Frowning, Evan reached out with his right hand. He received the impression of something slick and waxy before a sharp sting made him jerk his hand back. The bracelet twisted slightly before resetting itself on Machoka's wrist. As it twisted, it separated for an instant. Evan could just make out two small yellow imperfections at the point of separation: eyes. Then the head slipped neatly back into a groove in the tail and the bracelet relaxed once more.
Machoka raised his hand and admired the ornament. "Not much of a charge, but I imagine it's enough to scare of the majority of predators."
"If it was supposed to be funny, it wasn't." Evan nursed his tingling hand.
Machoka looked down at him. "I was told that you had a terrific sense of humor— except when the joke was directed at you." This time Evan wisely said nothing. "We're calling it a Spanset. It's an organosilicate lifeform."
Evan's curiosity quickly overcame his upset. "Like a diatom?"
"Far more advanced than that."
The Spanset clung to Machoka's wrist without moving, looking exactly like a chunk of cut citrine. "So it's alive. What do you feed it? I can see right through it and I don't see anything like a stomach or normal internal organs."
Machoka turned to the transparent wall and held up his arm. The light passed cleanly through the Spanset's body. "They can be trained to recognize individuals. It identifies me through my body's electric field. That's what the biologists tell me, anyway. Feed it? It's a photovore."
"A what? I mean, I know what that should mean, but I've never heard the term used before."
Machoka turned back to him and shrugged. "It's the best thing we've been able to come up with. It's a lighteater. It lives on sunlight." He ran an affectionate finger over the crystalline surface, which did not stir. "It possesses its own little photovoltaic system. Instead of converting sunlight into chemical energy, as plants do, it converts light directly into electricity. That's fine for a machine, but not for a living creature, and the principles are driving our research people crazy. Mathematically it's all possible, but applying the math to a living thing is something else again."
"Where did it come from? What's the world like?"
"Easy. One miracle at a time, Orgell." Machoka resumed his seat. "As to what its home world is like, we don't know yet. But we do know where it is. Prism."
Evan's expression twisted. "Are we talking physics, philosophy, or the beautiful eyes of the new Records Department Comptroller?"
"It's a world. A new world."
"Sure is. First I've heard of it, and I don't miss much."
"It was intended that you and everyone else miss this. One of the company's hunters stumbled across it. Very few people within the organization know about it, and we've worked hard to keep the discovery out of the media. Now one more person knows about it."
Conscious of the small honor just received, Evan proceeded cautiously. "I can see why you're trying to keep it a secret." He nodded toward Machoka's wrist. "if that's an example of the commercial possibilities— imagine Jewelry that defends itself against thieves."
Again the president gestured with his wrist. "This is nothing, nothing. A bauble, a toy. According to what little we've learned about this place thus far, the possibilities there are..." He swallowed, started again. "We can't even begin to imagine the possibilities. I certainly can't. Scientifically I'm little more than a layman. I'm an administrator, not a chemist, not a products analyst." He rose abruptly and began pacing back and forth in front of his visitor.
"Orgell, we don't know what we've got here except that it's big. Bigger than anything anybody's dreamed of. Bigger than any single project the company's ever tackled before. This world is not just new; it's radical. It's so strange my people are still arguing over whether biologists or geologists should be in charge of exploration and initial development. This business of organosilicate lifeforms is not unique. Some exist here on Samstead, some on Earth. But not on this scale. And the whole class of photovores is brand-new."
Evan eyed the Spanset again. "It exists solely on sunlight?"
"No. It does ingest modest doses of certain minerals and salts. Call it a kind of food." He hesitated. "You'll get a full briefing before you go."
"Before I go where, sir?" Evan asked quietly, even though he'd already pretty well divined the answer.
"Prism, of course."
"I'm neither a biologist nor a chemist, sir."
Machoka turned to his right and touched a panel on his chest. A leather-backed video screen about ten centimeters square emerged from the arm of the lounge-chair. The president rested his chin in one hand while he studied the display thus presented, spoke without looking up from the screen.
"No, you're not. You're an inter-disciplinarian, a jack-of-all-trades. You take a little from this field and a little from that and come up with solutions to problems." He looked up from the display. "We already have specialists working on Prism. Evidently they are not getting the job done. It seems they are in some difficulty."
"What kind of difficulty?"
"We don't know. That's part of our problem. We don't know because we haven't been able to make contact with the station there in quite a while. If it was something easily repaired or coped with the station staff would have handled it by now. They haven't. It may be nothing more than a simple breakdown in communications requiring a part they don't happen to have in stock."
"Then why bring me into it? Send in a communications crew."
"You were one of those responsible for the development of the Avilla Off-World Exploration software, weren't you?"
"Not exactly. I was the one responsible for its development."
"So even though your in vivo off world experience is limited, you have via computer and the software you designed actually been on and coped with literally hundreds of difficult and complex new world crises?"
Evan nodded. "That's right."
"So in that regard you're probably better prepared to deal with whatever problem has arisen on Prism than most of our field people."
