"A detailed gene analysis of five percent of the sample must have some validity," Leela De Witt pointed out "Statistically speaking, any significant mutation should show up in such a sample."
"Statistically speaking . . ." George Maseba rolled the whites of his eyes heavenwards in disgust
"So what's the alternative?" De Witt persisted, with a hint of gentle chiding. "There just isn't time to take each and every one of the sample subjects apart one by one—and even if we did, going by your standards, we still wouldn't be happy, because even then we would be working on a statistical assumption."
"I don't follow you," queried Bruce.
"What I mean is that our one thousand examinees are still only point one percent of the total population," said Leela De Witt. "To be absolutely sure, in terms of the standards George seems to set himself, we would have to examine
every
human being on the planet"
"That's the devil of it," Maseba said. "What we're doing at the moment is a tremendous, wearing task—a routine, boring one which demands utter concentration, in case some significant detail should be missed. And yet at the same time I get this feeling that there must be a better way."
"Which you can't think of?" Bruce supplied.
Maseba reached over and poured the coffee. "Right. We're doing our best, but all the time there's this maddening conviction that our best just isn't good enough."
Brace nodded his sympathy. He had a tremendous respect for Maseba's ability, and he could appreciate the man's dilemma.
"All right, so it's a treadmill," said Leela De Witt in her usual cheerful manner. "But we're not the only ones with troubles, and at least ours will be over when the investigation is completed."
"What do you mean?" asked Bruce.
"Well, look at the situation of the medics here on Kepler," De Witt said. "They must be worked to death. There are only two hundred and twelve practising general practitioners on Kepler—which means something like five thousand patients per doctor. Even though they're dealing with a basically healthy, sturdy people, they can't possible have an easy time of it. Certainly there must be little time for frills, and God knows what would happen here if there were some kind of epidemic."
It was at this point that George Maseba galvanized into action, startling his two companions. Leaping from his chair, he hurried across to his desk and began rummaging among the files there. A couple of minutes later, he punched a button on the intercom. "Caiola? No? Well get him—
now!
And tell him I want the record cards right away in my office. Why, sure, the ones supplied to us by the Kepler ministry of Health— what others would I mean? No—not just those we've already examined—the lot!" He switched off and turned his attention back to De Witt and Bruce.
"What happened?" asked Bruce.
"I just had my eyes opened, that's all," Maseba said. "Thanks to a piece of morale-building chat from our lady-psyche here."
"What do you mean?" asked Bruce.
"Simply that these so-efficient Keplerians have been pulling the wool over our eyes all along," Maseba said, grimly. "I may be wrong—I hope I am, but I've got a feeling I'm not." He punched the intercom button again. "Caiola—get the lead out! Where are those damned record cards?"
"Oh, come on, Magnus," said Bruce. "It's quite obvious that they're trying to hide something. What other explanation could there be? With the number of doctors they have, it's not possible that every inhabitant of Kepler III could have been subjected to a routine medical examination during the last month—such an
operation would take six months, at least. And yet when we examined the record cards of the sample, everyone had undergone just that. Surely that makes it quite obvious that these people were carefully selected beforehand?"
"There may be something in what you say, commander," Magnus said calmly. "But we must not jump to conclusions."
Maseba shook his head. "I wouldn't have had the slightest objection if a small proportion had undergone such an examination—that would be normal procedure; but to discover that
all
of them had done so goes way beyond the possibilities of coincidence. It seems to me that they were carefully selected for some reason, and the most obvious explanation I can think of is that they are free of some factor which is present in a large proportion of the population, and which the Keplerian government is determined to hide from us."
"Some factor?" repeated Magnus.
Maseba shrugged. "Mutation, disease, mental instability—I can only guess at the moment If I can get my hands on a
truly
random sample, then perhaps I shall be able to tell you more."
"What do you intend to do about your present examination schedule?"
"I think it may be best for the present to continue with the operation, but it seems obvious to me that any results we may obtain must be quite useless," Maseba said.
Magnus nodded. "Good! We don't wish to spread undue alarm until we have all the facts. Obviously the Keplerians are in a state of anxiety at the present time, and it would be foolish to move percipitately."
"But you're going to do something, surely?" demanded Bruce. He was irritated by the Explorations Division officer's smooth, diplomatic manner.
Magnus raised one eyebrow. "You have some suggestion, perhaps, Commander?"
"You're damned right I have! Let me send out a couple of squads and have them bring in the first fifty civilians they can grab. Then ship them over to the examination center and let Maseba and his boys run the rule over them."
"Commander! Such tactics are quite unthinkable— the kidnapping of fifty innocent civilians, citizens of a friendly colony..."
"If that's die only way Maseba is likely to get a
really
random sample, why not?" Bruce said.
"And suppose this so-far unidentified factor he is looking for failed to make an appearance in any of these fifty Keplerians—what then, commander? At the very least we would have sacrificed any good will that might have existed between ourselves and the Keplerian government—and at the worst, we would probably have massive riots on our hands led by the relatives of those people we had kidnapped."
Maseba shook his head. "He's right, you know, Tom. There's absolutely no guarantee that this X factor, whatever it may be, will turn up in a sample of fifty, or even a hundred. Point one percent is the absolute minimum working sample in an investigation of this kind . . . and you can't kidnap a thousand people. Even if you could, we wouldn't be able to examine them in under a month—and that's quite impractical."
"All right, so what
do
we do?" demanded Bruce.
