Emergence

by David R. Palmer

  “Then, only days before the attack, everything Wallace learned was confirmed when one of the Bratstvo’s people tried unsuccessfully to defect and warn the world. His name is Kyril Svetlanov; he was an inner-circle figure among the fanatics. But his story wasn’t believed any more than ours was; so we took him in, and he’s been helping us ever since. He’s our resident strontium-90 bomb expert: He was involved in its design, construction, and launching, and works harder than anyone here, with the possible exception of Teacher. But that’s understandable: In his place, I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt!”

  Cast sidelong glance at Gayle. Did not appear type to believe in Santa Claus. She noticed, grinned, addressed unspoken doubt: “Yes, we did find it suspicious that a highly placed member of such a fanatical organization should suffer so convenient a change of heart, turning up just when we needed the specific information on which he was a leading expert. But we investigated his story from every possible angle, even interrogating him under drug-augmented, deep hypnosis, and everything checked.

  “We’ve assigned him to the bomb deactivation phase of the project. And since then we’ve tested him further: At various times we produced data which we knew was erroneous, and led him to believe that we believed it valid and were going to include it in our planning. They were reasonable errors, of the sort which might have been introduced through faulty translation from Russian or even data missing due to incomplete intelligence-gathering, but which almost certainly would have scuttled us in the end.

  “Each time he caught and corrected the mistake. Once, when we insisted that we knew what we were doing, he threw up his hands and was on the point of quitting, stating that we had doomed the project and further effort was pointless. He’s passed every test with flying colors.

  “I’ve studied him myself as closely as I know how, and I’ve never spotted even a suggestion that he’s not sincere. And finally, he’s going along on the Hale to make sure everything goes all right, which is in itself pretty convincing evidence of his sincerity and desire to atone. Even so, of course, he’s never alone.”

  (That disquieting something nudged psyche again, but still couldn’t put finger on cause.)

  Gayle continued as we rounded building’s corner. “You’ll see him at the meeting — there he is now, and here we are,” she finished, pointing out young man as we arrived at meeting site.

  Populace assembling in bleachers arranged in semicircle before elevated platform outside launch control center, near huge payload preparation room; everyone present who could be spared even momentarily from duties: numbered in hundreds…

  And at stage center was Teacher!

  Undignified shriek, run-and-hug, probably disrupted proceedings, if any in progress; but didn’t care, and nobody else seemed to mind — Teacher least of all. Long time before he let go. Finally held me out at arms’ length; scrutinized head to foot. “I think you’re in better shape now than when I last saw you in Wisconsin,” he said approvingly.

  Smile wreathed features, eyes sparkled; but strain, fatigue, perhaps even something which might be mistaken for desperation (in anyone besides Teacher) showed in features. And as watched, light died, lines deepened, shoulders sagged.

  Voice somber as stated, “I’m astonished that you found us.”

  “Just lucky,” I replied. “I was in the right place at the right time. I heard a sonic boom, looked up, and saw a contrail. If I hadn’t run into trouble the day before, we’d have been probably 200 miles from there.”

  Teacher looked up thoughtfully, momentarily distracted from problems. “With the whole of the North American continent to search, you ‘just happened’ to see, and be close enough to take advantage of the return of, the first supplies-gathering expedition we’ve sent out in two months, which will be the last for quite some time to come.” Regarded me quizzically. “Coincidence on that scale is difficult to credit, and we hominems are a largely unknown commodity. I wonder where a study of the mechanics of that sort of phenomenon might be commenced, and in what direction it might lead…”

  Strain returned to features as Teacher continued. “I had planned to take you with me. But I returned to find you securely locked in your shelter, with both telephone and computer terminal unresponsive — for what reason, I can’t imagine.

  “I wanted to tell you in the letter where we were going — where the AAs were going, that is; at the time it did not appear that I would be a lasting consideration — and why. But I could not; I hope you can understand why I could not. The best I could do was introduce you to your heritage and suggest that you start looking for your peers.