"Perhaps. That still doesn't explain why you don't send in a crew. If you want to send a generalist, then I'm your man, but I don't see why you don't surround me with a few specialists."
Machoka was drumming the fingers of his right hand on the arm of the couch. Suddenly he gave the top of the video screen a hard slap, driving it back down into its cubicle.
"You asked why you haven't heard about Prism's discovery. You deserve an answer."
"I think I've already inferred one."
"Then you deserve confirmation. You haven't heard about it because the Aurora Group's presence there at this time is, well, let's call it semi-legal."
Evan tried not to smile. "Does that mean someone else might refer to it as semi-illegal?"
"Only if he were less than tactful," said Machoka quietly. "We've managed to set up a small research station on the surface. That's all, so far. That's where what little information we've acquired to date has come from."
"Along with your pet."
Machoka admired his wrist. "Yes. Communications at best were infrequent and subject to heavy coding. Despite such precautions I fear they are being monitored. It's not easy keeping the discovery of an entire world hidden from the rest of the Commonwealth."
"If we announce our discovery, then by Commonwealth law Prism is thrown open to development by any company or individual that wants to go to Terra or Hivehom and file a Research and Exploration Claim. Soon you have government types from the Standards Bureau running all over the place making sure that you're not abusing your permits, infringing on the claims of others; and generally making it difficult for your own people to do business."
"I understand."
Machoka nodded slowly. "I was certain that you would. The point of all this is that if the project is being monitored, we have to keep our activity to a minimum. That precludes sending out a fully equipped evaluation team. That's just the kind of activity those bastards at Reliance, or Coway-Thran
x, or the Helvetia Consortium, or any of our other less principled competitors would be likely to take notice of. And if we hire a free-lance team from outside the Group, we risk our secrecy further.
"But it's most unlikely that the presence in the area of a single Aurora executive would spark any undue interest. Since we don't know the nature of the trouble on Prism, we have to send in a generalist to find out what's going on before we can decide how best to rectify it."
"Meaning me."
"Meaning you, yes. The very fact that you are not known to our competitors as an off-world specialist works in our favor. They cannot be aware of your work on the Avilla software." Machoka considered the section of lounge which had swallowed the video screen, decided against resurrecting it.
"I don't have to tell you that this is not to be discussed with anyone else. If any of your coworkers ask where you're off to, tell them you're being sent to Inter-Kansastan to attend and report on the semiannual conference on genetic manipulation of cereal grains. You'll be going in that direction in any event and so your passage shouldn't arouse any suspicions. The crew of the ship you'll be traveling on has instructions to make a single fast pass by Prism to drop you off. You'll be picked up when you request it and not before."
"Just a minute. How can I request pickup if the problem is with the station's communications system?"
Machoka smiled broadly. "Wait until you see the suit you'll be working with. Unless their deepspace beam has been snapped by an earthquake or something, you'll be able to tie right into the base generation system with your suit electronics. There's a lot more to this suit than your Avilla software. Our engineers are rightly proud of it." He paused, steepling his fingers.
"There are some on the Board who say I'm being too cautious in this matter. I think not. There's too much at stake here. This is too important to the company, to me, to all of us. There are fortunes and futures aplenty to be made from this discovery and its subsequent exploitation— if we can keep it quiet for a year or two. That means keeping greedy s.o.b.'s like the people from Reliance and Helvetia in the dark. It also means keeping everything secret from the Commonwealth Council. Not to mention the United Church. I don't want that bunch of pious moralists poking around Prism until we're thoroughly established there.
"If we can keep it quiet for a year or so we'll be set. After that it won't matter if the whole Commonwealth knows about Prism. We'll have such a lead in research and exploration that any other company that wants to go into Prism will have to pay for the use of our knowledge, if only because it'll be cheaper than starting from scratch themselves. That goes for the government and the Church as well."
"And if we're found out?"
Machoka shrugged. "If by a competitor, we lose a great deal of money. If by the government or the Church, we may lose our freedom. Looked at from any angle, Prism is a great risk."
"Risks hold fascination. Prism sounds fascinating to me, not risky."
"Your confidence again. May it stand you in good stead. Then you accept?"
"Of course I accept. Did you think I might refuse? I've never turned down a company assignment yet."
"They told me this was how you'd react. I know about your attitude."
"There's nothing wrong with my attitude," Evan replied defensively.
"No? I was told that you're arrogant as hell."
"I am not arrogant. Just confident of my abilities."
"Well, that's what's needed here."
"I've already handled more than a thousand theoretical off-world problems during the development of the Avilla software. I doubt that there's anything on Prism that I haven't already dealt with in theory if not in practice. I'm sure I'll be able to isolate the problem and compose a solution for it."
"I hope so too, Orgell. I hope that this world doesn't present you with that thousand-and-first problem, the one you haven't had to deal with yet."
Evan found he was growing impatient. If Machoka was trying to scare him he was failing. "Don't we know anything about this world except that it's 'different'?"
