It was not so much an interrogation as a computerized – and cheat-proof- version of the ancient game Twenty Questions. In principle, any piece of information could be quickly pinned down by a series of YES – NO replies, and it was surprising how seldom as many as twenty were needed when an expert human cooperated with an expert machine.
When a rather dazed Owen Fletcher staggered from the chair, exactly one hour later, he had no idea what he had been asked or how he had responded. He was fairly confident, however, that he had given nothing away.
He was mildly surprised when Dr. Steiner said cheerfully, “That’s it, Owen. We won’t need you again.”
The professor was proud of the fact that he had never hurt anybody, but a good interrogator had to be something of a sadist – if only a psychological one. Besides, it added to his reputation for infallibility, and that was half the battle.
He waited until Fletcher had regained his balance and was being escorted back to the detention cell.
“Oh, by the way, Owen – that trick with the ice would never have worked.”
In fact, it might well have done; but that didn’t matter now. The expression on Lieutenant Fletcher’s face gave Dr. Steiner all the reward he needed for the exercise of his considerable skills.
Now he could go back to sleep until Sagan 2. But first he would relax and enjoy himself, making the most of this unexpected interlude.
Tomorrow he would have a look at Thalassa and perhaps go swimming off one of those beautiful beaches. But for the moment he would enjoy the company of an old and beloved friend.
The book he drew reverently out of its vacuum-sealed package was not merely a first edition; it was now the only edition. He opened it at random; after all, he knew practically every page by heart.
He started to read, and fifty light-years from the ruins of Earth, the fog rolled once more down Baker Street.
“The cross-checking has confirmed that only the four Sabras were involved,” Captain Bey said. “We can be thankful that there’s no need to interrogate anyone else.”
“I still don’t understand how they hoped to get away with it,” Deputy Captain Malina said unhappily.
“I don’t believe they would, but it’s lucky it was never put to the test. Anyway, they were still undecided.”
“Plan A involved damaging the shield. As you know, Fletcher was on the assembly crew and was working out a scheme to reprogram the last stage of the lifting procedure. If a block of ice could be allowed to impact at just a few metres a second – you see what I mean?
“It could be made to look like an accident, but there was risk that the subsequent inquiry would soon prove it was nothing of the sort. And even if the shield was damaged, it could be repaired.
Fletcher hoped that the delay would give time to acquire more recruits. He might have been right; another year on Thalassa…
“Plan B involved sabotaging the life-support system, so that the ship had to be evacuated. Again, the same objections.
“Plan C was the most disturbing one because it would have terminated the mission. Luckily, none of the Sabras was in propulsion; it would have been very hard for them to get at the drive…”
Everyone looked shocked – though none more so than Commander Rocklyn.
“It would not have been at all difficult, Sir, if they were sufficiently determined. The big problem would have been to arrange something that would put the drive out of action – permanently – without damaging the ship. I very much doubt if they’d have the technical knowledge necessary.”
“They were working on it,” the captain grimly said. “We have to review our security proceedings, I’m afraid. There will be a conference on that tomorrow for all senior officers – here, at noon.”
And then Surgeon-Commander Newton put the question that everyone hesitated to ask.
“Will there be a court martial, Captain?”
“It’s not necessary; guilt has been established. According to Ship’s Orders, the only problem is the sentence.”
Everyone waited. And waited.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said, and his officers left in silence.
Alone in his quarters, he felt angry and betrayed. But at least it was over; Magellan had ridden out the man-made storm.
The other three Sabras were – perhaps – harmless; but what about Owen Fletcher?
His mind strayed to the deadly plaything in his safe. He was captain: it would be easy to arrange an accident …
He put the fantasy aside; he could never do it, of course. In any event, he had already made up his mind and was certain that there would be universal agreement.
Someone had once said that for every problem there is a solution that is simple, attractive – and wrong. But this solution, he was certain, was simple, attractive – and absolutely right.
The Sabras wanted to remain on Thalassa; they could do so. He did not doubt that they would become valuable citizens – perhaps exactly the aggressive, forceful type that this society needed.
How strange that History was repeating itself; like Magellan, he would be marooning some of his men.
But whether he had punished them or rewarded them, he would not know for three hundred years.
VI – The Forests of the Sea
44. Spyball
The North Island Marine Lab had been less than enthusiastic.
“We still need a week to repair Calypso,” the director said, “And we were lucky to find the sledge. It’s the only one on Thalassa, and we don’t want to risk it again.”
I know the symptoms, thought Science Officer Varley; even during the last days on Earth, there were still some lab directors who wanted to keep their beautiful equipment unsullied by actual use.
“Unless Krakan Junior – or Senior – misbehaves again, I don’t see that there’s any risk. And haven’t the geologists promised that they’ll be quiet again for at least fifty years?”
“I’ve a small bet with them on that. But frankly – why do you think this is so important?”
