Cullen shook his head. "Vic, I don't know. But I'll tell you something else. Ayultha getting blown away like that on the same day wasn't a coincidence. Something's going on, and it involves a connection of some sort between the underworld and the cults. And right at this moment, that's about all I know."
Hunt thought it over again, nodded, and pursed his lips. "So where do we go from here?"
"The only lead I can see is to try and find out more about Baumer. I've got some stuff on his background from the personnel records of the department that sent him here, but it doesn't tell us a great deal. He's twenty-nine, originally from Bonn, studied moral and political philosophy at Munich, but without graduating finally. A mixed pattern of minor political activism around Europe, generally with leftist affiliations. Likes belonging to movements and associations, and organizing people. Doesn't like capitalism and industrial technology. Isn't married. Was sent to Jevlen by a department of the U.S. European government."
"Hmm . . . Does he have quarters here, too, inside PAC?" Hunt asked, scratching the side of his nose pointedly. The implication was obvious.
Cullen nodded and lowered his voice. "Yes, I had a look around. Garuth doesn't know about it. Baumer talks to a lot of Jevlenese, but that's what you'd expect for a sociologist. He likes reading politics, history, and psychology, he gets letters from a girl in Frankfurt, and he worries about his health." Cullen spread his hands.
"Nothing more?"
"That's it. His office here didn't turn up anything either. But he does use another one, a private place out in the city that he says provides a less threatening environment for talking to the Jevlenese that his work involves him with. That might be more interesting. But how do we get near enough to him?" Cullen jerked a thumb to indicate the larger office outside his. "He's not going to say anything to my people. You're here to look at Ganymean science, so you can't go asking questions without it looking strange, especially if he's got reasons to be suspicious."
Hunt sat up slowly in his chair, his eyes widening. Just at that moment he would have rated Gregg Caldwell a genius.
Cullen looked at him uncertainly. "Are you okay?"
"We brought someone with us, just for that reason," Hunt said. There had been so much happening that he hadn't had a chance to explain where Gina fitted in.
"What are you talking about?"
"There's a writer out at Geerbaine, who came on the same ship—a woman called Gina Marin. Officially she's here on a free-lance job, but in reality she's with us—UNSA—as a kind of undercover help. This is right in her court."
Cullen blinked. "Well, I'll be darned. Whose idea was this?"
"Caldwell's, back at Goddard. He had an idea that this kind of situation could happen."
A long, drawn-out explanation obviously wasn't necessary. "Well, let's get her onto it," Cullen said. "Will she be there now?"
"As far as I know." Hunt had called her an hour or so previously to see how things were going.
Cullen indicated the door with a nod of his head. Hunt turned on his chair and reached back to open it. "Hey, Crozin," Cullen called to a Jevlenese in shirtsleeves at a desk outside. "Put a call through to the Best Western at Geerbaine, could you? See if you can get a Terran woman who's staying there, name of Gina Marin. A writer."
"Right," Crozin acknowledged.
Cullen waved for Hunt to close the door again. "What about the work that Baumer's been doing since he came here?" Hunt asked, turning back toward the desk. "Are there any reports and things from him that she could see to get more background?"
"Sure." Cullen activated a screen by his desk and called up a list of file references. While he waited, Hunt fished his cigarettes from a pocket, lit one, and leaned back to run over what had been said. A minute or two later Crozin buzzed through to say that Gina was on the line from Geerbaine.
"You'd better take it," Cullen said, swiveling the screen around to face Hunt.
"Back so soon," Gina said. "What is it this time?"
"I think you're in business," Hunt told her. "We've got a job for you."
"Does that mean I get to see PAC at last?"
"Yes. Catch one of those tubes into the city if they're running today. Ask for the UNSA labs when you get here. I'm on my way to a show that Shilohin's putting on for the ayatollahs, but you can ask for Del Cullen. He'll tell you all about it. I'll see you sometime later."
"I'm on my way," Gina said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
At one end of a long hall inside PAC, Hunt and Sandy watched as Thardan, a young Ganymean technician from the Shapieron, checked the connections of an apparatus consisting of a metal frame festooned with tubes and cables, mounting a horizontal cylinder two feet or so long, from one end of which protruded a tapering snout ending in a hemispherical tip. Nearby, Duncan was adjusting the settings on a supply panel.
Several hundred feet away at the far end of the hall, about a dozen queesals—a kind of Jevlenese fruit, like a brown, pear-shaped melon—were mounted on wire supports positioned irregularly about the floor. A mixed company of Ganymeans, Jevlenese, and one or two Terrans were standing by the wall to one side. Shilohin was among them, with a group of gaudily clad Jevlenese who were watching the activity suspiciously. The central figure among the latter was a recently "possessed" ayatollah—Hunt's term for them was already spreading through PAC—formerly an unknown city destitute, who now went by an exalted Jevlenese title that meant "He Who Shall Return." Cullen had promptly christened him MacArthur. The others were followers from a Spiral of Awakening subsect that was forming around him out of the squabbles following the exit of the leader. MacArthur had restored faith and banished doubt by asserting that Ayultha, far from being a victim of transcendental retribution, had indeed discovered Truth, and as a consequence of that had attracted upon himself Cosmic Energies that even he had been unable to control. It was an opportune move at a time when the SoA needed a new Word to pull it back together, and MacArthur was already being acclaimed by many as Ayultha's successor.