"Certainly. The usual predevelopment basic information. I am told that the climate is agreeable, the air palatable, and that there are no native diseases that can affect us. Not germ-based, anyway. Of course, research is still in its infancy, but from everything that's come through so far the place sounds like an exotic paradise. This may turn out to be a holiday for you."
Sure, Evan thought. Except that the holiday-goers who'd preceded him to Prism weren't communicating with anyone anymore. He rubbed absently where the Spanset had stung him. The unexpectedness of the jolt had shocked him more than anything else, but still— what if that was just a sample of the defensive mechanisms employed by the local lifeforms?
"I wish I could tell you more, but you'll be given all the information you'll need to carry out your mission. After all, you're not going to be thrashing around the planet's surface. That's what the specialists at the station are there for. You're really going to be a glorified courier, though I'm hoping you'll be able to solve the problem by yourself and save the company some time and money."
"I'll certainly do my best, sir."
"Yes, that's what the reports all say. Don't let it give you a swelled head."
"Not unless the atmosphere there is lighter than you're telling me."
"So you do have a sense of humor. Good. You'll have help right up until drop-off time. Don't hesitate to ask for anything you need. We'll give you proper cover. You're traveling first-class to an important interworld conference on genetics. Better bone up on your Mendelian mantras in case you have to sound professional. If you need anything from the company library..."
"My own is well equipped, sir, but thanks for the offer."
"Another one of those voracious readers who devour information on a plethora of subjects, eh? I wish I had that kind of luxury time. Unfortunately someone has to run this company, and I'm him. All I have time to read are columns of figures and personnel analyses. Dry, dead stuff." He held up his arm to admire the Spanset one more time. "Nothing exciting like this. I envy you your visit. I want to see this world more than I can say, but I can't trust the day-to-day operation of the company to anyone else. Even if I could, it'd be impossible to keep my comings and goings a secret from our competitors. So— you'll have to be my eyes and ears on this trip, Evan." It was the first time he'd used his visitor's first name. A ploy, Evan knew.
"Any particular suits I should pack, sir?"
"Standard private traveler's comfort suits. The company will provide you with some new ones, if you like. You may as well be comfortable during the civilized portion of this trip. It's a long way."
"How will my nonappearance at the genetics conference be explained?"
"I see that you're taking this in the proper spirit. Don't worry. A suitable explanation will be provided, in case anyone bothers to track your movements that far. I don't think anyone will, but we'll play it safe just in case. Don't start worrying yourself with details. They'll be taken care of. Just get to Prism, find out what's going on, compose a report that even I'll be able to understand, and tell us what those people need so they can get back to work.
"I said that we'd like to have Prism to ourselves for a year or two. We'll be very lucky to keep it secret for a year. We may not have half that, no matter how careful we are. That means that every hour, every day, is one more hour and day to widen our advantage over our competitors."
"I can leave tomorrow, if necessary."
"Good." Machoka rose from the lounge. Evan sensed that the meeting was at an end. He stood, and the two men shook hands.
"I'll be interested in a firsthand report when you get back," Machoka said as they walked to the elevator. "Maybe you can make some of what I've been shown comprehensible. I've run back the chips from Prism at slow freeze and I'm damned if I can understand half of what I'm seeing."
"I'll be looking forward to that meeting, sir."
Evan was provided that same information to peruse
on his home reader, and he could sympathize with Machoka's confusion. Despite his remarkable store of personal knowledge he found himself having to halt the playback and refer constantly to his reference texts.
The straight science was bad enough, all this business of a world inhabited by photovores and organosilicates, but there was also the matter of the creatures' appearance. The lifeforms depicted in the preliminary report could not exist. Surely they'd been invented by a coterie of drunken artists trying to pass off their ravings as reality.
Part of the problem was that so many of the recorded images were indistinct. The report apologized for this, saying something about photographing fractal geometries without the aid of Hausdorf lenses. Fractal geometries? Hausdorf lenses? Back to the reference books.
His mind was spinning when he reported the following day to a branch of the company he hadn't even known existed. It was housed in a small factory complex on the outskirts of the city. From the outside the building looked quite ordinary. Inside it was anything but.
That's where they showed him the MHW.
Chapter Three
He’d heard about them but he’d never seen one except on the occasional news report dealing with the exploration of a crew world. Certainly he'd never expected to be fitted for one. Yet the MHW standing before him was to be his.
The Mobile hostile world suit, of which his was the latest and by far the most advanced model (or so the engineers who were showing it to him boasted, was designed to provide an explorer on a dangerous world with complete lifesupport and protection. It was solid and stiff instead of flexible like the day work suit he was wearing.
They put him in the MHW, let him get comfortable, and then ran him through a complete checkout of suit systems. Even that little instruction and preparation was unnecessary, since the suit could instruct its wearer on how best to utilize it. He had no trouble with the instrumentation, and the majority of controls were operated verbally. The suit was a true marvel of modern engineering, an extension of his own body. Its operator would be well protected on the surface of Prism; or any other world. His last concerns about the forthcoming journey vanished.
Sentenced to Prism Page 2