation would seem perfectly natural.

Mackeson nodded in his easygoing way and sat back in his chair. "I a.s.sumed it was something like that and didn't ask. My job here is really just caretaking until the management sorts itself out. How are things going out there? Everything all right?"

"Oh, fine, fine . . ." Weinerbaum replied distantly, seemingly preoccupied with something else.

"There is one thing I could use some help with, though. It's a little unusual, but I think it's important. In fact, that's what I wanted to see you about."

Mackeson spread his hands. "Always willing to do what I can to keep everyone here happy, old boy. Try me."

Weinerbaum let his voice fall to a more confidential note. "Look, I don't have to tell you the score. . . . Behind the scenes GSEC's pus.h.i.+ng for control of this operation, and against that we've got NASO." Mackeson nodded but said nothing. Weinerbaum went on. "As I know you're aware, I would much rather see NASO in the driver's seat. NASO's style of management is less intrusive. Science functions best amid openness, without secrecy and restrictions. So your bosses' interests and my interests are one hundred percent in alignment, Harry.""Very good," Mackeson agreed. "But I'm still not sure what you're asking me to do."

Weinerbaum leaned closer across the desk. "I would like certain persons back at NASO HQ to be more informed on some of the work I'm doing here."

"You mean this stuff that the military here is trying to clamp down on?" Mackeson checked.

"Quite. But security of communications worries me. I don't want anyone here tapping in on behalf of GSEC." Weinerbaum paused for a sign that Mackeson agreed with that. When Mackeson nodded, he went on. "What I'd like you to do, Harry, is give me a direct access channel into the Earthlink, upstream from the regular trunk termination where somebody could be monitoring. An independent uplink to the satellites and an optical line into ES3 is all it would need. I know that your communications people can do it."

Mackeson rubbed his chin and looked dubious. Weinerbaum had expected no more as a first reaction and pressed on. "It's in our common interest to secure permanent NASO control out here-you know that. This will give NASO a strong case on the importance of the scientific enterprise. Otherwise, you know what'll happen. Neither of us wants that. Help me keep NASO in control."

Mackeson sat forward, bringing a hand to his chin, and thought about it. Now that Weinerbaum had brought the matter up, he had to admit that the local military was just as likely to start tapping into his own communications to Earth, never mind whatever Weinerbaum wanted to send back. There was something to be said for keeping a safe channel in case of future need, especially now, in light of all the complications thes.h.i.+rasagi's recent arrival had brought.

"Well?" Weinerbaum asked. Then, as if reading Mackeson's mind, he added, "Something like that could well be in your own interest, too, you know, Harry."

Mackeson didn't need the prompt. And anyhow, why were they acting furtively like this, as if the military's finding out and getting upset were something to feel guilty about? he asked himself. Dammit, he was supposed to be in charge here, after all.

He turned and tapped a code into the companel on the wall by the desk. "Com Eng," a face acknowledged from the screen.

"James, is Bryan there?" Mackeson asked.

"One second, chief."

Another face appeared, bearded and wearing a NASO officer's peaked cap. "Yes, Harry?"

"Bryan, I wonder if you could spare a moment. I've got Werner here with me at the moment.

We've got a little job for you."

28.

As far as the linguists could make out, the Taloids referred to it as a kind of dignitaries' carriage. It walked on legs that were not really alive but grew from a contractile material that Taloid craftsmen had been learning to cultivate for generations, and it had two full-width seats facing each other beneath a canopy. There was also a raised seat outside, from which a pair of Taloid coachmen controlled the wheeled tractor animal that pulled it.

The coach drew up behind an open "wagon" in a clearing amid overhead gantries and clunking freight-handling stations, alongside one of the broad conveyor lines the Taloids regarded as rivers.

Zambendorf climbed out, moving ponderously in the NASO-issue suit, followed by Abaquaan, Thelma, Dave Crookes, and one of Crookes's technicians carrying a translator box and radio gear. Another vehicle stopped behind, from which Moses came forward to join them, accompanied by "Em," one of the officers who ran Arthur's intelligence operation-so dubbed by the Terrans after the M of James Bond fame-and one of Em's aides. An escort of Taloid guards, also from the third vehicle, moved out to secure the area, carrying the primitive, newly introduced Genoan firearms, which were powered by reduction-generated incendiary gas. From the wagon that had stopped in front, several more Taloidslifted down a section of metal casing that had once formed part of some piece of defunct machinery out in the wild. It was about eight feet long and roughly the shape of an old-fas.h.i.+oned cast-iron bathtub.

