Cradle. Part 16

"However," he repeated. "We are talking about treason here." He waited to let his threat register. "And I don't need to tell you, Miss Dawson, that treason is serious business. Even more serious than journalism." He hesitated again for effect and his voice became very stern. "If any of you have knowledge of the whereabouts of this missile and have conveyed that knowledge to a member of any foreign government, especially one viewed as inimical to our national interests, then you have committed treason."

"What kind of dope have you been smoking, Commander?" Carol replied. "We freely admit that we've been looking for your missile. But that doesn't make us spies. You have no case against us." She glanced at Nick. He was admiring her performance. "I'm simply a reporter covering a story. This treason business of yours is pure fabricated bulls.h.i.+t."

"Oh, yeah," said Lieutenant Todd, unable to restrain himself. "Then where were these pictures taken?" He showed the photo of Troy in full diving regalia in the initial underwater room with the red and blue walls. He then turned and pointed to the backpacks sitting in the opposite corner of the room. "And what were your two friends doing with fifty pounds of gold after their dive tonight?"

"All right, man," Troy remarked in an exaggerated manner. He took a step toward Lieutenant Todd. "All right. You've figured it out, haven't you? We found the missile and sold it to the Russians for fifty pounds of gold." His eyes widened as he looked at Todd. "And now the missile is...o...b..ard a submarine on its way to Moscow or wherever . . . Come on, man, get serious. We're not that stupid."

Lieutenant Todd's temper flared up. "You black b.a.s.t.a.r.d - " he muttered before Commander Winters jumped between them. Winters needed some time to think. Todd's questions were after all. still unanswered. Even if there were good answers, it was not difficult to understand how someone could have come to the conclusion, based on the photographs, that there might be a conspiracy involved.

In addition, there was the issue of defending the actions of his junior officers and the investigating team. If I let these three go now, thought Winters, then we are essentially admitting that we made an error in the first place . . . Ramirez was gesturing at the commander. He nodded outside with his head. Winters did not understand at first, but Ramirez repeated the motion.

"Excuse us a second," Winters said. The two officers walked out on the porch above the steps, leaving Todd with Nick and Carol and Troy. "What is it, Lieutenant?" Winters asked "Commander, sir," Ramirez answered, "my career is the Navy. If we release these three now, after no formal questioning - "

"I couldn't agree more," Winters interrupted abruptly. "I wish that none of this today had happened. But it did. Now we must finish it up properly and thoroughly or we have no defense for what we did." He thought for a minute. "How long would it take you to get the video and sound equipment set up for a formal interrogation?"

"About thirty minutes," Ramirez replied. "Maybe forty-five at the most."

"Let's do it. While you're getting ready, I'll prepare the list of questions."

s.h.i.+t, said Winters to himself as he watched Ramirez walk briskly toward his office on the other side of the base. I am indeed going to be here all night. He thought of his missed chance with Tiffani . I'd better call her and explain while I'm drafting these questions. He felt a sudden burst of anger toward Lieutenant Todd. As for you, he thought, if we come out of this unscathed, I will personally see to it that you are transferred to Lower s...o...b..via.

It was after eleven o'clock. Lieutenant Todd stood near the front door. He was holding a billy club in his hand. Once before in the evening, just after Nick and Troy had reached the Pelican Resort parking lot, Todd had used the club on Nick's back to coerce him into the car. Nick could still feel the welt.

"How long is all this going to take?" Troy asked. He was standing near the desk. "Can't we go home now and get some sleep and come back on Monday morning . . ."

"You heard what the man said," Todd replied. He was definitely gloating. "They've gone off to prepare for a formal interrogation. You should be using this time to get your story straight." Todd pounded his palm with the billy club.

Troy turned to his companions. "All right, team," he said with a wink. "I move we blow this joint. Let's overpower this geek and blast out of here."