  “I intended to send someone back to search for you as soon as it became possible, but so far it has not: For an amateur group as small as ours to modify and prepare for launch a shuttle, normally groomed by an army comprising several thousand intensively trained experts, in the time allotted, is no modest task. We have not been able to spare anyone.”

  “I guess that answers my next question.” I sighed. “My family — my adopted family — is searching the Sierra Nevadas for my body. I’d like to go find them and bring them here. You can’t spare a crew, maybe with a helicopter…?”

  Teacher shook head slowly. “No; I’m sorry. If you can wait until we’ve launched the Hale, then certainly. But that will leave precious little time in which to find and warn them, should the mission fail, won’t it?

  “Though…” Teacher’s eyes closed briefly in pain, “…of course in that case they’ll just have to go into the lottery with everyone else. They’ll be among those for whom the question of whether there is room will be decided by chance.

  “Mind you,” he added quickly, “the lottery applies only to adults; you children are included automatically.”

  Teacher blinked then, as if suddenly remembered whom talking to. “I don’t mean to sound patronizing, Candy. If it should come to that, it boils down to a question of racial survival. We must attempt to save the young and those possessing the knowledge and skills which will improve their chances. Where possible, those with knowledge will be the young. No one in my age bracket, whose skills are duplicated by anyone younger, will be eligible for the drawing.”

  Understood that. And mortally ashamed at depth of relief I experienced on learning own place in shelter assured, along with Adam, Lisa.

  But what if Kim left out…?

  Or Terry! — surely Teacher wouldn’t exclude twin! After all, doesn’t take much room, eats like a…

  No. Now neither time nor place for that discussion. Question probably never arise anyway; Hale’s mission surely successful. No benefit to increasing Teacher’s burden prematurely, perhaps unnecessarily.

  Immediate problem was locating family. Wanted to get them back here soon as possible; be on hand myself, make limited talents available in any manner planners might deem helpful (as well as family’s talents — Kim’s, Adam’s not nearly so limited).

  Only extraneous body in vicinity clearly mine; would have to go myself. Decided to leave first thing in morning. No idea how long search might take, but sitting ducks up there for earthquake, fallout; had to try to get them to AAs’ shelters before scheduled bomb fall, just in case.

  Then worry about lottery.

  Noticed Teacher looking over crowd; wondered if missed anything while woolgathering. “I think everyone able to attend has arrived. I must call the meeting to order. Why don’t you sit up here with us? There is plenty of room.” Stepped toward podium, gathering notes; cleared throat, switched on mike.

  I looked around at stage. Consisted of raised platform some 30 feet wide, ten deep. Easel at stage center, just behind podium, held large presentation board. One end of stage littered with odd-looking machinery.

  On ground beyond stood large, complicated sculpture with one curved wall, many convolutions, interior open on side toward crowd. If let imagination wander, could easily have been pie slice from cutaway aircraft mock-up. Or giant 3-D rat maze. Bracing crowded interior; one inside surfac
e covered with projections, knobs, dials, tangles of wiring gathered in messy looms. Looked like awkward place to get around in. Small oblong opening in intermediate wall peeked through at wall to which majority of découpage affixed.

  Settled in chair near enigmatic artifact; tried to look inconspicuous. Gayle took seat next to me, smiled reassuringly. Grateful for presence; felt very much out of place.

  Teacher opened meeting with brief, forced-sounding pleasantries; then discussed progress to date in preparing Nathan Hale for launch.

  (And suddenly identified source of subliminal itch bothering me since Gayle’s first mention of shuttle: Familiar with names of NASA’s shuttles; Nathan Hale not among them. Apparently AAs rechristened. Well, sure; why not? Previous owners unlikely to object. Besides, had heroic sort of ring to it; sounded neat [though not as neat as Enterprise — cheapest of evasions to pretend to honor lobby’s request; then waste name on mock-up intended for glide tests only!].)

