by Rick Cook
The priest gnawed the back of his thumb and looked off past the captain, as if deciding whether to say more. Jenkins waited.
“There is something else,” he said at last. “I believe I have gotten some insight into their philosophy and that is the most troubling thing of all.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t make the mistake of assuming that philosophy is an excrescence, Captain. It is not. A person’s philosophy goes directly to the heart of his or her beliefs.”
The priest leaned forward in his chair and the straps creaked slightly against his middle.
“Philosophy is always an expression of the fundamental ways we see the world. A society that produces Scholastics is not going to produce Political Economists or Logical Positivists. Those schools not only have different views of the world, they arrived at those views by asking very different questions and by making totally different assumptions about what is important.”
“You’re assuming the same would be true for aliens,” Jenkins said skeptically.
“I think it would be true for any thinking being. Philosophy is the organization of thought about the broadest possible questions. Next to Theology, it is the Queen of the Sciences.”
“Very well. What do the Colonists’ philosophies tell you?”
“It’s what they don’t tell me. They have an elaborate and vigorous philosophical tradition, richer than Earth’s in some respects. But their political philosophy is very rudimentary. As nearly as I can tell they have no activist political philosophers. No Mill, no Locke, not even a Marx. For them philosophy seems to be entirely concerned only with individual morals and personal ethics in a world which is at best neutral and often hostile, uncaring and unjust.”
“You’re assuming you’ve seen all their schools of thought.”
“No Captain, I almost certainly have not. But the troublesome thing is that what I see as gaps they don’t see at all.”
“Very well, what do you want me to do?”
Father Simon looked down at his hands. “I’m not really sure. I thought you should be aware of what is happening.”
“Very well,” Jenkins said, “I’m aware. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Captain.”
Jenkins sighed. “You’ve disturbed me more than you know, Father. I’ve been thinking along these lines already—about the temptation, I mean.”
The priest rose, but Jenkins held up a hand.
“One other thing. Why did you come all the way up here to tell me this? Why not call me?”
Father Simon looked self-conscious. “Perhaps it was melodramatic of me, but it occurred to me that if the aliens were tempting us, they might already have found a way to tap into our communications system.”
After Father Simon left, Jenkins sat scowling down at his desk for several minutes. Then he left his office and made his way down and deeper into the ship. Like the priest, he did not want to use the screen for this.
The computer room was several decks “down” from the bridge complex. The door was open and inside Billy Toyoda was sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed and the headset on, swaying gently in time to some imperceptible rhythm. His eyes opened and then focused when the captain rapped on the door.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“I need some information,” Jenkins said.
Toyoda gestured around the cubicle grandly. “That’s what we deal in. Welcome to cyberspace.”
Jenkins pulled himself in and closed the door after him. “Two things. First, is there any way to know if the ship’s communication system has been tapped?”
“You mean like eavesdropping? Sure. Happens all the time.” He grinned. “People like to gossip, you know.”
Great, Jenkins thought. “Okay, can you tell if information is being transmitted off this ship?”
Billy shrugged. “I haven’t been looking for anything like that, but if whoever it was didn’t get too fancy, yeah, I could probably find it if I was looking.”
“Then start looking, Mr. Toyoda. Also, is there some way to make communications circuits secure?”
“No such thing as absolute security, man. But I could make some circuits more secure—at least stop the casual listeners.”
“Then do that too. I especially want secure circuits to the bridge, back to engineering and on the other ship maintenance circuits.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Jenkins said. “I need to know who is talking to the Colonists and what they’re talking about.”
Toyoda shook his head. “Hey man, you know that shit’s private. Ship’s Council says.”
Jenkins’ first reflex was to chew the computerman out for refusing an order. He swallowed that and looked knowingly at Toyoda.
“I also know you. And unofficially, very unofficially, I’m asking you what you’ve picked up.”
Billy hesitated a second and then grinned. “Okay. Very unofficially nearly everybody on the damn ship’s talking to the Owlies.”
“What are they talking about?”
“Hey man, I don’t know. I don’t listen to everything and I don’t waste the space storing it, all right?”
“Very well then, do you have any feel for who’s doing how much talking?”
The computerman shrugged. “Like I say, everyone’s talking. The scientists are probably doing most of it, but some of the crew are pretty heavy too. Hell, I’m spending a lot of time tied into their net.”
“Learned anything interesting?”
“Only that their security’s damn good.”
Jenkins flicked a smile. “Okay. Who are our big users?”
“Dr. Takiuji’s probably the biggest one. I think he spends three or four hours a day tied in.”
The captain went cold. “What is he talking about?”
“He’s not exactly talking. He spends most of his time playing go, him and the one they call Hitler.”
“Derfuhrer,” the captain corrected absently. “Well, that seems harmless enough.”
Billy shrugged. “The Owlie’s getting pretty good. Nearly had Dr. Takiuji on the ropes with a four-stone handicap last time.”
