[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Got what?" Zambendorf was nonplussed.
"What the Asterians are doing out there putting up those new factories and
redesigning the assembly machines. It's obvious. They're pure intelligences
trapped inside an electronic jungle. They're making artificial bodies for
themselves in order to get out." He thought it through again and nodded.
"Maybe that's what they were doing in electronic form inside the ship that
started it all in the first place.
Perhaps that's how they planned to migrate to other stars. But something went
wrong on Titan, and all this happened . . . and then we reactivated them."
Zambendorf stared at him. It was all so obvious. There was nothing he could
add. "And when they've made their bodies?" he said. "What then?"
Weinerbaum could only shake his head. "I don't know. But Colonel Short hit it
right on the head when we were all up in the
Shirasagi.
With everything on Titan reengineered to produce whatever they want, how long
until they come after us? And what with? As Short said, Earth couldn't defend
itself against an attack of school buses . . ." He licked his lips dryly.
"Karl, this thing with Massey has to succeed!"
"Whatever's going to happen with him already happened nearly an hour ago,"
Zambendorf said.
"There's nothing we can do to affect it now. Let's just hope that Dave Crookes
Page 147
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and his guys have got their act together."
A phone rang across the lab. One of Weinerbaum's scientists answered it.
"Communications room," he announced. "They say it's almost time."
Zambendorf caught Weinerbaum's eye and drew in a long breath. "Tell them we're
on our way."
* * *
They stood with Mackeson, the rest of Zambendorf's team, and a mix of
scientists and NASO
officers, watching a screen showing what GENIUS was receiving from the
Earthlink satellite. GENIUS
had viewed the scenery and traffic outside the university building, measured
the sun's disk as seen from
Maryland (fortunately, it was a fine day), and pronounced itself satisfied
that Massey was genuinely on
Earth.
They saw Massey sitting in a recliner, eyes closed, his arms draped loosely
along the rests. "Yes, I'm reaching out now, feeling my way into space
extending away from Earth. I'm getting something now:
an image of Karl and, yes, the feeling of a number. It's . . . let me see . .
." Massey touched his fingertips to his brow. "Eighty . . . eight-six, yes?"
"Astounding!" GENIUS acknowledged. Zambendorf looked at Weinerbaum for an
instant, but neither of them risked betraying anything by a change of
expression. Weinerbaum's forehead was damp with perspiration.
"Now I think I'm getting the next." On the screen Massey sat forward, gripping
the armrests of his chair, and announced in the direction of the floor,
"Forty-three." Another hit.
Massey frowned, seeming to have difficulty. "This one's not very clear, I'm
afraid. It has a feel of
'threeness' about it thirteen or thirty-something . . . No, sorry. I have to
pass."
"What has happened?" GENIUS asked.
"Nothing is perfect," Zambendorf replied. "Sometimes the contact falters."
"That was when you were distracted," GENIUS remarked, meaning the moment when
Drew West had started to interrupt.
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that," Zambendorf said. He hadn't at all, of course.
None of his team ever did anything without a reason. It was amazing how others
were always ready to explain away an apparent failure and manufacture an
excuse for him. And for some reason, doing so strengthened their inclination
to believe. They just needed a little help.
Massey seemed uncomfortable with the next number also, shifting his gaze and
looking around, but then, suddenly, they heard him say, "Twenty-one."
"Ah, he has recovered," GENIUS observed.
Massey, apparently exhausted, dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. "And
the last one is "
his arm passed across his face, obscuring it for an instant "seventy-eight."
He pocketed the handkerchief and looked out from the screen. "Well, that's it,
GENIUS. Right now only you and the others out at Titan know how well we did.
I'll be curious to find out. And I'm extremely curious to find out more about
you. Until then, so long from Maryland, USA, Earth." The image blanked out,
leaving the four numbers and one blank.
"I compute the probability of getting those four numbers as 1 in 92,188,800,"
GENIUS said.
"Precisely right," Zambendorf said, nodding approvingly.
"So, should I be convinced now?" GENIUS asked.
It wasn't exactly the frenzy of enthusiasm Zambendorf had hoped for. He
shifted in his chair uncomfortably. Next to him Weinerbaum was managing to
keep still only by gripping his moist palms between his knees. "What more can
I tell you?" Zambendorf asked, fighting to prevent his voice from betraying
Page 148
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the rising apprehension he felt.
The screen became active to show Massey going through the routine again, but
he was not in the same setting he had been in a few moments earlier.
Zambendorf groaned as he recognized the cabin aboard the
Orion.
GENIUS's voice commented, "Apologies if Earthmen are offended, but Asterians
are very suspicious. I found this stored in the Genoa Base personal crew
record files. Master Zambendorf and Master Massey have done this before, as a
demonstration to mere-scientist Terrans. You see, GENIUS really is a genius."
Damn! Damn! Damn! Zambendorf fumed to himself. It was so obvious. They'd
thought of everything except a recording some anonymous lab tech or NASO
corporal had saved to take home for the kids. GENIUS went on. "I noticed that
we never actually see numbers said with the mouth. Just hear. So, I reason, my
numbers could be inserted into an old recording, like this one. Sure, then,
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]