"Just try it, you s.h.i.+ts," Todd rejoined. He smacked one of the empty folding chairs with his club for emphasis. "I'd like nothing better than to report that you tried to escape."

Nick had not said much since Winters and Ramirez had left. He now looked across the room at Todd. "You know what annoys me the most about this, Lieutenant?" he said to his captor. "It's that people like you," he continued, without waiting for an answer, "end up in positions of power or authority all over the world. Look at you. You think that because you have us under your control, that makes you somebody. Let me tell you something. You aren't s.h.i.+t."

Todd did not try to hide his dislike for Nick. "At least I can find white men to be my friends," he replied sarcastically.

"I do declare," Troy chimed in swiftly. "I believe our a.s.sociate Lieutenant Todd may be a bigot. We may be talking to a true life honky. Let's see if 'n.i.g.g.e.r' is his next - "

"Boys, boys," Carol interceded as Todd started to move toward Troy. "Enough is enough. "The room became quiet. Troy walked back over to his friends and sat down in his chair.

A minute later Troy leaned over to Nick and Carol. As he was whispering to them, he put the gold bracelet right next to his mouth. "You know, folks," he said, "if we don't get out of here soon, we may be here all night. I can well imagine the questions taking three or four hours. And that means the Navy will get to the dive site before us in the morning."

"But what can we do?" Carol asked. "It would be a miracle if they let us just walk out without any questions."

"A miracle, angel." said Troy with a grin, "is just what we need. A good old-fas.h.i.+oned miracle. Like the blue fairy."

"What are you s.h.i.+ts whispering about over there?" The truculent Lieutenant Todd began to walk toward the bathroom at the west end of the long room. "Knock it off. And don't try anything. The outside door is locked and I have the key." He didn't close the bathroom door. The urinal was fortunately out of view to the right.

There was not much light in the back of the small bathroom. As Todd was finis.h.i.+ng his p.i.s.s, he became aware of a strange sensation all over his right side, as if a thousand very small needles were sticking in him. Puzzled, he turned toward the corner. What he saw there sent an incredible shock of terror racing through his system.

In the corner, partially hidden in the poor light, was what could only be described as a six-foot carrot. The thicker end of the creature was balanced on four webbed pads planted on the floor. There were no arms, but about five feet above the ground, just under a maze of blue spaghetti of unknown purpose on top of its "head," four vertical slits, each a foot long, were cut in what might have been its face. Out of each of these slits something strange was hanging. Troy would later explain to Nick and Carol that these were sensors, that the carrot saw, heard, smelled, and tasted with these dangling extensions.

Lieutenant Todd did not wait to study the creature. He let out a whoop and backed quickly out of the bathroom. He did not stop to retract his p.e.n.i.s or zip his fly. When the weird orange thing next appeared in the light at the door to the bathroom, The lieutenant was certain it was going to follow him. He stared at it, petrified and immobile, for half a second. Then, when it did indeed move toward him, Todd immediately turned around, unlocked the front door, and burst through it.

Unfortunately he forgot about the eight concrete steps. In his panic he tripped and fell. He smacked his head hard on the second step and tumbled down to the bottom. He lay unconscious on his back on the sidewalk in front of the building.

Carol had cowered against Nick when she had first seen the carrot. Then they had both glanced at Troy. He was smiling and humming to himself, "When you wish upon a star . . . makes no difference who you are." He seemed so blase about everything that Nick and Carol even relaxed temporarily. However, after Lieutenant Todd disappeared out the front door and the carrot turned to face them, it was difficult to remain calm.

"Nuts," said Troy with a big smile. "I was really hoping for the blue fairy. I thought she might make me rich, or maybe even white."

"All right, Jefferson," Nick said. His face looked as if he had just eaten a lemon. "Please explain what that thing in front of us is."

Troy first walked slowly over to the corner of the room to pick up their backpacks. "This, Professor," he replied as he then walked directly up to the carrot, "is what we might call a holographic projection." He put his hand into and through the orange body. "Somewhere in the universe there is supposedly a real life creature like this, but they have only sent his image to help us escape."