“I thought you said you didn’t listen in.”
“I don’t mostly. But I’m recording the moves to add to the database for my go program.”
“All right,” the captain said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me posted and let me know if there’s any change. Unofficially, of course.”
“No problem,” Billy said, and closed his eyes again.
Wonder if I should have told him about DeLorenzo? Billy Toyoda thought after the captain left. Nah, that’s got nothing to do with the aliens and it’s probably authorized somehow anyway.
Playing go, eh? Jenkins thought as he made his way back up the corridor. Well, that seems harmless enough. The aliens aren’t going to learn much from that.
Fascinating, Derfuhrer thought as he placed the black and white stones on the board. Utterly fascinating. The game itself was intriguing, but the insights it gave into human psychology and strategy were even more so.
A subtle and complex lineage, he decided. Bold to the point of rashness, but with a well-developed sense of strategy to support them.
And yet so completely alien. This fixation on territory, for example. The entire game was based on gaining and holding territory by surrounding it. How archaic! How two-dimensional!
Clearly the lineage had territoriality impressed into its very genes. As if space were something to be controlled by occupying it. There was no hint in the game of resources and how they might be employed, nothing to represent the dynamics or energy profiles of movement. You placed your stones and that was that.
And yet there was something atavistically satisfying about the game. You only had one enemy and the outcome was always determinate. You either crushed him or you were crushed. There were no ambiguities, no carryovers to a future game. You crushed your opponent and he was wiped from the board,
vanished. The conflict was open and direct.
This must be what open war was like, Derfuhrer thought with a thrill as he watched the walls of stones develop and grow.
“Bustamonte! Watch out, goddammit!”
Stephen Bustamonte checked himself by grabbing the safety line and hauling himself back down onto the hull.
“You fucking idiot!” the foreman yelled. “Don’t you know any better than to let yourself float like that? Now goddammit, keep your fucking feet on the fucking hull where they fucking belong.”
With that, the foreman turned away and went back to directing another part of the crew. Since he had been using the infrared direct link only Bustamonte and the people around him had heard. As soon as the foreman’s back was turned, Bustamonte’s buddy, Walt Jacobs, came over and touched helmets for a private talk.
“Man, Steve, you got Padilla some pissed,” he said. “What’d you do a dumb stunt like that for anyway?”
“Fast way to get over there,” Steve’s voice was slurred and hoarse in Jacobs’ helmet.
“Are you okay? Man, you sound awful.”
“I’ll be fine,” Bustamonte assured him and waved him away.
Yeah, baby, I’ll be fine as soon as we get inside and I can get another hit of that stuff the Owlies turn out. His breath sounded harsh and labored in his earphones, but he ignored it. He grabbed for his safety line, missed, grabbed for it again and caught it, but the muscles in his hand wouldn’t quite close. The third time he got it firmly and followed it back to where he was supposed to be. Just two more hours and I can toke up again.
Bill Jewett knew something was wrong as soon as he called his Owlie buddy. Splicer was slow coming to the screen and he had his feathers puffed out like a sick bird.
“There is a problem,” the Colonist said without preamble.
A tiny quiver of fear stirred in William Jewett. “What’s wrong?”
“My bosses found the gold missing and they are some pissed. They want someone’s ass.”
“Oh shit. Well look, I can give it back to you.”
“It is not that simple. They already know it is missing and soon they will know I took it.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“I am in the shit up to my neck. When they find I was the one who took it, they will make me tell where it went. Then they will go to your bosses and demand the gold back.”
Oh shit, there goes my bonus. Without the bonus, it was goodbye habitat. Damn! Jewett went cold and still as his dreams came crashing around him.
“How the hell did this happen? I thought you told me gold was worthless to you people.”
“It is not worth much to us, but we use it for some things,” Splicer told him. “It happened that the gold I gave you was to be used in an important repair. I did not know and now more must be brought from somewhere else. That will require a special trip there. That is expensive and it will take time. That puts us behind schedule. Worse, the project is the pet of the boss who found the gold missing. He looks bad and that makes him even madder.” The alien paused; a genuine pause, not a halt for computer translation. “I am truly sorry. I meant my action as a gift of friendship and now it has turned back on both of us.”
“Well, why can’t I just give it back?”
“First, because my bosses already know it is missing and I am sure they suspect me of taking it. Second, how could you get it back to me? Can you place a package in the precise trajectory from the hull of your ship?”
He couldn’t, Jewett realized. He didn’t have the equipment or skill to fling a tiny package into space so exactly that his friend could pluck it out. The method used to get him the gold was a one-way trip.
“This tears it, you know that?” Jewett said bitterly. “This fucking tears it. I’m ruined, totally ruined.”
“I know,” Splicer said sadly. “I feel like shit about this.” The Colonist froze for a second, which Jewett recognized as meaning he was thinking hard.