"Phase-conjugated laser," Hunt said to Sandy, waving at the cylinder with a black, penlike object that he was holding. "That was how they did it."
Sandy shook her head. "Sorry, I'm a biologist—remember? You'll have to be more specific."
Just then, Thardan glanced across at them and nodded. "It's ready."
"Well, let's see what happens." Hunt motioned to Sandy with a hand, and they began walking toward the other end of the hall. "In the real world, perfectly parallel, nondispersing beams of light don't exist. You can think of one as a bundle of rays, spreading and being scrambled by irregularities in the medium it passes through."
"Okay."
"So, you can imagine a time-reversed beam whose rays follow the same trajectories, but in the opposite direction."
"Like Newtonian particles moving backward, you mean?" Sandy said.
"Right. Well, it turns out that to create a reversed beam, you don't have to reverse each and every quantum-level motion of the atoms and electrons that do the reflecting and radiating. Reversing the macroscopic parameters that describe the average motions is enough. All of which is another way of saying that it's possible to make a device that behaves as a phase-conjugating mirror, where every ray that strikes it is returned precisely along its reversed path."
"Okay . . ." Sandy said, nodding.
"Alternatively, instead of making it a simple mirror, you can make it a source in its own right—a source of a signal that will follow an incident beam back to wherever it came from. That's one way they get rid of atmospheric distortion for communications lasers: a pilot beam from the receiver effectively `pre-scrambles' the databeam in such a way that the information comes out the other end clean."
They were approaching the end of the hall. Hunt gestured at the queesals on their wire mounts. "Or, if the incident beam happens to be a reflection off an object, and the conjugator that it's reflected back to is a high-gain power laser . . ."
Sandy was already nodding.
"I see. It's as if the object attracts the power beam to itself."
"You've got it. The technique was used in the space-defense systems for self-targeting of radiation weapons." Hunt grinned. "So I suppose MacArthur was right in a way about poor old Ayultha drawing down powers on himself that he didn't understand. They had somebody in the crowd with a wand like this, and a compact, weapons-grade projector aimed from somewhere nearby—there were enough high buildings all around the place. It could have been dismantled in a few minutes."
"Well, I guess it's a pretty persuasive way of telling the opposition to look for other ways of making a living," Sandy said. "And enough of the natives seem to have been impressed, whatever the Ganymeans are trying to tell them."
Hunt nodded. "I agree. That's why I admire Shilohin for trying this, and I wish her all the best with it. But between you and me, I think she's wasting her time."
They came to where the others were waiting. Shilohin was just finishing an explanation to MacArthur and his group. Hunt wasn't sure how the Ganymeans had persuaded them to be here, for they were wearing expressions like those of the bishops who didn't want to look through Galileo's telescope. And Hunt could see MacArthur's point: this was his chance to become the Great Panjandrum of the Spiral, and he wasn't about to throw it away for anybody. Hunt had tried explaining as much to the Ganymeans, but the consensus among them had been to give reason a chance to prevail.
Shilohin turned and indicated Hunt with a hand. "This is Dr. Hunt, a visiting Terran scientist, who will show you the process. It really is very straightforward."
Hunt held up the short, black rod. "This is a low-power portable laser. It emits light just like an ordinary flashlamp, but in a tighter beam." He moved his arm in a random motion. "The light from it will be reflected in all directions off anything that I point it at, just as some light from a flashlamp is reflected into your eyes from any object that the lamp illuminates. That's how you see it." He aimed at one of the queesals about ten feet from him, centering the red dot produced by an auxiliary registration beam. "So a minute fraction of it will reach the projector up at the far end there, where Sandy and I just came from. When it does, the power beam from the projector will follow the reverse path back to where the reflection came from. Watch." He pressed a button, and the fruit exploded in a fiery flash.
"Note that it isn't necessary to aim or realign the projector," Shilohin commented. "The beam retraces the path of the reflected ray automatically."
Hunt demonstrated the fact by vaporizing two more queesals, chosen wide apart to subtend an impressively large angle from where the projector was situated. Thardan and Sandy had moved well away from the equipment, and it was clear even from that distance that nobody at the far end had touched anything. Hunt held out the hand laser toward the Jevlenese. "Anyone else care to try?"
There was a short, prickly silence. Nobody moved to take up the offer. Then MacArthur marched past Hunt to where the nearest of the intact queesals was standing, and removed it from its support with a nourish. He turned to face the onlookers, tossed the fruit down on the floor, and stomped it to pulp with a single blow from his foot. "There are many ways of destroying a queesal," he declared. "I have just as validly proved that Ayultha was killed by a giant foot from the sky." Some of the followers began laughing, pointing at Hunt and Shilohin. One of them picked up another of the queesals and took a bite from it.