What tunnel vision! Varley thought. Even if the man is a physical oceanographer, one would have expected him to have some interest in marine life. But perhaps I’ve misjudged him; he may be sounding me out …
“We have a certain emotional interest in the subject since Dr. Lorenson was killed – luckily not permanently. But quite apart from that, we find the scorps fascinating. Anything we can discover about alien intelligence could be of vital importance someday. And to you even more than to us since they’re on your doorstep.”
“I can appreciate that. Perhaps it’s lucky we occupy such different ecological niches.”
For how long?the Science Officer thought. If Moses Kaldor is right …
“Tell me just what a spyball does. The name’s certainly intriguing.”
“They were developed a couple of thousand years ago for security and espionage but had many other applications. Some weren’t much bigger than pinheads – the one we’ll use is the size of a football.”
Varley spread the drawings on the director’s table.
“This one was designed especially for underwater use – I’m surprised you’re not familiar with it – the reference date is as early as 2045. We found complete specifications in Tech Memory, and fed them into the replicator. The first copy wouldn’t work – we still don’t know why – but No. 2 tests out fine.
“Here are the acoustic generators – ten megahertz – so we’ve got millimetre resolution. Hardly video quality, of course, but good enough.
“The signal-processor is quite intelligent. When the spyball’s switched on, it sends out a single pulse which builds up an acoustical hologram of everything within twenty or thirty metres. It transmits this information on a two-hundred-kilohertz narrow-band to the buoy floating topside, which radios it back to base. The first image takes ten seconds to build up; then the spyball pulses again.
“If there’s no change in the picture, it sends a null signal. But if something
happens, it transmits the new information so that an updated image can be generated.
“What we get, then, is a snapshot every ten seconds, which is good enough for most purposes. Of course, if things happen quickly, there will be bad image smearing. But you can’t have everything; the system will work anywhere, in total darkness – it isn’t easy to spot – and it’s economical.”
The director was obviously interested and was doing his best to keep his enthusiasm from showing.
“It’s a clever toy – may be useful for our work. Can you give us the specs – and a few more models?”
“The specs – certainly and we’ll check that they interface with your replicator so you can make as many copies as you like. The first working model – and maybe the next two or three – we want to dump on Scorpville.
“And then well just wait and see what happens.”
45. Bait
The image was grainy, and sometimes hard to interpret despite the false-colour coding which revealed details the eye could not otherwise detect. It was a flattened-out 360-degree panorama of seabed, with a distant view of kelp on the left, a few rock outcroppings at centre, and kelp again on the right. Though it looked like a still photograph, the changing numbers at the lower left-hand corner revealed the passage of time; and occasionally the scene changed with a sudden jerk when some movement altered the information pattern being transmitted.
“As you’ll see,” Commander Varley told the invited audience in the Terra Nova auditorium, “there were no scorps around when we arrived, but they may have heard – or felt – the bump when our, ah, package landed. Here’s the first investigator at one minute twenty seconds.”
Now the image was changing abruptly at every ten-second interval, and more scorps were appearing in each frame.
“I’ll freeze this one,” said the science officer, “so that you can study the details. See that scorp on the right? Look at his left claw – no less than five of those metal bands! And he seems to be in a position of authority – in the next frames the other scorps have moved out of his way – now he’s examining the mysterious pile of junk that’s just fallen out of his sky – this is a particularly good shot – see how he uses claws and mouth palps together – one set for power, the other for precision – now he’s pulling at the wire, but our little gift is too heavy to move – look at his attitude – I’ll swear he’s giving orders, though we haven’t detected any signal – maybe it’s subsonic – here comes another of the big fellows –”
The scene shifted abruptly, tilting at a crazy angle.
“Here we go; they’re dragging us along – and you were right, Dr. Kaldor – they’re heading for that cave in the rock pyramid – the package is too big to go inside – just the way we planned it, of course – this is the really interesting part –”
A good deal of thought had gone into the present for the scorps. Although it consisted mostly of junk, that junk had been carefully selected. There were bars of steel, copper, aluminium, and lead; wooden planks; tubes and sheets of plastic; pieces of iron chain; a metal mirror – and several coils of copper wire of assorted gauges. The entire mass weighed over a hundred kilograms, and had been carefully fastened together so that it could only be moved as a single unit. The spyball nestled inconspicuously at one corner, attached by four separate short cables.
The two big scorps were now attacking the pile of junk with determination and, it seemed, a definite plan. Their powerful claws quickly disposed of the wires holding it together, and they immediately discarded the pieces of wood and plastic; it was obvious that they were only interested in the metal.
The mirror gave them pause. They held it up and stared at their reflections – invisible, of course, in the spyball’s acoustical image.
“We rather expected them to attack – you can start a good fight by putting a mirror in a tank of fish. Perhaps they recognize themselves. That seems to indicate a fair level of intelligence.”
