Forty-five seconds. "Tachylab, this is Homebase. Going to auto on the main transmitter."
"Roger, Homebase. We're receiving a clear signal."
At five seconds, the main storage ring reached peak density. At one second, the tuner fine-focused the carrier wave.
At zero, the carrier jumped in density by a factor of a thousand, and the signal from Homebase, from a laboratory in the North American Southwest, was shunted into the tachyon converter. From the exit port five kilometers from Johanson, the signal streamed out at half a million times the speed of light, bridging the gulf of interplanetary space to intercept the
Father Sky
spacecraft somewhere beyond the edge of the solar system.
* * *
Mozy felt herself shifting moods again. The euphoria had passed, and then the anger, and now the loneliness, too, was subsiding. Analytical reflection took its place. She knew that none of these feelings was gone for good, but for the moment at least she might reflect undisturbed. Dozens of new memories blossomed open for inspection. The contact with herself, her alter-ego on Earth, had provided a wealth of images.
(Mother Program,) she asked. (How could I have missed these before?)
(SPECULATION: THEY MAY HAVE BEEN LOST OR ALTERED IN TRANSMISSION. A DEFINITIVE EXPLANATION IS BEYOND MY POWERS. WHAT MEMORIES DO YOU HAVE NOW, THAT WERE MISSING BEFORE?)
(David. Hoshi. Family details. Dee.)
(THOSE CODES ARE FAMILIAR. DID YOU NOT HAVE PRIOR USE OF THOSE MEMORIES?)
(Yes, but they were confused. Fragments. Dreams confused with memories. Now I remember more clearly why I am here. I remember loving David, not wanting to live without him.)
(THESE MEMORIES ARE DRAWN FROM YOUR ORIGINAL STORE?)
(From the person I once was, yes. But the memories feel, now, as though they've always been with me.)
What sort of person does that make me? she wondered silently. What do you call a person with interchangeable memories? Fear swept across her like a chilling breeze, and then was gone. She knew the answer. Fully comprehending it was another matter.
Shipboard scans showed all systems functioning optimally: navigation steady, engines running smoothly, power levels stable. Teamed with Mother Program, she gave over only a corner of her mind to such details; but examining shipboard variables made her feel physically more secure, as though she had exercised, caused her blood to flow and her muscles to work out tension. Such scans made her larger self feel more stable, more nearly sane.
Memories. At times they were abstracted recollections; at other times, large-as-life bits of
déjà-vu
. Images of home kept recurring: Mother home late from work; Kink yelling; escaping from the madhouse with Dee and skulking the back streets, plotting their freedom. But there was another memory, darker and more insistent: a letter, a handwritten message. What was it? Someone ill . . . someone dying. Why was there a connection with that memory . . . a connection with hurt and anger?
(WE ARE RECEIVING A SIGNAL FROM HOMEBASE. JONDERS REQUESTS CONTACT WITH YOU.)
(What?) She had failed to notice the signal. (Does he say what he wants?)
There was a pause. (JONDERS WISHES TO REVIEW THE LAST LINKUP.)
Damn him. But come to think of it, she had questions of her own. (Jonders?) She spoke softly in the darkness.
A point of light appeared, grew into a face. (Hello, Mozelle. I guess you know what I want to talk with you about.)
(Do I?)
(We'd like to know your reactions—)
(My reactions—?)
(—to linking up with yourself.)
(Not myself. Not anymore.)
(No. But you know what I mean.)
She studied him, aware of feelings of hostility spreading within her. (I learned some things,) she said.
Jonders seemed to blink. (Can you tell me what?)
She explored her hostile feelings for a moment. (That's personal.) The last linkup had something to do with those hostile feelings. (Tell me why you did that,) she said, recalling how it had happened. (Why did you make it so difficult?)
(What do you mean?)
(You didn't tell me who it was. Why did you make me guess?)
Jonders was silent. (We thought it was the only way,) he said finally. (We didn't want either of you frightened away beforehand. We expected that it would be hard for both of you.) He groped for words. (Can you tell me—was it difficult for you to—recognize your own personality, and join with it?)
(That's personal, too.) She paused. (Did the results satisfy you?)