Moses looked at it apprehensively.

Zambendorf's eventual brainwave for getting Moses into Padua had elicited mixed feelings among Terrans and Taloids alike. It had come to him while he and Abaquaan had been talking with some of the clerks in the admin offices. One of the walls there carried a large-scale map of Genoa and the surrounding regions, showing the natural geographic features and major conglomerations of machinery as charted from reconnaissance flights and satellite plots. One feature that the map revealed prominently had been the merging pattern of broadening conveyor systems that extended for miles across the landscape: local transfer lines feeding intermediate stages that led to immense delivery conveyors, all converging on the final a.s.sembly areas and ending at furnaces where everything not utilized upstream was vaporized for recycling. It became obvious why the Taloids thought of them as rivers. And there, tracing its way clearly across half the map, was a chain of tributaries connecting a "stream" not a few miles from Genoa City to the main artery flowing through Padua City.

"Otto, I've got it!" Zambendorf had exclaimed, and in his excitement had barely managed to prevent himself blabbing it out on the spot. A few minutes later in the corridor, out of earshot of the clerks, he had told the still-startled Abaquaan, "Find something we can use for a boat. That's how we'll do it: We send Moses down the river!"

Arthur had given his blessing reluctantly to what he obviously regarded as a madcap idea, since n.o.body had come up with anything better. Zambendorf didn't want to invite being overruled by anybody at the base and so had kept his plan a secret and left it to Arthur to organize the details. Explanations could wait till later. One piece of Irish philosophy Zambendorf had picked up from O'Flynn was that contrition was easier than permission.

The Taloid work detail maneuvered the section of casing over some girder work and up to a sloping section of roller conveyor that was bringing lengths of metal molding intermittently from somewhere in the labyrinth. The group of Terrans followed, along with Moses and Em.

"You will be famous forever in t.i.tan's history," Zambendorf proclaimed exuberantly, clapping Moses confidently on the shoulder while the translator turned his words into Taloid ultrasonics. "From ancient times Taloids have always wondered about the maker of their life. We think that other Terrans have found the beings from the stars who started it all. You, Moses, will help us discover the true Lifemakers."

It was all very well for the Wearer to talk that way, Groork, Hearer-of-Voices thought to himself glumly as he watched the preparations going ahead in front of him. The Wearer wasn't about to plunge into a torrent of cataracts and rocks, flotsam and confusion, in a sh.e.l.l of tree bark. There had been adventurous robeings who'd experimented with river travel from time to time, but the idea had never caught on very much, and for good reasons that these Lumians seemed blissfully unaware of. Being s.n.a.t.c.hed by some ferocious animal prowling the banks for tasty pickings wasn't the worst of them.

Groork was still mindful of the last stunt the Wearer had talked him into, which had involved jumping out of a Lumian flying dragon to descend as an angel beneath billowing wings attached by lines to a body harness.

"Depart now safe Padua." The translation of Em's parting words came through inside Zambendorf's and the other Terrans' helmets.

"Let's just check the link one last time," Dave Crookes said. The technician with him flipped switches and tapped b.u.t.tons on the unit he was carrying, then extended a thumb. "Dave to base. Are you reading, Leon?"

"I hear you, Dave," Leon Keyhoe's voice came back from the signals lab in Genoa Base. "How's it going out there?"

"Moses is ready to go now. We're giving the link a final check."

"Roger.""Send your base-to-Moses call sign, then transmit,'Test: one, two, three. Raise hand if okay,' "

Crookes instructed.

The signal went out from Genoa Base. A few yards from where Crookes was standing, Moses looked up suddenly and went still while he listened to the incoming message. Then he turned toward Crookes and raised an arm.

From Genoa, Keyhoe read out the response from Moses as it was decoded into English from Taloid: "Hearing good. Guess all set."

Then Moses came through on the local frequency via the portable translator. "Ear listens Genoa.

Moses go get Padua priests' story. Duty help Terrans. I go."

"Be careful, Moses," Thelma said.

"Our guys'll be listening for you all the way," Crookes promised.

Big deal, Groork thought. So what if the Lumian physicians had restored his internal ear so that he could talk to them in their camp at Mena.s.sim from a distance? It wouldn't do him a lot of good, trapped in the clamps of a half-ton casing peeler somewhere in the wilds of outer Kroaxia.