The scorps abandoned the mirror and began to drag the rest of the debris across the seabed. For the next frames, the views were hopelessly confused. When the image stabilized again, it showed a completely different scene.
“We were in luck – things worked out exactly as we’d hoped. They’ve dragged the spyball into that guarded cave. But it isn’t the Queen Scorp’s throne room – if there is a Queen Scorp, which I very much doubt… Theories, anyone?”
There was silence for a long time while the audience studied the strange spectacle. Then someone remarked, “It’s a junk room!”
“But it must have a purpose –”
“Look – that’s a ten-kilowatt outboard motor – someone must have dropped it!”
“Now we know who’s been stealing our anchor chains!”
“But why – it doesn’t make sense.”
“Obviously it does – to them.”
Moses Kaldor gave his attention-demanding cough, which seldom failed to work.
“This is still only a theory,” he began, “but more and more the facts seem to support it. You’ll notice that everything here is metal, carefully collected from a wide variety of sources …
“Now, to an intelligent marine creature, metal would be very mysterious, something quite different from all the other natural products of the ocean. The scorps seem to be still in the Stone Age – and there’s no way they can get out of it as we land animals did on Earth. Without fire, they are trapped in a technological cul-de-sac.
“I think we may be seeing a replay of something that happened long ago on our own world. Do you know where prehistoric man got his first supplies of iron? From space!
“I don’t blame you for looking surprised. But pure iron never occurs in nature – it rusts too easily. Primitive man’s only source of supply was meteorites. No wonder they were worshipped; no wonder our ancestors believed in supernatural beings beyond the sky…
“Is the same story happening here? I urge you to consider it seriously. We still don’t know the level of intelligence of the scorps. Perhaps they are collecting metals out of mere curiosity and fascination with their – shall I say magical? – properties. But will they discover how to use them, for anything more than decoration? How far can they progress – while they stay underwater? Will they stay there?
“My friends, I think you should learn all you possibly can about the scorps. You may be sharing your planet with another intelligent race. Are you going to cooperate or fight? Even if they are not really intelligent, the scorps could be a deadly menace – or a useful tool. Perhaps you should cultivate them. By the way, look up the reference Cargo Cult in your History Banks … that’s C-A-R-G-O C-U-L-T.
“I would love to know the next chapter in this story. Are there scorp philosophers, even now, gathering in the kelp forests – to consider what to do about us?
“So please, repair the deep-space antenna so we can keep in touch! Magellan’s computer will be waiting for your report – as it watches over us on the road to Sagan 2.”
46. Whatever Gods May Be…
“What is God?” Mirissa asked.
Kaldor sighed and looked up from the centuries-old display he was scanning.
“Oh, dear. Why do you ask?”
“Because Loren said yesterday, “Moses thinks the scorps may be looking for God.””
“Did he indeed? I’ll speak to him later. And you, young lady, are asking me to explain something that has obsessed millions of men for thousands of years and generated more words than any other single subject in history. How much time can you spare this morning?”
Mirissa laughed. “Oh, at least an hour. Didn’t you once tell me that anything really important can be expressed in a single sentence?”
“Umm. Well, I’ve come across some exceedingly long-winded sentences in my time. Now, where shall I start …”
He let his eyes wander to the glade outside the library window and the silent – yet so eloquent! – hulk of the Mother Ship looming above it. Here human life began on this planet; no won
der it often reminds me of Eden. And am I the Snake, about to destroy its innocence? But I won’t be telling a girl as clever as Mirissa anything that she doesn’t already know – or guess.
“The trouble with the word God,” he began slowly, “is that it never meant the same thing to any two people – especially if they were philosophers. That’s why it slowly dropped out of use during the Third Millennium except as an expletive – in some cultures, too obscene for polite use.
“Instead, it was replaced by a whole constellation of specialized words. This at least stopped people arguing at cross-purposes, which caused ninety per cent of the trouble in the past.
“The Personal God, sometimes called God One, became Alpha. It was the hypothetical entity supposed to watch over the affairs of everyday life – every individual, every animal! – and to reward good and punish evil, usually in a vaguely described existence after death. You worshipped Alpha, prayed to it, carried out elaborate religious ceremonies, and built huge churches in its honour…
“Then there was the God who created the universe and might or might not have had anything to do with it since then. That was Omega. By the time they’d finished dissecting God, the philosophers had used up all the other twenty or so letters of the ancient Greek alphabet, but Alpha and Omega will do very nicely for this morning. I’d guess that not more than ten billion man-years were ever spent discussing them.
“Alpha was inextricably entangled with religion – and that was its downfall. It might still have been around right up to the destruction of the Earth if the myriads of competing religions had left each other alone. But they couldn’t do that, because each claimed to possess the One and Only Truth. So they had to destroy their rivals – which means, in effect, not only every other religion but dissenters inside their own faith.