Even with Troy's explanation Nick and Carol did not want to come any closer to the stationary carrot than was absolutely necessary. They moved with their backs against the walls until they reached the door. "Don't worry," Troy laughed. "It won't hurt you."

The sensor hanging out of the slit on the far right of the carrot's head was totally incomprehensible. Carol could not take her eye off of it. It looked like a wad of gooey honeycomb stuck on the end of a majorette's baton. "What does it do with that?" Carol asked, pointing as she preceded Troy out the door.

"I don't know, angel," Troy answered. "But it must be fun."

Nick and Troy joined Carol on the platform at the top of the stairs They all saw Todd at about the same time. They were naturally surprised to find him lying at the bottom of the steps. His head was bleeding. "Should we help him?" Carol wondered out loud as Troy bounded down the stairs in front of her.

"No way," Nick replied quickly.

Troy bent down beside Todd and carefully examined the unconscious lieutenant from head to toe. He slapped the big man lightly on the cheek. Lieutenant Todd did not move. Troy winked at his friends at the top of the stairs. "The professor was right, my man," he said, breaking into a grin, "you really aren't s.h.i.+t."

"So I kissed her," Carol said with a laugh.

"You did what?" asked Nick. They were in Troy's old Ford LTD. driving toward the Hemingway marina. After leaving the base they had walked the mile and a half to Troy's duplex to pick up his car. Carol was beside Troy in the front seat and Nick was in the back next to the backpacks containing the gold and the information discs.

Carol turned around to Nick. "I kissed her." She laughed again as Nick screwed up his face in disgust. "What was I supposed to do? The woman is stronger than most men. She had me pinned on the floor. There was something just a little suggestive about the way she was holding me . . ."

"Whoooee, angel," Troy slapped the dashboard with his left hand. "You are amazing. What did superkraut do next?"

"She released her grip on my wrists. Just for a second. I think she was deciding whether to kiss me back."

"Yuch," said Nick from the back seat. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"So you smashed her up side of the head and then ran off?" asked Troy. Carol nodded. Troy laughed heartily and then became more serious. "Be careful if you ever see her again, angel. Greta does not like to lose."

"But you're wrong about her in one respect, Carol," Nick remarked. "Greta's not into women at all. She likes s.e.x with men too much."

Carol found Nick's comment smug and even irritating. She spoke across the front seat to Troy. "Why is it, Troy, that men naturally a.s.sume that any woman who has s.e.xual relations with men could not possibly be interested in having s.e.x with another woman? Is this another example of their fundamental belief in their own innate superiority?" She didn't wait for an answer. Carol turned around again to talk to Nick. "And in case you're wondering, the answer is no, I'm not a lesbian. I am relentlessly heteros.e.xual, as much because of my San Fernando Valley middle cla.s.s background as anything. But I will admit that sometimes I grow extremely tired of men and what I call their baboon demonstrations of macho."

"Hey," Nick replied, "I didn't mean to start an argument. I was just suggesting - "

"Okay, okay," Carol interrupted, loosening up a bit, "no harm done. I guess I am a little quick on the trigger." She was quiet for a few seconds. "By the way, Nick," she remarked then, "there's one part of this that I still don't understand completely. Why did Captain Homer go to such great lengths to hide the rest of the treasure all this time? Why didn't he just sell it off as soon as he could?"

"Lots of reasons," Nick replied. "Not the least of which was fear that he might somehow be discovered and indicted for the perjury he committed during our trial. But this way he also escapes the IRS, the value of the gold appreciates in time, and, most importantly, Greta has to hang around if she wants her whole share. He almost certainly converts some of it to cash from time to time, probably through a third party. But never enough to call attention to the transaction."

"So you see, angel," Troy said, "that's why there's no way he can call the police. Because he would have to admit everything. I bet he's really p.i.s.sed off."