"You, Commander Bruce, will continue with your public relations schedule, and Surgeon Lieutenant Maseba will go on with his examination of the sample provided by the Keplerian Ministry of Health," said Magnus. "In the meantime, I shall pay a visit to President Kido and discuss the situation with him. I'm sure we shall be able to come to some sensible conclusion. And now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me." Magnus bent his head, pointedly transferring his attention to the files on the desk in front of him.
Piet stirred, and found that he was alone. From somewhere in the night he heard the slam of a door, and the whirr of a ground car engine going away. There was a shadow by the window. Switching on the bedside lamp, he said: "Mia? What is it?"
Mia turned and walked towards him with the careful straddle of a heavily pregnant woman. She lowered herself down beside him slowly. "Yoko; I think it's her time. That was Doctor Sato taking her off to the hospital."
Piet shook his head. "We could have delivered that baby, here in her own home. But no—Sato has to be stubborn about it, and ship her off to some aseptic mausoleum of a hospital."
"He wants her to have the best possible care."
"Maybe, but in her state of mind it would have been better to have let her remain in familiar surroundings, with her mother nearby. It's very unlikely that the birth will be anything other than a completely normal one, but the traumatic effects on Yoko herself could be distrastrous."
"His own daughter, Piet. ... He must have considered the situation carefully before making his decision."
Piet scowled. "I just hope so. Sometimes I wonder about your Uncle Sato. Maybe it's this old cultural barrier thing, but half the time I just can't follow his reasoning at all."
"He has tremendous responsibilities," Mia said defensively.
"Then why doesn't he let me help ease the burden?"
Mia sighed. "Strange, isn't it? We're so very different, despite everything. To me, it seems quite logical that Doctor Sato should act the way he does—and yet I can't explain my reasons to you, the person I love most of all in the whole universe."
Feeling a sudden rush of tenderness, he reached out and took her tiny hand in his own. "Just remember that, and IH ask for no more explanations," he said.
She smiled down at him. "I don't feel a bit sleepy. I think I'll go and make some tea. Like some?"
"Please." He released her, and she rose from the
futon
again, walking towards the window.
She stayed there for a moment looking out
"What is it?" he asked.
"The moonlight looked suddenly bright. Those two moons ... I think I'll never get used to them. Oh, Piet, come here!"
He was by her side at once, looking out into the hazy moonlight. From where they stood they could see the road to Tamah through the shrubs and trees of the garden. The evenly spaced street lamps seemed somehow dimmer...
Piet looked into the sky as the moonlight appeared to brighten. As he watched, a point of light detached itself from the smaller of the two satellites, grew, lengthened, became thin and suddenly extended itself downwards like a needle of impossibly straight lightning.
"Down!" Piet shouted, as he threw himself to the floor, turned, and caught Mia as she came down after him, cushioning her body with his own. The room was lit by a huge orange glow, and it seemed as though the breath from a gigantic furnace suddenly puffed at the house, shattering the laminated windows, crackling as it seared through the bushes and small trees outside. For a few seconds the rushing, hellish wind tore past the house; then it faded, but the glow outside remained.
Piet got to his feet. "Stay there a minute!" he ordered Mia, as he looked out of the window again.
The Tamah crossroads were no longer there. Instead, in a rough circle a hundred meters across, there was a bubbling cauldron of fire, evil and orange-yellow, which crackled, hissed and swirled. The houses of the village center, the Magnolia bar, had totally disappeared.
There came an excited knocking on their door, and the hysteria-laden voice of Tana Sato. "Mia—Piet— are you all right?"
Piet opened the door. "You stay with Mia, Mrs. Sato. I'm going to see what is going on down there! I may be able to help."
Dressing hurriedly, he was on his way through the hallway when Tana Sato called him back and handed him her husband's spare ready-bag of instruments and drugs. Mumbling his thanks, he ran out of the house, down the drive, and onto the road, heading towards the crossroads.
Five hundred meters from the surging glare the heat was intense, attacking his exposed flesh. Vegetation was withering visibly, road lights were shattered, and trees lay in splintered fragments across the foothpath. The quality of the light in the heart of the conflagration seared his eyeballs. He put on a pair of dark glasses, and, slackening his pace to a brisk walk, he went on.
At a hundred and fifty meters the heat made further advances impossible. His clothes, unsuitably thin, began to smell singed. He backed a few paces, and stood looking at the inferno. One thing was certain; everyone in the village of Tamah was totally incinerated. There could be no survivors. Baba, along with her bed, and her barful of bottles, was nothing more than a few fragments of hot ash. "Not a good woman," Sato had said. Perhaps not, but she had given him some sympathy, some comfort in his useless loneliness that even Mia could not provide. One thing certain, she would not be drumming her heels in the small of his back again....
He was still staring at the heart of the fire. What could have caused it? A fireball, a meteor? A missile from an orbiting satellite? As far as he knew, Kepler had no such weapons, they had no need----
His eyes drifted to the edge of the fire, where the ravening flames met unconsumed grass and turf. Unconsumed? As he watched the creeping edge of the fire it seemed that the earth, the very soil itself, was melting and burning away.
With the heat on his face, he found that he was shivering.
The sound of an approaching engine brought him back to reality. It was a fire float, squat, red, buglike, with a top-sprouting of nozzles. It surged and sank to a halt, spilling heat-suited men who connected light hoses to the nozzles and, each behind his shield, began to advance on the bubbling rim of the hell-hole, shooting streams of foam spray in the direction of the conflagration.
One man whose heat-suit bore an officer's stars approached Piet. "You see this?"