  Teacher praised collective efforts to date: Group had faced, overcome immense, unprecedented challenges. Among most pressing: Fact that shuttles never intended for geosynchronous orbit work. Designed, constructed as low-orbit ferries, operating no higher than about 700 miles.

  But hominems worked miracles: Devised fittings to mount four solid booster rockets in place of usual two. New trick liquid fuel mixture boosted main engine thrust efficiency several critical percent, improved consumption picture. Cargo bay now accommodated huge custom-built orbital maneuvering system tank (much larger than earlier OMS kits).

  Ship also lightened substantially; almost gutted, in fact. Everything extraneous to mission ripped out: Air, food, water storage cut down to irreducible minimum. Storage cabinets, noncritical instrumentation, crew’s “amenities” discarded. Landing-gear system removed in toto…

  (Good thinking: Shuttle expendable after mission; parachutes adequate for crew.)

  Aerodynamic control surfaces permanently locked in neutral; related hydraulics, computers, sensors, control sticks, pedals, etc., gone…

  (Goggled when heard that; couldn’t imagine how expected to manage reentry.)

  …along with all exterior insulation.

  (Say what?)

  Calculations showed Nathan Hale now capable of attaining desired orbit.

  Just.

  Chin dropped; heard own voice involuntarily whisper, “Oh…!” as finally caught on.

  Now understood shuttle’s new name: Nathan Hale — “My only regret is that I have but one life…”

  One-way trip.

  Volunteers all, three-man crew would attempt to reach bomb, disarm…

  And die!

  Vision blurred. Felt tear start down cheek. Others followed.

  Gayle noticed; divined cause. Leaned close, whispered that crew selected from entire population at launch center — every person involved in project volunteered; AAs, ABs alike.

  Shook head; tried to envision what must feel like to step forward, with full knowledge of facts; make rational, intelligent, premeditated decision to give life so others might live.

  Couldn’t.

  Spontaneous, unthinking heroism understandable; bravery in heat of battle, excitement of moment, not uncommon (been known to yield to occasional rash impulse myself); but this — courage required simply defied comprehension…!

  Blinked away tears to gaze out over crowd in awe. And as stared, felt unfamiliar stirring: undefinable, comforting. Source eluded identification; but awareness of assemblage somehow expanding, deepening. Vaguely realized was perceiving bond extending beyond present mutual predicament, project, goals. Shared warmth, togetherness almost tangible: Glow slowly pervaded, suffused entire being. Heart swelled, soul thrilled to sudden, absolute knowledge that sapiency’s new standard-bearers well chosen.

  Slow tears resumed, but proudly now — my people worthy inheritors. Earth in good hands…

  Kyril stood, joined Teacher at board. Regarded him with new awareness, appreciation; understood Gayle’s comment now about how insistence upon inclusion in Hale’s crew lent credence to change of heart, penitence. Tall, handsome man, but wore same dejected air as Teacher.

  Unveiled large multiple-overlay transparency cutaway drawing of bomb, missile in which housed. Launched into discussion of vehicle’s weaknesses. Of which, turned out, were damned few!

  Equipped with sophisticated computer, detection/analysis equipment; mounted lasers capable of crisping approaching missile like moth in oxyacetylene flame; structurally invulnerable, in practical terms; everything but propulsion nuclear powered — rocket engines conventional, but more efficient: next generation development permitted by new material, capable of ten gees.

  Fanatics planned, built well. Doomsday machine no pushover.

  But not omnipotent. Planners mortal men. Achilles’ heel of every computer-controlled mechanism is software written by selfsame mortal men, trying to anticipate, cope with hypothetical future problems — forced by memory storage limitations to choose which, amongst whole spectrum, most likely to materialize — determine appropriate responses. Programming limited bomb’s awareness of, response to, stimuli likely to be missiles: high-speed metallic objects exceeding certain mass, approaching within hundred-mile spherical perimeter, whose plotted trajectories come within five miles.