Troy pulled into a left-hand turn lane and waited for the signal to change. A car pulled up beside them on the right, next to Carol, and she just happened to look idly in that direction. It was a Mercedes.

Later on Carol would recall that time seemed to dilate for her. Each second of the next minute was recorded in her memory in super slow motion, as if it were covering a much longer period of time. Greta was driving Captain Homer's car and was staring at Carol. Homer was sitting beside her, waving his fists, shouting something that Carol couldn't hear through her closed window. Carol focused on Greta's amazing eyes. Never had she seen such hatred. For just an instant Carol looked away to alert Troy and Nick. When she turned back she saw that Greta had a pistol pointed directly at her.

Three things happened almost simultaneously. Carol ducked, Troy pulled into the intersection against the red light, barely missing a speeding car, and Greta fired the gun. The bullet ripped through Carol's window and crashed into Troy's door, somehow miraculously missing them both. Carol sat cringing under the dashboard in the front seat. She fought against panic and tried to catch her breath.

The chase was on. It was after eleven-thirty on a Sat.u.r.day night in Key West and the traffic in the residential area was light. Troy's Ford was no match for the Mercedes. Twice more Greta maneuvered into position and the Ford was sprayed with bullets. Windows were broken and pitted but none of the occupants of the car was injured.

Nick was lying on the floor in the back seat. "Get down-town if you can," he shouted at Troy. "Maybe we can lose them in the traffic."

Troy was hunkered down behind the steering wheel as far as he could go. He could barely see the roadway in front of them. He was driving like a lunatic, swerving across the four-lane street into oncoming traffic, honking frantically, and making it impossible for Greta to predict his next move. "Where are the cops when you really need them?" he said out loud. "We have maniacs firing guns at us in the middle of Key West and there are no men of blue anywhere in sight."

After Nick's suggestion Troy suddenly spun around in the middle of the street and started heading in the opposite direction. Greta was not prepared. She hit the brakes on the Mercedes, went into a skid, caromed off a parked car, and then resumed the chase.

There were now no cars on the street in front of them and the Mercedes was closing the gap. "Uh oh," said Troy, fearing another attack. He violently pulled the steering wheel to the left, shot through an alley, into a parking lot, and back onto a narrow street. A few moments later he made a quick turn into a driveway. The car became flooded with light and Troy jammed on the brakes. "Everybody out," he hollered. While Nick and Carol were trying to determine what the h.e.l.l was happening, Troy was giving his car keys to a tall figure dressed in a red uniform.

"We're just having drinks," he said. They heard the screech of the brakes on the Mercedes. "And those people behind us," Troy said in a loud voice to the half dozen onlookers, including two parking attendants, who were standing nearby, "have guns and are trying to kill us."

It was too late for Greta and Homer to escape. Troy had driven into the parking entrance of the Miyako Gardens Hotel and already another car had come into the circular drive behind the Mercedes. Greta threw the car in reverse, smashed against the grill and b.u.mper of the Jaguar behind her, and then tried to make a run for it by squeezing around Troy's Ford. Troy and the uniformed attendant dove for cover as Greta hit the open door of the Ford, lost control of the Mercedes, and eventually crashed into the parking kiosk in the middle of the driveway. As Nick and Carol stumbled out of the car, four hotel security men surrounded Greta and Homer.

Troy walked over to join his friends. "Anybody hurt?" Both Carol and Nick shook their heads. Troy broke into a grand smile. "I guess that ought to take care of those characters," he said.

Carol gave him a hug. "It was a brilliant idea to drive here," she said. "What made you think of it?"

"Birds," Troy answered.

"Birds?" Nick responded. "What the f.u.c.k are you talking about, Jefferson?"

"Well, Professor," said Troy, opening the door to the elegant hotel and following his colleagues inside into the open atrium, "when they were about to catch us that last time, I realized that they were probably going to kill us for stealing their gold. And I wondered if there really were birds in heaven. My mother always told me that there were."

