Part 13 (1/2)
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.