Enigma

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Enigma Page 21

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell


  “It’s out of your hands,” Dunn said. “Don’t you understand? Neale knew what you’d say. She set it up so Mark’d look bad—and he did. That wasn’t an inquiry. It was a hanging. Mark’s gone, or as good as.”

  “That’s not right.”

  “But you’ll learn to live with it, and the guilt. Merritt, try to think straight for once. Farther out in this octant are the Veil Nebula, the Cygnus Star Cloud, the Great Rift—we’ve barely begun. How could you want to be anywhere else?”

  Thackery shook his head grimly. “I’ll wait until that next packet is ready to leave for Earth. If they haven’t removed me by then, I’ll do it myself.”

  Thackery vegetated five days away before he had another visitor. This time it was Guerrieri.

  “Hear you’re talking about leaving us.”

  “It’s not just talk.”

  “Heard that, too. What’s going on?”

  “There’s nothing complicated about it. I’ve got no reason to stay in, not one. But now I’ve got a reason to leave.”

  “Which is?” Thackery hesitated, then told him about Diana. “You’re not the only one,” Guerrieri said with a wry smile.

  “Rogen left one—he’s been having lunch with his granddaughter. So did a couple of the awks. Even Mike, which is kind of nice.” He flashed his eyebrows. “Guess I was shooting blanks.”

  “Diana took her back to Earth.”

  “And that’s your reason for going?”

  Thackery nodded.

  “Better think that through. Unless one or the both of them kept moving, all you’re going to find is a grave.”

  “I still have to see.”

  “They can talk to Unity now.”

  “I already tried.”

  “And?”

  Thackery sighed. “Unity says that Diana was released from the Service in ’50. And her Earth records since are protected by the Right to Privacy provision of the Articles. They have nothing about her—our—daughter at all.”

  Guerrieri frowned, then lifted his shoulders in a little shrug. “Guess you have to make up your own mind. What do you think about this Kleine transmitter business? You realize, if we’d had one we’d wouldn’t of had to come back. Have you been down to the yard? They’ve got the ship all torn up amidships.”

  “It’s crazy.”

  “It works.”

  “It’s still crazy,” Thackery said emphatically. “Do you realize that the two inventions on which this whole business rests are a complete mystery to everybody?”

  “Not to everybody”

  “Everybody. Did you ever study drive theory? What makes an AVLO ship go? The drive doesn’t provide the energy needed to create the gravity hole—it taps it. How? From where?”

  “The multiplier effect—”

  “Is an invention of the physicists to preserve conservation of mass-energy. It’s a fancy fridge-factor.”

  “Come on, you’re no drive tech.”

  “McShane was. He told me that no one really knew where the ship was when it crazed—that it couldn’t be in normal space, but that the drive couldn’t function in any of the postulated hyperspaces. And now we’ve got a com system that uses shortcuts nobody can find and follows rules nobody can figure out.” He shook his head in disgust. “This is just insane, the whole thing.”

  “The engineers are just a few steps ahead of the theoreticians, that’s all.”

  “No, it’s crazy, all of it.”

  Guerrieri said nothing for a time, then a sympathetic cast came into his eyes. “What’s up with you, Thack? Are you all right?”

  A bitter laugh answered him. “All right? My whole life is screwed up and I don’t even know why. I can’t even figure out how I got here. I mean, I can remember the events, but it doesn’t feel like I was in control.” He tried a smile, but it was unconvincing. “I just can’t do this anymore. Do you under stand?”

  “I think so,” Guerrieri said, edging toward the door. “Look, I’m expected—”

  Thackery waved a hand in the air. “It’s all right.”

  “I’ll stop by and see you again. Or you could come out and see us.”

  “Bring a bottle. I’ll be better company.”

  But Guerrieri did not return, and Thackery languished, counting down the days until the arrival of the packet Raphael and waiting for the word that seemed would never come. But one morning, with the countdown at seventeen, the page light on his apartment’s netlink lit up at last. The conversation was brief, but it was enough:

  “Merritt Thackery?”

  “Here.”

  “Report to Carl Heiser in the Flight Office at 10 A.M.”

  Lifted out of his gloom, Thackery bounced around the apartment expending his restless energy in cleaning and straightening. An hour before his appointment, he showered away three days’ worth of olfaction and shaved off a six-day growth of beard. Dressing in a clean allover—available thanks to a laundry services fee ratter than his own foresight—he looked deep into the black ellipse for a long moment, then pinned it above his left breastpocket for the last time.

  Leaving the apartment earlier than he needed to, Thackery found himself waiting outside Heiser’s office with Fowler, one of the awks from Descartes. Then when the office door opened, it was Jessica Baldwin who emerged. Heiser appeared behind her only long enough to call “Fowler,” then disappeared inside again.

  “Thackery,” she said, with what seemed to be a genuine smile. “I’m glad to see you here.”

  “Hello, Jessie.”

  “Look, all of the techs are getting together at Tom’s apartment on Simonton Place to talk this over. Why don’t you come on up when Heiser’s done with you?”

  The invitation puzzled Thackery, so the head bob that acknowledged it was reflexive and perfunctory.