"Troy," Carol said with a smile, "you are so full of s.h.i.+t. Come to the point."

"Exactly, angel," he answered. "Look around you." In the atrium of the Miyako Gardens was a magnificent aviary whose tiny, threaded wire rose four stories into the air under a bank of skylights. Hundreds of colored birds played among the vines and palm trees and brought the real sound and feel of the tropics to the lobby of the hotel.

"When I thought about birds," Troy could no longer restrain a crazy laugh, "I realized we were in the vicinity of this hotel and the plan sort of jumped into my mind."

The three of them stood together and gazed up at the aviary. Carol was in the middle. She reached out her hands to both men.

REPATRIATION.

BENEATH the emerald-green ocean the s.p.a.cecraft rests quietly. Odd fishlike creatures swim by, observe the visitor from the heavens, and then continue on their journey. The final checkout before deployment is underway. When the checkout is completed, a door near the bottom of the craft opens and a gold metallic sphere with a diameter of about five inches appears. The sphere is tied down on top of a long, narrow platform. The treads underneath the platform propel it down a small ramp and then across the sandy ocean floor.

The flatbodied vehicle and its cargo disappear in the distance. After a long wait the strange moving platform returns to the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p without the golden sphere. The ramp slides back into the vehicle, the door closes, and the s.p.a.cecraft is prepared for launch. Soon thereafter the great s.h.i.+p eases forward in the water, rising until it is just beneath the surface of the emerald ocean. It then reconfigures itself, adds wings, steerable flaps, and other control devices, and breaks the water looking temporarily like an airplane. Its ascent into the blue sky filled with light from the twin suns is rapid and breathtaking. Orbital velocity is reached in almost no time. Once in orbit above the atmosphere the aerodynamic surfaces are retracted and the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p makes one final voyage around the planet Canthor. When it reaches the proper true anomaly of its...o...b..t, the craft accelerates quickly and hurtles again toward the cold and dark of interstellar s.p.a.ce. The third delivery has been completed; nine more remain on its sixty-millicycle mission.

Three millicycles pa.s.s. The next target planet is only six systems away, another oceanic planet orbiting around a solitary yellow sun of unusual stability. The fourth cradle will be deposited there, on the third body away from the star, a planet whose period of motion about its central sun is so short that it makes fourteen revolutions in one millicycle.

Before reaching the target, the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p makes a detour. It dives deep into the hydrogen-rich atmosphere of the largest planet in the new system, thereby accomplis.h.i.+ng two goals. Its velocity with respect to the central star is significantly slowed through conversion of kinetic energy to dissipated heat, and its reservoir of raw elements and primitive chemical compounds, from which the onboard manufacturing equipment creates all the backup and replacement parts, is partially replenished. After exiting from the dive into the thick atmosphere. the interstellar voyager covers the final distance to its target in a leisurely six hundred nanocycles.

During the approach, the automatic software in the central computer goes through a well-tested sequence designed to discover whether any of the conditions on the target planet have changed since the last complete set of systematic observations three cycles ago since the contents of each cradle have been uniquely designed, based upon the environment of the specific planet where the zygotes must grow and flourish, any major change in that environment could drastically reduce the probability of survival for the repatriated species. Upon command from the computer, a battery of advanced remote sensing instruments is deployed to confirm the original design specifications for the planet.

But the instruments do not, as planned, validate the set of design a.s.sumptions. The environment has changed. Not markedly, not as if it had been reworked on a ma.s.sive scale by an advanced intelligence for some specific purpose. The initial data strongly suggests instead that during the last cycle or two some indigenous intelligence has emerged that has had a nontrivial impact on both the planet's surface and its atmosphere.

