“Then why do they not abandon the use of script and try to find things by pictures?” Nikka asked mildly. “That’s the path we are following and it seems to work.”
“Why, what have you found?” Valiera unconsciously narrowed his eyes slightly with a new alertness.
For a long moment there was only the thin whine of air circulation fans in the room. “Some things that look like molecular chain models, photographs of Earth from orbit, a picture of some early primate, apparently,” Nigel said slowly. “A few other things, and of course that large rat.”
“I have seen most of what you refer to in the briefings,” Sanges said. “I would dispute your interpretation of several of them, but of course that can be worked out in time.”
“Quite so,” Nigel said. “Nikka and I are trying to uncover as much as possible so we will have some idea of how the computer works, and what’s available through it. I will be interested to see what the experts say about that rat, particularly.”
“Well,” Valiera said distantly, “that will of course take some time to work out.”
“What do you mean?” Nikka said.
Valiera pursed his lips and paused. Nigel studied him intently. He had seen this sort of administrator before. Valiera had apparently been an excellent pilot but somewhere along the way he had acquired the bureaucrat’s habit of judging every statement’s impact before it was uttered. There was an air of calculation about the man.
“The National Science Foundation has decided not to release any of the pictures you are recovering from the alien console. It is thought that the impact at this time might be undesirable.”
“Damn! Undesirable
how?
” Nikka said sharply.
“We want a serious scientific study of everything that comes out of Site Seven. Releasing information now would just inundate the NSF and strain an already fragile budget,” Valiera said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“I quite agree,” Sanges said. “Many people will find such photographs as the large rodent quite unsettling. It is our duty to release information only when it is well understood. The First Bishop has stressed this point several times.”
“Ah, and I’m sure the First Bishop is an authority on cultural shock and exobiology.” Nigel raised an eyebrow at Sanges.
“The First Bishop was present when the New Revelation was manifested to the world,” Sanges said sternly. “He has a great and abiding knowledge of man’s ways and the best course for humanity. I should think even you could see that.”
“Nigel, I’m sure you know the New Sons are not hostile to the existence of extraterrestrial life,” Valiera said diplomatically. “The New Revelation grew out of the discovery of life on Jupiter, after all. The First Bishop merely makes the point that man is specifically wedded to this planet, so things extraterrestrial will probably seem quite foreign to man, even frightening.”
“Are you going along with the New Sons, then?” Nikka asked.
“No, of course not,” Valiera said quickly, “I merely think I should take a position in between these two diverging views.”
“Diverging they are, yes,” Nigel said. “I don’t think extraterrestrial life has to be so bloody frightening. And I don’t necessarily think our limited knowledge about how we evolved falls in with the First Bishop’s dogma.”
“What do you mean?” Sanges said severely.
“Never mind. I simply think we should keep our minds open. Release of
all
the data we recover from the computer is an essential. We need the best minds working on this problem, not just a committee of the NSF.”
“Nonetheless,” Valiera said mildly, “the judgment of the Congress and the NSF has been made and we must go along with it.”
Nigel leaned back and drummed his fingers on his knee.
Nikka exchanged glances with him and turned to Valiera. “Let’s drop that topic for now. Nigel and I agreed on the way over here that we need a separate link to Alphonsus to insure no loss of computer files occurs again.”
“That seems a reasonable proposal,” Valiera said. His face lost some of its lines of tension.
“It won’t take very much trouble or time to install a separate transmission link near the console itself,” Nikka said. She took a pad of paper and sketched a circuit configuration. “I want to locate a computer file inventory inside the ship itself, so there will be a separate inventory available to whoever is at the console at all times. That way even if something is erased in Communications by accident, there will be another copy that can be transmitted to Alphonsus for permanent storage.”
“That seems rather a lot of work and expense—” Sanges began.
“Expense be damned!” Nigel said suddenly. “We’re not running a shoestring operation here. That ship is at least
half a million
years old. It’s still armed and it can teach us more in a few years than mankind might learn in a century. I’m not going to let—”
“I think your proposal is well taken,” Valiera broke in. “I’ll tell Engineering to give you every assistance with it.”
“I want a separate link to Alphonsus,” Nikka said. “A complete separate subsystem.”
“I’ll see that you get it immediately. We have enough equipment to spare. And now”—Valiera glanced at his wristwatch—“I believe it is time for the New Sons’ hour of withdrawal and meditation, Mr. Sanges.”
“You’re setting time aside for
that
?” Nigel said in dis-belief. “Even
here
?”
“We must compromise on all things, Nigel,” Valiera said, smiling.
Nigel grimaced, got to his feet and left the room. The slamming door made a booming echo.
He stood on a high ledge and watched the flames eat their way down the valley. The dry tan grass caught readily and burned with a crisp roar, a sound like many drummers beating. Through the pall of black smoke he could see the scattered small creatures who had set the fire going. They were gesturing to each other, following the flames at the edge of the valley floor, carrying small torches to insure there was no break in the fire wall.
Before the flames ran the elephants. Their long, loping shamble had a touch of panic to it now; they made low cries to each other as they rushed toward disaster.
From his ledge he could see the dark line of swamp-land that lay before the elephant herd. The image danced in the shimmering heat, but he could make out the grassy bogs now only a kilometer from the elephants. At each side of the swamp, near the valley wall, waited small bands of the fire-carrying creatures.
It was too far to make out any detail but they seemed to be dancing, their long poles twirling high in the air.
Far away, beyond the moist swampland, lay a dryer upper plateau. On it he could see a huge herd of foraging animals, probably antelope or wild cattle; a vast ocean of game. Yet the creatures with fire ignored the herd; they drove the elephants and waited to butcher when the animals were caught in the mire.