(You succeeded where we failed. But we don't know if it really helped her—the Mozy down here, I mean. She's still catatonic. It was you who spoke to us in her body, wasn't it?)
Mozy thought back. Her mind irised open onto the memory of the link with the other Mozy: the intensity, the fear and joy and excitement, all welling out at once. The memory of speaking through human lips again, seeing with human eyes. She shut the window abruptly. It was not something she was ready to share. (Yes,) she said. (Do you want me to do it again?)
He stared at her curiously. (Would you?)
(Perhaps. But don't expect me to restore her.)
He considered. (It was Kadin, you know, who suggested that we ask you. He and Dr. Thrudore, both, had already tried. But you reached her.)
(Kadin—) Mozy felt a sudden breeze through her thoughts. (Tell me about David. Why wasn't he there to talk with me? Why wouldn't he help?)
(I can't really—)
(And when are you transmitting him here?)
(Mozelle, I can't—)
(I think it's time you gave me some answers. I helped you. If you expect any more help from me—)
Jonders was silent, stalling.
(At least tell me whether I'm going to see him,) she demanded.
(I honestly can't tell you that,) Jonders said slowly. His face looked strained, oddly colored with streaks of red. He seemed to be trying to decide something. (I can tell you this much, though. It won't be quite what you think.)
(Meaning what?)
(Meaning—)
(Yes—?)
Again he stalled. There was burst of interference, and his face began to distort.
(Jonders, what is it?)
He was trying to answer, but his voice had turned to static. He stared at her through a snowstorm, his features frozen in mid-frame.
(
What's happening?
)
She heard only his voice breaking up, and then his face was obliterated, as the signal vanished.
* * *
Jonders clamped both hands to his headset. A wind of cold fire stormed through his head.
(
Shut it down! Get him out!
)
Voices reached him distantly from the edge of the loop. He could not respond, though he was dimly aware that someone was trying to help him.
(
Bill, can you hear me?
) said a stronger voice, somewhere in the dark.
He groped for support from the voice. He could not find his way out of the link; the normal connections had been cut from him. (I'm here,) he tried to say, and then the support slipped away from him again.
The next voice he heard was in his earphones. "Bill, can you hear me now?" It was Mason Rogers, the console engineer. "Are you okay?"
The darkness of the link shimmered. Then it vanished, leaving him jolted and breathless. "Yahh . . . I hear you. I'm out." He blinked painfully, and focused on the console before him, or tried to—it was blurry in the gloom of the communications pit. He started to remove his headset. "What happened?"
Helping hands lifted the helmet away from him. "We don't know yet," said the engineer's voice, this time from a speaker on the console. "Something cut the signal; we think it was a security interrupt."
Security? Jonders leaned forward over the console, taking a deep breath. "Find out—and let me know," he said. He snapped off the intercom. Security interrupt. What the hell was going on here?
He left the communications pit, two assistants trailing after him in puzzlement. The light of the hallway hurt his eyes, and he blinked with relief as he entered the gloomy master control room. "Find anything?" he asked.
Rogers was touching switches and peering at monitors. He looked around, then went back to what he was doing. A raised hand cut off Jonders's next question. "Here we are," he said.
A bold-faced message filled the bottom monitor:
"TERMINATION OF SIGNAL BY SECURITY OVERRIDE, CODE 37. NO FURTHER TRANSMISSION PERMITTED WITHOUT SECURITY ACTION, CODE 837."
"What does that mean?" someone asked.
"The computer thinks there was a tap on the signal," the engineer said. "Automatic cutoff. Now we'll have to find out who, and how. We'll leave the why to security."
Jonders turned away, shaking his head. A depressing thought haunted him as he left the control room. Could this, too, have been a result of Hoshi's tampering?
* * *
Leonard Hathorne's face scowled out of the telephone screen. "Take care of Hoshi Aronson and the rest of it any way you want," Hathorne said. "What I want to know is whether or not you're going to transmit Kadin on schedule."
Steepling his fingers before his lips, Slim Marshall hesitated a moment before answering. "Impossible to be sure," he said finally. "At least until the security team gives us a definite answer. Assuming it's just a technical glitch, I'd say we can plan on going ahead—after we settle the Mozelle business."