  “All right, then,” she said brightly. T i l see you later.”

  Fowler was inside some ten minutes, and then it was Thackery’s turn.

  “You mind if I take a moment to get myself some coffee?” Heiser asked as Thackery entered, waving him to a chair. “This has been a crazy morning—appointments since 7 A.M. and still half a dozen to go.”

  “No—”

  Heiser stirred something briskly into his cup and returned to his desk. “Well, Thackery, how are you feeling? Ready to go back to the wars?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He pushed a piece of fax across the desk toward Thackery:

  * * *

  Unified Space Service—Survey Branch

  Flight Office

  Cygnus Annex

  Notice of Personnel Transfer

  Thackery, Merritt Andrew S.N 0001091

  Current Billet: Contact Team Linguist, Descartes (USS-63)

  Pay Grade: C-4

  New Billet: Contact Specialist, Munin (USS-3)

  Pay Grade: C-5

  Effective: As Dated

  Term of Tour: Open. As required by Mission.

  “This is a promotion,” Thackery said, unbelieving.

  “Of sorts.”

  “I don’t understand. I don’t even know what a contact specialist is.”

  “To be honest, we’re not quite sure either,” Heiser said, rocking back in his padded chair. “Munin won’t carry an ordinary crew—but that’s only right, since her mission’s not an ordinary one either. Munin is going to the colony Sennifi. If that name sounds unfamiliar to you, don’t worry. It was to everyone until a week before your arrival, and we’ve been very closed-mouthed about it from the beginning—for good reason. This is a follow-up mission. We’re sending you out to try to pick up the pieces of a botched contact.”

  Heiser paused to sip at his coffee. “As far as your new assignment is concerned, my understanding is that you won’t be part of a contact team as you’ve come to understand the term, but will serve as an aide to Mission Commander Neale. Since she’s directly responsible for the negotiations, that should put you right in the middle of things.”

  “Why was I picked?”

&nb
sp; “On Commander Neale’s recommendation. You certainly would have been selected for the mission in any event—your language facility and your Gnivi experience put you well up on the list.”

  This is Neale’s payoff to me, Thackery realized suddenly. Dunn was right. Oh, damn him, Dunn way right. “What about Mark Sebright?” he demanded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is he on the crew manifest for Munin?”

  “No—”

  “Then that’s my answer, too. No,” Thackery said, coming to his feet. “I’m not available for this assignment. I’m resigning from the Service.”

  “I had no notice—,” Heiser began.

  “Here’s notice for you,” Thackery said, tearing the black ellipse from his allover and throwing it down on the desk. “I want out.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “All you have to understand is the word ‘No’. I’m not going,” Thackery shouted, and stormed out of the office past the questioning eyes of Guerrieri and Taylor-White.

  By the time Thackery reached his apartment, there was already a Priority message waiting on the netlink, insisting that he report to Neale immediately. Unable to purge it from the system or silence the ringer, he ignored it. Twenty minutes later, the door page began to sound. Thackery ignored it as well, until the combined and continuing demands exhausted his minimal patience.

  “Go away!” he hissed, flinging the door open. “I’m done with you!”

  But it was not Neale. The strong hand that caught the door before Thackery could slam it shut, the shoulder that pushed it open again, belonged to Sebright.

  “My turn to butt in,” Sebright said, stepping forward without waiting for an answer.

  “What are you here for?”

  “You know.”

  “To break the news that they’ve found some way to keep me from resigning.” Sebright shook his head. “No. They know they can’t make you stay.”

  “Then they must have sent you to talk me into it.”

  “No one sent me,” Sebright said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You insult me. Do you think I’d do anything for them now?” Thackery dropped his gaze to the floor, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You’ve had that problem a lot lately.”

  “Then what are you here for?”

  Sebright paused a moment before answering. “Derrel came by a week or so ago and told me a lot of things you probably rather he hadn’t. Tom filled in the rest, or enough of it. When I heard what happened this morning, I decided it was time to stop listening and start talking.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “I think you should go to Sennifi. Not because they want you to, certainly not for Neale. Because I think it’s the right thing for you—and because I can’t.”

  “They’re trying to give me a damn promotion. Neale’s paying me off for helping her get rid of you.”

  “I know. But she’s not the only one who recommended you.”

  Thackery stared.

  “This is an important one—the most advanced society since Journa,” Sebright said. “The Sennifi have a unified planet-wide culture with a high level of intellectual achievement. Their language is sophisticated, very subtle. And they’ve told us to mind our own business.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “If it’s so important, why don’t they want someone with your kind of experience?”

  “Neale won’t have me,” he said easily. “She’s probably right, too, though for the wrong reason. I’m a good Contactor, Thack—”

  “I know. I’ve seen you work.”

  “But I’m a lousy Contact Leader. I don’t delegate responsibility well, I can never be bothered to explain myself, and I’m not interested in ‘managing’ people—only in getting the job done.”

  “So what are they going to do to you?”

  “They haven’t decided yet. I’m not even sure what I want them to do. I’ll never tire of the work. Strange as it may sound, I loved every minute on Gnivi. But I’m very tired of the bullshit that goes with it.”