As the remote sensing instruments continue their survey of the target planet, something even more unusual is discovered. There are artificial satellites, thousands of them, in orbit around the body. A s.p.a.cefaring species now makes this planet its home. An alarm is triggered in the central computer of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. The zygotes and the cradle system destined for this planet were not designed to deal with any other advanced species.

However, the brilliant engineers of the Colony had antic.i.p.ated that at least one of the dozen target planets might have changed significantly during the three cycles since the last regular observations. A contingency protocol for handling new situations has been programmed into the approach sequence. Essentially, this protocol calls for careful a.n.a.lysis of the new conditions on the planet, a.s.sessment of the impact of those conditions on the key probability of survival parameters, and then, a.s.suming that the impact a.s.sessment is not unsatisfactory, transfer, where possible, of new information into the electronic infrastructure responsible for the education of the repatriated species after cradle deployment.

One of the special subroutines in the contingency protocol handles the surprise emergence of a new s.p.a.cefaring species. The first action in the sequence is the examination of one of the orbiting satellites to a.s.sess its technological sophistication. With great care the interstellar s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p eases into a rendezvous position with one of the artificial satellites that remain mostly stationary above a single region on the rotating planet below. Using superfast burst algorithms stored in the communications macro, the s.p.a.cecraft searches for and establishes the command and telemetry frequencies of its neighbor. But attempts to actually command the satellite fail, suggesting an elaborate protective code embedded in the receivers and/or a complicated redundant command procedure.

Without being able to command the satellite and thus a.s.sess its capabilities, the visiting s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p cannot conclusively establish the technological stage of the new s.p.a.cefaring species. The contingency protocol calls, in this situation, for trying to "capture" the satellite to perform in situ a.n.a.lysis, provided there is no obvious danger from devices...o...b..ard the satellite itself. This particular branch in the software logic for the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p was the subject of intense debate by the oversight board of the Committee of Engineers back during the design process several cycles earlier. Many of the more experienced engineers thought that it was risky to include such a logic loop, primarily because of the possibility that a paranoid emerging culture might arm their satellites with destructive devices that could not be easily recognized and disarmed.

However, it was argued, on the basis of historical evidence from throughout the galaxy, that since most incipient civilizations abolish warfare and aggression before they become s.p.a.cefaring, absence of a clearly identifiable destruct or protective device was sufficient additional evidence to allow the careful capturing and dismantling of a satellite. And everyone agreed that the detailed information about the technological status of the new species that would result from such "reverse engineering" would be extremely valuable in completing the a.s.sessment of the risk to the repatriated species.

Great remote manipulator arms extend from the s.p.a.cecraft, seize the surveillance satellite, and pull it into a large room with vaulted ceilings. An army of small electronic robots attacks it at once, scurrying all over its surface with probes and attachments. Trillions of bits of data about the satellite are fed into the primary data storage device in the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p computer. The new s.p.a.cefarers are not very advanced technically. In fact, the computer algorithm concludes, it is very surprising that they have even mastered launching and maintaining so many satellites.

An explosion starts to rip through the room. An astonis.h.i.+ng sequence of events takes place almost instantaneously after the explosion, as the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p deploys its protective resources to stop the spread of the fireball and mitigate the damage caused by the small nuclear device that has vaporized its host satellite. The explosion is quickly contained by unknown techniques, but not until considerable destruction has been caused onboard the interstellar craft.

An elaborate self-test occupies the great s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p after the explosion. Detailed computer a.n.a.lysis of the damage indicates that the probability of successfully deploying the cradles at the additional eight planets would be measurably increased if the mission were temporarily interrupted to allow some repair processes to take place. A safe haven to conduct the repair operations, in a known environment with very few variations is the concomitant requirement. The master computer decides, based on the system and subsystem constraints that must he applied during the repairs, that the shallow ocean floor on this target planet is a perfect place for such a hiatus in the mission plan.