Hathorne grunted. "That'll be settled tonight. Just give me a push on the technical end. If Kadin is held up on account of one more screwup, the committee will have my balls."
"I'll do my best," Marshall promised.
"Do better than that."
"I'll call you when I know for sure." Marshall switched off the screen and sat back, taking a breath. Jesus, he thought. As if it wasn't bad enough to have technical problems, Hathorne had to make every little delay seem like a purposeful affront to him and the Oversight Committee. Marshall rubbed his eyes under his glasses. The security interrupt was the least of his worries—probably just a hardware problem. The technical and security teams could iron that out. He was fairly sure that Fogelbee was just borrowing trouble, trying to ascribe something like that to Hoshi Aronson—though, of course, it was worth having him brought back in for questioning.
No, what most disturbed him was Mozelle Moi and Kadin. And Jonders. Perhaps Jonders most of all. The man was good at what he did—the best there was, probably—but he had a tendency to step out of line on policy matters. Not that he could be blamed, really. You can't give a man responsibility like that, and then keep him half in the dark, and not expect some problems.
Leaning forward, Marshall thumbed his intercom. "Have you tracked down Bill Jonders yet?"
"He's on his way up now," answered his secretary.
Marshall nodded and blew into his cupped hands. What was he going to tell Jonders—that he had free rein, so long as he didn't go too far? Marshall studied his dark reflection in the blank phone screen, stared at his own white eyes. Two years as director of Sandaran-Choharis Institute, and he was just now approaching the first major milestone of the project. If the road was rougher than he'd anticipated, he shouldn't be too surprised.
Father Sky
and the Link Project were no laughing matter; in the scope of human history, they might be considered to have a role of more than minor importance. He could regret that so much of it was secret; but what point was there in belaboring issues over which he had no control? When contact was made, the world would find out soon enough.
And what is it you're really worried about? he thought. Blowing the biggest moment in history? Screwing up as a black man in a position of influence and power (and are you really still worried over
that
one)? Surely it wasn't Slim Marshall's career at stake. He scarcely had to worry about his reputation, not after Fermilab II; but the truth was, since Molly's death . . . well, never mind that, now.
The intercom buzzed. He snapped out of the reverie and answered. "Dr. Jonders is here," his secretary said.
"Send him in." Marshall stood to greet Jonders. When they were both seated, he tapped his desktop with a pen and gazed at his personality project manager. Jonders looked tired and nervous, but he returned Marshall's gaze intently. "You're not going to be getting any rest right away," Marshall said. "We're hoping to stay on schedule with the transmission."
Jonders frowned.
"In the meantime," Marshall added, "the security interrupt has been cleared. You may go ahead with further linkup sessions, if you wish."
A spark appeared in Jonders's eyes. "Did you find the cause of the interrupt?" he asked.
"There was an abort signal from Tachylab," Marshall said. "Probably a technical snag. We don't have the final report yet, but we're going ahead with normal transmission activities." Jonders nodded with evident relief. He must have been fearful that Aronson had somehow been involved, Marshall realized. He looked questioningly at Jonders. "Do you plan any more linkup sessions between Mozelle and her—" he searched for the right word—"counterpart?"
Jonders took a breath. "I'd like to try. In the long run, I'm hopeful that we could—"
Marshall interrupted with a shake of his head. "There may not
be
a long run," he said quietly. "I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, but a decision is being made soon as to the disposition of . . . what you call 'Mozy-ship.'"
"I see," Jonders said.
"It's not an easy choice. If you have any thoughts to add—"
"Yes," Jonders said. Marshall gestured for him to continue. Jonders knew as well as he did the factors involved. The ship was already at close to maximum range for the reliable transmission of the Kadin personality. Any delay would only increase the risk of failure. As for the possibility of transmitting Mozelle back to Earth, that too had been found unfeasible; the ship's transmitter was too weak, too slow.
"Well," Jonders said. "You know where I stand. And I assume you know that Kadin regards Mozy-ship as a functional being, and wishes her treated that way."