"No, look. He was swallowed by a mouth that appeared in the ground."
MacArthur glowered contemptuously. "Don't be deceived by their tricks. They try to conceal what they cannot explain."
"If you know of something different, give us your explanation," Shilohin challenged. But it did no good.
"You Ganymeans think you know so much," MacArthur spat. "But I tell you there are realities that your lever-and-cogwheel minds could never grasp. I have seen realms beyond your comprehension. Things that defy all your laws, which you think the universe will follow for your convenience."
"Where?" Shilohin retorted, getting exasperated. "Where have you seen such things? At worlds light-years away? I doubt it. The only things you'll find there are Ganymean starships."
"Bah! Go as far as you will with your toys, it's still the same plane. But there are other realms within!"
"Nonsense. Within what? Say what you mean for once."
At that moment, a call-tone sounded in Hunt's ear, and zorac spoke. "Do you have a second?"
"What is it?"
"Garuth is back from Thurien. He'd like a word with you if you can get away."
Relieved at the chance to extricate himself, Hunt caught Sandy's eye and motioned her across. "Make my apologies," he muttered. "I have to slip away. Garuth wants to see me about something."
"Sure . . . I guess this wasn't any big surprise, eh?" Sandy said.
"The Ganymeans can write it off as a lesson in human psychology," Hunt answered.
Before their defeat in the Pseudowar, the leaders of the previous regime on Jevlen had, as part of their plans for the Jevlenese Federation, embarked on a secret armaments-manufacturing program to enable them to deal with their ancient Cerian rivals, who had become the Terrans. To conceal their intentions from the Thuriens, they concentrated this war industry on a remote, lifeless planet called Uttan, far away in another star system. Since the Federation's demise, Uttan's power-generation and production facilities had been shut down, and the planet occupied by a Thurien caretaker force. The proposition with which Eubeleus had approached Calazar had to do with Uttan, and was of a totally unexpected nature.
"He says that he sees the situation on Jevlen deteriorating, and that bloodshed is a distinct possibility," Garuth said after Hunt had closed the door and sat down. "Being a person of compassion and nonviolence who has dedicated himself to the spiritual advancement of his fellow men, he can't sit by without making some effort to prevent it."
"I see." Hunt's tone carried the conviction of a policeman being told that the violin case with the submachine gun inside it must have been a wrong bag picked up at the airport.
Garuth made a gesture which conveyed that he was just reporting what had happened. "But the Thuriens were impressed. Eubeleus said he wants to clear the way for Jevlen's full recovery and reform as speedily as possible. For the greater good and well-being of all, he is prepared to renounce all claims on Jevlen and remove himself and his Axis followers from the scene to find their own niche elsewhere. Jevlen will be freed from the threat of open strife erupting between the two major cults, and the Spiral will be left to work out its relations with the other cults in whatever way suits them."
"And, of course, the Thuriens wouldn't want there to be any doubts as to their own reasonableness," Hunt said.
"Er, quite. After spending six months on Earth, I think I can say that they don't have the nose for suspecting insincere motives, yet."
"Okay, so exactly what is this Eubeleus offering to do?"
"His proposal is that Uttan would be stripped of its military potential, and the planet bioformed into a habitable condition for assignment to the Axis of Light as its own sovereign world. It would become a spiritual retreat, open to all of sincere intent, who come in search of truth. He says he got the inspiration from hearing about Earth's monasteries. The Axis would pay its way by managing Uttan's industrial capacity as a supply facility, converted to peaceful ends." Garuth tossed out a hand. "There it is. I detect that your enthusiasm is what the English would call somewhat less than total."
"Do you think he's mixed up in any of this other business that's been going on?" Hunt asked bluntly. "It all seems too much of a coincidence with his appearing on the scene. I don't like coincidences."
"We don't know," Garuth replied. "But I can see your point. If he were, it would say as much as anything needs to about these altruistic trimmings."
"Exactly," Hunt said, nodding. He leaned back and contemplated the ceiling. "It seems that for some reason our mystical friend is attaching a lot of importance to Uttan, doesn't it? What w
ould he want with an airless, waterless, inhospitable ball of rock like that, light-years from anywhere? It makes you think there must be something about that planet that we're not aware of—and from the blithe way they're reacting, something that the Thuriens aren't aware of, either."
Garuth stared across at Hunt and thought about it. "I don't know" was all he could reply. "I'll get zorac to assemble all the information that we've got on it."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Jevlenese sitting in Baumer's city office, his feet propped impudently on the edge of Baumer's desk, was called Lesho. He was squat and swarthy, with thick black hair and a short, untidy beard. His glittery blue coat and red shirt were expensive but flashy, and he was heavily adorned with jewelry and rings. His equally unsavory-looking companion, orange-haired and heavily built, wearing a baggy brown suit, was leaning against the wall by the door, chewing absently and wearing a scowl of bored indifference. Baumer sat tight-lipped, forcing himself to control his sense of outrage and impotence.
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