“There may be a way out of this,” Splicer said at last. “I must talk carefully to someone else. If you are willing to help there might be a way to keep us both out of the shit.” He paused. “I will try to call you on my next shift,” and then he broke the connection before Jewett could say anything.
The next days were an agony for William Jewett. Twice he almost went to the captain and confessed. But that meant ruin. He had gone against strict explicit orders and there was no way the captain was going to overlook that. He’d lose his bonus for sure, probably be fined and maybe lose his rating. Even if he didn’t no one would hire him when he got back to the system. He’d end up cocooning asteroids out in the Belt. A two-year trip each way and a five-year hitch. Cherry couldn’t come and there was no way the marriage could survive that.
It was two days before Splicer called back.
“Well?” Jewett demanded.
“I have found a way to keep us out of the shit. If it works no one would ever know where the gold went. You could keep it.”
“I don’t want the damn gold,” Jewett growled. “I just want out of this mess.”
“Very well,” the Colonist said. “First I must tell you some things we have been keeping from you. You must promise me you will not repeat them to any other human.”
As if I wanted anyone else to find out about this, Jewett thought, and nodded agreement.
“Very well,” Splicer gave a humanlike nod. “You must understand that the bosses are not nearly as united as they have led you to believe. There are many differences among them and not all the bosses favor keeping you so completely isolated.
“One of the bosses here belongs to the faction that wants to know more about you. They want to see more so they can learn more. This boss also has a supply of gold intended for another project.
“I talked to this boss, very quietly, and he has agreed to help us out of the shit. He can take some of his gold and give it to the boss whose gold is missing. He will claim the gold was mixed in with his by mistake. No one will be able to prove otherwise and as long as the boss stirring up the shit gets his gold, he will not care.”
“Where do I come in?” Jewett asked suspiciously.
“I told you. This boss wants to know more about humans. If we help him he will do this for us.”
“I’ll be glad to talk to this guy.”
The alien made a gesture of negation. “That is not what he wants. Instead, he has prepared monitoring devices and he wants you to place them around the ship. They are harmless. They only record what goes on around them. In this way he and his friends will be able to learn more about humans without arousing either his bosses or yours.”
“I don’t know,” Jewett told him. “This could be worse than the gold.”
“It is our only hope for staying out of the shit,” Splicer told him. “The devices are small and they emit no detectable radiation.”
“This could get me in more trouble than the gold.”
“No one has to know. This boss will not tell anyone. He is breaking the rules. Once the devices are in place you never have to go near them again. Even if one of them is discovered, no one will ever know who put it there. It will be easier than the gold was.”
“How big are these things?”
The alien held up a plain black object the size and shape of a brick.
“Like this,” Splicer said.
“Bad shift, Lulu?” asked the alien as soon as Lulu Pine made contact.
“Just like always. They’re on me all the time. You know that jerk, Albers? He accused me of messing up his reports! I told him that if he’d label the images right in the first place this wouldn’t happen. But no, he’s not going to take the blame if he can put it on me.”
“Shocking, shameful,” the Owlie said. “I wonder how you can stand it.” Then he changed the subject. “Did you put out those packages as we asked?”
“Of course I did,” Lulu said defensively. “Right where you told me to.”
“Very good. Excellent. You
do very well. Soon you will no longer have to bear their insults and slights.”
“We’ll fix them,” Lulu said, falling into the well-worn conversation. “We’ll fix them good. I’ll get what’s rightfully mine.” She licked her lips in anticipation. “Tell me again how it’s going to be.”
Shuttle Bay 4 was sealed and under pressure when Jewett entered. It was also unoccupied.
Jewett was floating almost under the blunt rear end of the craft where it rested in its cradles.
The gold-and-black bulk of the shuttle filled the entire bay. The plug nozzle and reentry shield above him came to within a few feet of the rear bulkhead. Overhead, the great egg-shaped body of the vehicle stretched almost to the huge doors that formed the roof of the bay. Forward, the equally blunt nose nearly touched the spinward bulkhead. The landing jacks were flexed to draw the landing pads up close to the sides of the vessel and the cradles supported and held the shuttle within the bay.
He scanned the open space cautiously before stepping out. Vacuum jacks had no real business in the shuttle bays. Jewett had a carefully prepared excuse for his presence, but the black box under his jacket was burning a hole.
He was so nervous he briefly considered simply lunging upward to the plug nozzle thirty feet above his head. But only very briefly. A space worker learns early to keep one hand or foot attached to something solid at all times.
Quickly, he swam to the access ladder that led up the cradle to the nozzle and its twenty-two surrounding burners. He moved off onto the inspection catwalk that led around the rear of the nozzle and pulled himself around.
In flight the blunt cone of the nozzle formed the inner bell of what were, in effect, twenty-two separate rocket engines arranged in a ring around it. In reentry, the plug was cooled by liquid hydrogen and protected from the worst effects of thermal heating by the plume of gases from the engines.
For right now, it was simply the place where the alien boss wanted one of his damned boxes put.