Alex was as capable of deep introspection as Bat. When a subdued beep came from the communication terminal, both men ignored it.

The beep came again, and again. At last an irate voice overrode the standard query signal and said, “Hello, Pandora. This is Atlas Station Security, calling Pandora. Are you receiving us? Hello, Pandora. Are you receiving this message?”

And then, in a fainter off-mike tone, “I think they’re all asleep or unconscious. I wonder if they even know they were jammed?”

Bat scowled, opened his eyes, and replied, “We are neither asleep nor unconscious. We are thinking — a phenomenon possibly outside your experience.”

“Oh, it’s you again. Well, you might think that a little appreciation would be in order for what we’ve done for you. We’ve arrested the wacko in the ship who was jamming your com lines.”

“Do you have an identification and a motive?”

“Not yet. He’s acting like a big hero and won’t say a word, and we don’t have a return yet for the ship’s I/D. It’s a Ganymede registration, though. Do you have anyone on Ganymede who dislikes you?”

“Numerous people.”

“Surprise, surprise. Do you have any idea who this one might be?”

Bat looked hard at Alex. “No.”

“Let us know if you want to press charges. We’ve got this fellow’s ship in tow, and we’re on our way. You have a waiting message stream whenever you decide to stop thinking. Au revoir, my ingrate friend.”

“He seems to know you rather well,” Alex said, then realized that might not be the most diplomatic of remarks.

Bat shrugged. “This is not my first encounter with the militants who call themselves the Atlas security force. Their main aim in life seems to be to protect me and the Bat Cave from physical assault, preferably by shooting at something. I have pointed out, many times, that this facility is more secure than their own base on Atlas. Although superficially rational, they appear incapable of learning this fact. No matter. Let us see what we missed in the past few hours.” He touched the console, and surveyed the list of incoming messages. “All of them can, I feel, wait — with the exception of this one.”

Another dab at the console. Three short sentences appeared on a small screen. Meeting place, Ganymede, Level 147, Sector 291. Individual work stations established. Start date pending schedule from Philip Beston.

Bat sighed. “As I thought. It will be necessary to leave the Bat Cave for awhile.”

“And go to Ganymede? Is that the message from the Puzzle Group?”

“It is. And almost certainly, Attoboy sent it. It bears his laconic trademark. I will decipher it later.”

“It seems straightforward enough.”

“It would not be from Attoboy if it lacked a hidden message within the clear text.”

“Maybe to tell you when the meeting begins?”

“I think not. I take his final sentence at face value.”

“Can we meet again when you arrive at Ganymede?”

That produced Bat’s longest hesitation so far. At last he said, “Your predictive model is new and intriguing, and it offers mysteries of inconsistency which so far I am unable to resolve. My instincts suggest that such a resolution could have far-reaching consequences. Certainly, this belongs on the four-sigma list.”

Bat paused, studying Alex as though the two men were just being introduced. The shaved black head nodded a few millimeters. “Before your arrival I had heard much about the Ligon family; all of it was, I am sorry to say, highly negative. You fail to fit my preconceptions. You have a genuine interest in and talent for intellectual problems. I would not find the prospect of another meeting, when I am on Ganymede, intolerable.”

One step at a time. Alex told himself that he had agreed to come here only because the family had pushed him, and he had never expected to succeed. Now when he returned to Ganymede he could report to Prosper Ligon and the others that, despite insane interference from Cousin Hector, he had made real progress. Rustum Battachariya had agreed to meet with Alex again — on Ganymede!

Magrit Knudsen was not there to provide Alex with a more striking evaluation of the situation. An agreement to meet again was the highest accolade that Bat ever offered to anyone. Alex had engaged Bat’s attention in the most powerful way possible: he had provided a puzzle too subtle and intricate to be solved at once.

In Bat’s upside-down universe, what could not be solved at once was not an annoyance; rather, in the best circumstances it would provide a source of ongoing pleasure and satisfaction for months or years to come.

23

Progress review meetings at Argus Station were held every Tuesday morning, starting at midday. This was Monday, ridiculously early in the, morning. Why was she being summoned to the conference room?

Milly — just out of bed, hair falling into her eyes, without breakfast, starved of caffeine, less than half-awake — answered the call and hurried to the meeting. Despite all her efforts, she arrived ten minutes later than requested. She entered, braced for a tongue-lashing from Jack Beston.

On the threshold she paused, bewildered. The room was empty. A gruff voice from behind her said, “Yes, you’re at the right place. We’re all late. Go on in, and let’s get things moving.”

She turned. Jack Beston was behind her, his usually ruddy face pale and taut. With him was the mystery woman, Zetter.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jack said. He seemed to be talking to Milly, not Zetter. “Even before we left Odin Station, I knew that the bastard was up to something.”

Milly could tell from the intonation that ‘bastard’ was being used with a different meaning. It was now a description, not a name.

“Zetter,” Jack went on. He waved the two women to hard-backed chairs, and settled himself on a third with his arms folded over the back. “You tell her.”

Zetter’s vulpine face was uneasy, as though revealing information to anyone but Jack Beston himself was an unprecedented and dangerous activity. “We have received information from Odin Station,” she said. The sharp nose twitched. “Soon after you two left, Philip Beston sent a secure message to certain senior members of the Puzzle Network.”

“Secure, but not secure enough,” Jack said. “You’ve heard of the Puzzle Network, Milly?”

“Yes.” This was no time for Milly to go into details. She was too eager to learn what the Bastard had said.

“In brief,” Zetter continued, “Beston has proposed a working collaboration between Odin Station and the Puzzle Network. They would form a joint venture for the interpretation of the SETI message. He will make available to them everything that he and his team are able to discover. The Puzzle Network team, in return, will channel any results that they obtain to him, on an exclusive basis.”

“Putting it another way,” Jack said, “we’re screwed. The Bastard has signed up the top brains in the System at this kind of problem. Those characters work on fancy intellectual problems for pleasure. I don’t know how good they are, but I have to assume they’re the best.”

“They are,” Milly said. “The absolute best.”

“Then we’re doubly screwed. They’re nuts, but they’re smart nuts. The worst sort.” Jack slumped into a chair, his chin cupped in his hands. After a moment he looked up. “How come you know so much about this, Milly Wu? Did the Bastard come crawling around you, trying to get you involved?”

That was uncomfortably close to the truth. Milly headed in a different direction. “I know the Puzzle Network because I used to be part of it: In fact, I was Junior Champion three years running. I only dropped out when I found that thinking about SETI was occupying more and more of my rime.”

“That right?” Jack Beston’s eyes half closed to green slits. “Three years running?” Milly could hear the mental relays clicking over. “Zetter, that’s all for now. I need a few private words with Milly Wu.”