Why did they run the risk of trampling or the searing pain as an elephant tusk skewered them? To show courage? To have more tall tales around the late night hearth? To fuel the myths and legends that grew with each retelling beside the firelight?
How did they learn to cooperate so, moving in and out in an elaborate dance as they probed the prey for weakness? Who taught them to make tribes, kindle fire, form the delicate web of family? So nimble a craft, acquired so quickly. It was hard to believe these creatures were driven by the slow, ponderous hand of evolution, the workings of—
A shifting of shadows caught his eye. He turned. One of the creatures stepped from behind a spindly tree. It was scarcely a meter high, shaggy, with hands and feet that seemed swollen. The deep-set eyes darted left and right, checking the terrain, and the small erect creature shifted the pointed stick it carried in its hand.
The wind shifted slightly and brought the rank, sweaty smell of the creature to him. Neither of the two moved. After a moment the creature shuffled its feet, took the stick in one hand and raised the other, palm outward. It made a series of low, rumbling grunts. The palm it held up was wrinkled and matted with coarse hair around the sharp nails.
Nigel raised his palm in the same gesture. He opened his mouth to reply and the image drifted away in a curl of smoke. Light rippled and danced. A hollow drumming enfolded him, dense in the thick air.
Someone was knocking on his door.
He brushed some papers from his lap, swung his feet to the floor and took the two paces to the door. When he opened it Nikka was standing awkwardly in the passageway.
“My doctor has advised me never to drink alone,” she said. She held up a small chemical flask of transparent liquid. “The purest stuff, distilled at Alphonsus for the purposes of scientific research and the advancement of man’s knowledge.”
“A most interesting specimen,” Nigel said judiciously. “Come, bring it inside for further study.”
He settled on his bunk and gestured to a chair. “I’m afraid there’s not much place to put anything down. There’s an extra glass in the cupboard, and I’ll join you as soon as I finish the drink I’m on.”
She looked with interest at his glass. “Fruit juice?” “Well, one must mix the canniforene in something.” Her eyes widened. “But that’s
illegal.
”
“Not in England or America. Things are pretty wretched in England and all the mild euphorics are allowed—nay, encouraged.”
“Have you ever smoked LSD?” she asked with a touch of respect in her voice.
“No, didn’t really feel the need. It’s not the sort of thing you smoke, anyway. Not that I mind smoking, mind you; I prefer to take cannabis that way. But I’ve been drilled that you don’t smoke anything on the moon—too dangerous—so I had this canniforene smuggled up with the lot from Kardensky. Cost me a packet—two hundred dollars, that bet, remember?—to get it through.”
She mixed in some fruit juice with her alcohol, tested the mixture and smiled. “Do you find the routine here so wearing?”
“Not at all. It’s dead easy. I haven’t even been here long enough for the low-gravity high to wear off. But while you were rigging up the link to Alphonsus I decided to have a skull session over the Kardensky stuff. Canniforene gives me ideas sometimes, lets me see connections I wouldn’t otherwise.”
Nikka frowned and opened her mouth to say something. Nigel waved his hand elaborately, murmuring, “Ah, I know. Buggering up my mind for a lot of over-the-counter insights. Well, I can’t feel it doing me any harm. It’s given me some sparks of creativity in the past that helped my career a lot. And anyway, Nikka, it’s
delicious.
Very fashionable stuff, that, it’s much the rage. All the hominids are doing it.”
“All right,” Nikka said, “I might even try some myself. But look, I thought you were going to meet me in the gym an hour ago.”
“I was, wasn’t I? Well, it’s a dreary lot of exercise machines they have in there and I was busy with my cogitating here.”
“You
should
do it, you know. Valiera will be onto you about it pretty soon. If you don’t do the exercises eventually you can’t return to Earth at all.”
“When they put in a swimming pool I’ll be there.” He took a sip of his drink and studied a sheet of paper nearby.
“That won’t be too long, now that we’ve struck ice. Besides, Nigel, the exercises make you feel good. Look—” She nimbly turned in the air and did a one-handed flip, landing neatly on her feet. “I’ll admit it’s not all that hard in low gravity.”
“Yes, yes,” Nigel said, looking at her curiously. He guessed that she was a bit uneasy at visiting him in his digs. She was a naturally physical sort of person, so anxiety would probably show up as increased activity; thus the gymnastics.
“Sit down here, I’ve got some things to show you.” He handed her a color photograph of Earth taken from orbit. “That’s the same picture we got on the console awhile back. Kardensky had it shifted into approximately our color scale, so it doesn’t look red to us.”
“I see. What part of Earth is it?”
“South America, the southern tip, Tierra Del Fuego.” Nigel tapped a fingernail on the slick surface. “This is the Estrecho de Magellanes, a narrow strait that connects the Atlantic and Pacific.”
Nikka studied the photo. “That’s no strait. It’s sealed up at four or five spots.”
“Right. Now look at this.” He snapped down another print of the same area, dealing as though he were playing cards. “Kardensky got this by request from Geological Survey, taken last year.”
“It’s open,” Nikka said. “It
is
a strait.”
“That spot has always been clear, ever since Europeans reached the New World. This picture we got from the wreck’s memory bank must be how it looked
before
erosion cleared the strait.”
Nikka said quickly, “This gives us another way of direct dating, then.”
“Precisely. Rates of erosion aren’t known all that well, but Kardensky says this picture is at
least
three-quarters of a million years old. It ties in pretty well with the radiation damage estimates. But that’s not all.” Nigel collected notes, photographs and a few books which were lying about his bed. “Somebody in Cambridge has identified those lattice-works we found.”
“What are they?”
“Sectioned views, from different angles, of physostig-mine.”