  Kyril not personally involved in detection-package development, but opined, from general knowledge of project requirements, that slowly moving men in spacesuits, even if picked up by radar, probably ignored by computer. Probably.

  Teacher’s experts, after poring over liberated drawings, software, over period of weeks, in substantial agreement: Components resulting therefrom unlikely to care about indistinct signals returned by small, slow, essentially nonferrous targets.

  Therefore, strategy arrived at called for parking Hale safe distance back, proceeding to bomb in spacesuits, using manned maneuvering units; forcing launch service access hatch, entering vehicle; sending robot equipped with TV cameras, powerful waldos, through inner shell hatch (too small for man in spacesuit) to pull plug.

  However, project in trouble. Big trouble. Quite possibly insurmountable trouble: Robot development not progressing as anticipated…

  “In the months during which we have been working on this problem,” sighed Teacher, shoulders slumped, “we have advanced the field of robotics well beyond the point at which we found it. We have accomplished amazing things; but unfortunately they have not been the amazing things which we set out to accomplish. We are now at a dead end.”

  Couldn’t believe ears, eyes! Teacher — sounding, looking, acting as if defeated!

  “Which is why we’ve called this meeting,” he continued more resolutely. “We need fresh input and we need it now.

  “You all were furnished copies of drawings as you arrived. They depict the attempts we have made so far to come up with a usable design.”

  Noticed everyone but self had sheaf of paper. Nudged Gayle, elevated brow. She nodded, passed me extra. Glanced through quickly, noting salient details.

  Teacher continued without pause: “The first sheet is a list of design criteria, beginning with the initially limiting factor of the inner shell access hatch size, 9 inches by 14; and going on to detail grip strength required of waldos, forces necessary in push, pull, and torque functions; and drawings of the machine’s anticipated route from the hatch and working environment inside the bomb, illustrating all known handholds and obstructions.

  “Those of you with suggestions are asked to come up and view the full-scale mock-up of the bomb’s interior…”

  Oh, so that’s what this thing was. Stood quietly, stepped down from stage, compared drawings to replication. Clearly drawn; easily matched up. Curved wall was outer hull, with main access hatch. Tiny inner shell access hatch mounted on next wall in. That bulge indicated warhead location, buried near center of nose cone. There was umbilicus plug, last thing disconnected before launch. On-board computer behind that panel there, etc.

  And there, at center
of cobweb of wiring, all needing to be removed in correct order first, was detonator, accessible only after squeezing through tiny bottleneck hatch, climbing past maze of structural bracing. Would take boneless, acrobatic midget to get in there in first place.

  But disarming didn’t look too complicated: Remove wiring in proper order, unbolt cover, extract shaped charge by seizing shaft ridges, pulling out. And — oh, yeah, shaft/socket tolerances finely machined, snug fit; 400-500 pounds of force required for extraction, twisting as emerges to clear obstructions. Midget better be husky sucker.

  Could see problem now: Complicated, overlapping, multiple functions involved in basic task placed heavy demands upon small machine lacking both tactile feedback for operator guidance and joint flexibility of human hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders. Robot’s need to stabilize self while working in weightless environment posed additional problems. As did necessity of finding room for high-resolution, closed-circuit color television camera to enable operators to maneuver unit along tortuous route from hatch to detonator site, carry out assignment.

  “No one has ever attempted to extract so many functions from a single machine of such small size,” Teacher went on.

  (Certainly believed that!)

  “We have managed to duplicate each function called for separately, but have not managed to combine them all in one machine of the requisite size. It is beginning to seem probable that we will not succeed before time runs out: The latest possible launch date is only seven days off; and it would be better not to delay until then, in case we run into last-second glitches.

  “I don’t think anyone here misses the implications: This problem must be solved, and within seven days. If our pooled inventiveness fails to come up with a solution by then, our efforts here will have been in vain; we will have no choice but to abandon this work and hasten back to the shelters.

  “We all know, however, that the shelters are capable of supporting a maximum of 500 people. A lottery will be held to determine who goes in and who stays out.