The s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p descends into the atmosphere, again reconfiguring itself to expose a set of aerodynamic control surfaces. During its rapid descent, the flight path is crossed by a bullet-shaped vehicle that has just been released from a high alt.i.tude airplane. The s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p approaches and then flies alongside the missile. The missile telemetry is intercepted by the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p and correlated with the types of downlink data extracted from the satellite earlier. The s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p computer uses its enormous processing capability and cross-correlation algorithms to try to break the command code of the tiny missile. Eventually it is successful and the visitor is able to interact with the guided projectile.

The s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p commands the missile to read out its guidance subroutines. Performing quadrillions of computations per second, the intelligent computer at the heart of the interstellar craft deduces the targeting strategy for the missile. A target image that would result in the missile landing in the ocean, close to the chosen location for the s.p.a.ce vehicle, is commanded into the missile's guidance algorithm The s.p.a.cecraft and missile plunge in tandem into the Gulf of Mexico.

The two vehicles come to rest about two miles apart on the ocean floor. Within the carefully coded fault protection software of the great s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, which took over operation of the craft immediately after the explosion of the satellite, four separate activities are being conducted in parallel. One of the processors is sorting through the data archives a.s.sociated with this particular planet to determine what possible indigenous species could have gone through an evolutionary burst and become s.p.a.cefaring with such rapidity. Coupled with this first set of computations is an evaluation of the impact of such a local advanced intelligence on the survivability of the repatriated zygotes. Among the questions addressed by the evaluation is what active steps can be taken by the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p now to increase the likelihood of successful embryo germination and development.

A third processor in the central computer performs a thorough, detailed a.n.a.lysis of the s.p.a.cecraft state, including careful a.s.sessments of repair techniques and materials needed to fix each and every damaged component. The fourth major parallel subroutine directs the effort of the small flat robots that go out into the ocean, first to verify that the nearby missile is harmless and can be safely brought back to the s.h.i.+p, and second to catalogue all the flora and fauna in the neighborhood in case any kind of camouflage becomes necessary.

The carpets bring the missile to the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p for additional a.n.a.lysis. No major new insights are gleaned from this study. The engineering similarities between the missile and the earlier artificial satellite are simply catalogued in the data archives. The concurrent s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p damage a.s.sessment concludes that all the raw materials and tools necessary for the repairs are available except for the proper quant.i.ties of lead and gold both of which are difficult and time-consuming to make in the trans.m.u.ter. If somehow enough additional lead and gold can be found, then the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p can be ready to leave this planet in three local days; if the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p has to make the lead and gold by itself, including leaching the elements in trace amounts from the ocean around it, then the total repair effort might take as long as thirty days.

The other two processors reach some equally interesting probabilistic conclusions. Mostly based upon the data taken during the endangered species roundup seven cycles earlier, two separate types of animals, one land-based and one water-based, are identified as the only possible candidates for the evolutionary burst that produced s.p.a.cefarers in such a short time. Actually, according to the computer, if the land-based human beings survived their earlier nadir (around the time when some specimens were removed by the zoo s.h.i.+ps of the Colony) and did not become extinct, they had by far the better chance of becoming the s.p.a.ce voyager, especially in view of the results of the experiments conducted on them at the Zoo Complex. But if, indeed, the descendants of those bipedal, upright, aggressive creatures have become s.p.a.cefarers, the processor warns, then the chances for survival to maturity by the zygotes in the cradle are extremely low. Unless somehow significant design changes in the cradle can be made on the spot or the development of the repatriates can be kept a secret from the humans for as long as a millicycle.

More worrisome for the extraterrestrial s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p from the point of view of the overall mission is the tentative conclusion that it may well be discovered by the intelligent and potentially hostile inhabitants of the target planet in a comparatively short period of time. If discovered and seriously threatened, the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p could depart from the planet quickly and search for another haven to make repairs; however, traveling in the s.p.a.ce environment in its current damaged state would be very risky. Another option would be for the s.p.a.cecraft to send its own robots to the mines on this planet to extract the lead and gold that would virtually guarantee safe arrival at the next target, where the heavy metals are plentiful.