  “Come back to Earth with me in Raphael.”

  Sebright shook his head. “That’s the wrong choice for you, Thack.”

  “Why are you so sure?” He sighed. “You once tried to get me to tell you what it was like to be where we are now. You’re here now, and you still don’t seem to see it. I don’t know what waits for you at Sennifi and beyond. But I do know what waits for you on Earth. You’ve had a taste of it here on Cygnus, if only you’d realize it. Try to understand what it would mean to see this kind of change when you have an emotional investment. You think you’re going back because of Diana, but what you’re really trying to do is go home. But home isn’t there anymore.”

  “I have to see for myself—”

  “No. I’ve been watching you ever since you came on board Tycho. You’ve spent all of your life letting those around you define what you are and what you should do and how you should feel. Isn’t it time to take charge and do that for yourself? If you go back, it’s only because you’re desperate to go back to an environment that will treat you more gently than the Service has, flatter you and make you feel good about yourself again. But that environment isn’t Earth. It’s childhood, and there’s no getting back there. Your eyes are open now. You can’t forget what you’ve seen. Life is short, brutish, and unfair—but it’s the only game in town. If you ever try to run from it, it wins, and you lose. Don’t go to Earth, Thack. Go to Sennifi.”

  Slowly Thackery raised his head until his eyes met Se-bright’s. “You’re the only one I would have accepted this from.”

  “I know.” Thackery nodded, his eyes growing wet. “All right. Sennifi, then.”

  Sebright nodded approvingly. “Then you’ll need one of these,” he said, holding out his hand and opening his fist. Lying on his palm was a black ellipse.

  “How did you get that back from them?”

  “I didn’t,” Sebright said. “It’s mine.” He stepped toward Thackery and pinned the insignia on his chest, above the tear in the fabric. Thackery looked down at it, then up at Sebright, and tried to speak, but his voice failed him. In the next moment, naturally and unselfconsciously, the two men fell into a long, emotional, and reassuring hug.

  Thackery could not say for certain, but he thought it was the kind of hug a father would give a son.

  II

  * * *

  MUNIN

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Sennifi

  The first time Thackery got a look at the Sennifi records, he understood perfectly why Neale had insisted on leading the followup mission:

  * * *

  FC 09—Summary and Index (Internal Release Only)

  <≠> Primary sun: 2 Aquilae

  <≠> Planet: Type B4N (Fe-silicate-oxide crust/&8204;active core/&8204;N atm)

  <≠> Highest lifeforms: (Dreyer hierarchy) Homo sapiens aquilae

  <≠> Civilization: planet-wide, city-based, geoforming

  <≠> Technological Scale Rating (preliminary): 7.48 <= > Social-Ethical Scale Rating (preliminary): 8.10

  <≠> First contact: Tycho Brahe (USS-81), Cmdr. L. Tamm

  ∧

  —TOUCH FOR MORE

  The key was in the last line: Neale could not pass up a chance for a final victory over an old rival.

  As it turned out, Tycho had stayed at A-Cyg a full six months after Descartes’ departure. The first third of the delay was apparently due to the distractions of the base, the remainder by the installation of its Kleine system. Tycho’s Kleine was the first in the octant, trans-shipped aboard the first of the new packets and intended for the base itself, but placed on Tycho when the opportunity presented itself.

  But after that bit of fortuitous timing, Tycho’s luck turned sour, and its log became a record of unparalleled futility. Every system they visited was painfully ordinary. Every planet they studied was completely lifele
ss, either an inhospitable gas giant or a radiation-seared rock nugget without so much as a protobacterium to call its own.

  That track record made the unexpected sound of Sennifi’s planetary radio-band communications a compelling siren song. Skipping over the four inner planets of the 2 Aquilae system, Tycho had rushed to settle in orbit around Sennifi. Her linguists eavesdropped on the radio traffic, while her technoanalysts and anthropologists spied on the cities—sixty-eight in all, scattered through the lightly vegetated temperate zone. The physical scientists, forced for the first time to stand in line for instrument and processing time, grumbled but were ignored.

  Then things started to go wrong. Without warning, the Sennifi transmitters fell silent, after the general form of the language had been identified but before much vocabulary or grammar could be deciphered. The population surveys gave erratic, ultimately contradictory results. And when a four-man contact landing team was set down outside one of Sennifi’s cities, they entered it to find it completely empty.

  There were no signs of the disorder of an evacuation, and every sign of a city in use—except that there were no Sennifi. Yet the telecamera records from the last light of the evening before showed normal street traffic. The only conclusion possible was that the Sennifi had somehow known the team was coming, and had gone to great lengths to avoid meeting them.

  In the grasp of both impatience and frustration, Tamm then made what proved to be a tactical blunder. By asking the Sennifi for permission to land the contact team at a site of their choosing, he gave them a chance to say “No.”

  They said no. Firmly and unequivocally.

  Nonplussed, Tamm appealed to A-Cyg for guidance. Guidance came back in cold tone and insulting detail. Finish geological and geopolitical mapping. Transmit all data back to A-Cyg. Continue on to the next system. After a cooling-off period, a special team will follow up on Sennifi.

 

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