In either case, premature discovery by uncooperative Earthlings would almost certainly doom the zygote cradle that would be left on the Earth, if it is known that the cradle system came from the alien s.p.a.cecraft. Thus the first action that the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p takes is to check out, deploy, and then hide the Earth cradle away from the vehicle. The carpets locate a sequestered spot six or seven hundred yards away on the nearby ocean floor and the platforms move the gold metallic cradle into that place under a rock overhang.

To reduce the probability of being discovered, the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p changes its outer surface to match the ocean floor around it. After a complex set of a.n.a.lyses of its entire decision matrix, the central computer concludes that the maximum likelihood of success path for the overall mission involves trying to enlist either the whales or the human beings to supply the extra lead and gold, as well as the new information to be transmitted to the cradle. So the s.p.a.cecraft implements those repairs that are straightforward, puts itself into a standby for launch mode, and begins the task of communicating with the Earthlings.

The data taken by the Zoo explorers seven cycles ago (about a hundred thousand Earth years) suggested that the whales and human beings, at that time, had approximately the same potential for intelligence. The whale language was richer and more complicated at the time of this earlier investigation. The Zoo explorers studied it briefly and recorded in the archives its fundamental tenets. based upon that old data, while at the same time trying to develop a scenario for communicating with the humans, the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p attempts to make contact with the whales. Because the whales have not substantially changed in the intervening time, the attempts are partially successful; the whales understand that they are being called, but they are mostly confused by the messages and unable to figure out how to respond.

Two small pods of whales do, however, decipher the message transmitted in the ocean by the alien s.h.i.+p and swim toward its source. The robots in the extraterrestrial s.p.a.cecraft examine the whales carefully, even showing the captive missile to one of the pods to elicit recognition, and conclude absolutely that the whales cannot be the s.p.a.cefarers. Therefore it is the human beings who have made the great evolutionary strides and must be contacted and somehow induced to provide the lead and the gold and the requisite information. Further attempts to communicate with the whales are abandoned.

Before the alien s.h.i.+p has determined the method it will use to contact humanity, chance provides it with an excellent opportunity. During the final interactions with the whales, three human beings are swimming in the neighborhood. By incredible luck, these three find the deployed cradle and take it to the land. As a cautionary move, the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p computer commands temporary changes inside the cradle to ensure its protection and to provide for more frequent status monitoring; however, there is no major concern yet. The humans do not recognize the connection between the cradle and the s.p.a.cecraft. In addition, with the zygotes in their early stages of pullulation, the cradle has an extremely robust design. Having the cradle in the possession of humans at this time can also be viewed as an advantage for the superaliens; receivers in the cradle can be commanded to listen to the conversations and then telemeter to the mother s.p.a.cecraft information that will permit learning the rudiments of the human language.

The logical processes in the extraterrestrial computers are strained to the limit to figure out a way to contact human beings for help without creating undue risk for both the Earth cradle and the rest of the mission. The computers are about to decide on a rapid strike at mines for the lead and gold when they realize, based on their partial understanding of the human language, that the three humans who found the cradle may be coming back into the vicinity. All of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p processors are strapped together to design a scenario that will induce these humans to help them. The inside of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p is even reconfigured from scratch for the arrival of the humans. For if the scenario is successful, there is a high probability that the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p can continue on its mission, having successfully deposited the millions of repatriated zygotes, but without having disrupted the main flow of life on Earth. This was the original goal of the mission.

SUNDAY.

1.IT was after two o'clock in the morning by the time the Florida Queen left the marina and headed out into the Gulf of Mexico. Carol and Troy stood together against the railing while Nick steered the boat through the harbor. "Well, angel," Troy said, "it has already been an unbelievable experience, hasn't it? And I must admit that I myself am a little nervous about what we're going to find out at the dive site this time."