Twelve

He lay quietly as the machines sniffed and poked at him. Nikka said, “Fatigue, mostly, they think. But your blood chem is off, too.”

“Um,” Nigel grunted. “Imbalance in the antiaging potions, I suspect. I stayed away from the medmon, once my trick went sour.”

“You do look tired. But you got more out of those EM messages than the specialists, so maybe it was worth … What’s it doing now?”

“Um? Serving up pills,” The medmon pushed a tray toward him, humming.

Nikka asked, “What’s the orange one?”

He turned stiffly to see it. “Ah, the orange bugger.” Pharmacological peace. He lay with a feed in his nose, diagnostic discs on arms and chest, a thermometer and sampler in his anus, various leads and taps spotted over his belly. “That’s my aphrodisiac.”

Nikka smiled and the door peeled and Ted Landon came in. Nigel smiled wanly as the three of them went through the customary hospital-visiting remarks. Ted was nervous. To deflect him, Nigel asked about research.

“Oh, we’re pretty much sure that idea of yours was right,” Ted said. “The EMs must’ve tinkered with their genes to come up with that semiconductor and electrical storage system.”

“By building it into an ecology, they made it look natural? So they could get away with using radio?” Nikka asked.

“Maybe. Something kept the Watchers from attacking them.” Ted shrugged. He still seemed distracted.

“They found a loophole. Their radio is natural. The Watchers seem to he hunting down technology. Ergo, natural radio is safe.”

“Could be.”

“We’ll have to study them more to be sure,” Nikka said, “But it seems—”

“’Fraid not,” Ted stated flatly. “We’re moving on.”

“What!” Nigel spat out.

“Just got a long squirt from Earth. We have a new target star. A long trip.”

“Why?”

“Things have changed back there. There’s something in the oceans now. New life-forms.” Ted looked at them bleakly. “Looks like somebody dumped them there. That’s why Earth wants us to push on. Find out what we can from the EMs sure, but explore other systems, too.”

Nikka said slowly, “I don’t …”

“Somebody’s seeded our oceans. Using starships.”

Thirteen

2077 Deep Space

For weeks now, Lancer had been filled with the steady muted roar of the boosters. The huge, ornamented stone arced out from the sullen star, away from Isis, preparing for the ramscoop drive to cut in.

“Nigel? Nikka said I’d find you here.”

Nigel turned to find Ted Landon entering the view chamber. “Having a last look?”

“Um.”

“I haven’t seen you around Control lately.”

Nigel turned back to look at the distant ruddy disk of Isis. “I’d have been in the way.”

“Look, I know you don’t go along with the orders from Earthside, but I’m sure I can rely on you to pitch in where your talents are needed, especially—”

“Yes, right, team player and all that.” He folded his arms.

“You didn’t attend the community talks—didn’t think I’d notice, did you?”

“Hadn’t thought, actually.”

“Well, I did, and it was too bad your point of view wasn’t better represented there.”

“Would’ve made no difference. Earthside calls out, ‘Forge on, mates!’ and off we go.”

Ted allowed a flash of irritation to cross his face. “Okay, I agree those set-tos were pretty much pro forma, but—”

“Listen.” Nigel tapped his wrist. A slow but intricate strumming filled the view chamber, seeming to come from the imaging wall itself. “They’re sending their art, their history, the lot.”

“Well, yes, but in the form of myths and stories and a lot of indecipherable detail that—”

“That could be understood, in time. Particularly if we operated on the surface, where we could develop some visual signs to help break through the misunderstanding.”

“We need to see the pattern to all this, Nigel. That means exploring more than one system. Whatever happened here is long past. We need a line on the general picture, other stars—”

“I was willing to stay behind. A small team could—”

“Could starve to death, yeah. There won’t be a backup expedition for decades, maybe longer. I can’t spare crew.”

Nigel gestured. “They’ve been calling a long time. Now we’ve made contact, and then like a flash cut it off. Imagine what that will do to them.”

“Sure, and imagine what those Watchers could do to us. There’s more riding on Lancer than I can risk just to—”

“Shore up some scruffy washouts and have nought to show for it?”

“Damn! You’re a sore loser, aren’t you?”

“Right, now that you mention It. It’s a long way to the next stop, and I have to go whether I want to or not.”

Ted touched his front teeth together and rubbed them carefully back and forth, clearly calculating. “I’ll put you in charge of our continuing radio link with the EMs.”

Nigel sniffed. “A token. I’ll take it, but you know full well we’ll get damn little through the ramscoop noise.”

Ted shrugged. “Them’s the breaks.”

“The maths types have already determined that we’re the first contact the EMs have had. If we break off, even for a while the blow to their—”

“Nigel, the decision’s made.”

“By an array of experts.”

“Essentially, yeah. You got a better way? We can’t run Lancer as a seat-of-the-pants showboat. Everybody’s glad as hell to get away from the Watchers safely.”

“Something tells me they’re not a significant danger—”

“Changing your tune! Funny, I remember you were the one who warned us not to touch down on that Watcher, and now you’re—”

“As I was about to say, not significant unless they’re provoked.”

“Why? With dozens dead—?”

“A hunch.”

“I can’t run a ship on hunches,” Ted said sourly. “I need you to help process the data feed we’re just starting to get from the gravitational lens back Earthside. You can have your hunches on the side.”

Nigel smiled. “I’m getting too many votes in the ship-wide congress, eh?”

“I’m not worried.”

“I’d scarcely want your job anyway.”

“There’s always a faction that’ll follow your line of thinking. If you could bring them around—”

“Around to what? I’m not maneuvering against you, Ted.”

“If the people you influence don’t go along with our general policy, that’s divisive.”

“Uh-huh. Science is like that. Full of incorrigibles.”

“This isn’t science, it’s leadership we’re talking.”

“Maybe the best way to lead is to do nothing.”

“What in hell’s that mean?”

“You don’t see that Watcher jumping to conclusions.”

“I don’t see it doing anything.”

“Quite. Patience is a strategy, too.”

“I’m getting full up to here with you, Nigel.”

“You’re at the end of a long queue. My whole career’s been shot through with that sort of thing.”

“You’re pretty goddamn cavalier about it.”

“At my age you have to be.”

“Smug, aren’t you!”

“You’re not getting the message, Ted.”

“Which is?”

“Why can’t I get on with Americans? Lets put it this way—we’re not talking foreign policy, we’re talking alien policy. Listen to that EM song for a moment.”

“Yeah. Indecipherable without computers.”

“I doubt that computers alone could turn the trick. I doubt the Watcher did.”

“It’s had the time.”

“Right, but not the hormones, y’see.”

“So?”

“So maybe it’s not there to decipher at all. Think about the design of such a thing. It has to last millions of years. Sure, it can repair itself within limits—but who fixes the fixers? You can’t rely on redundancy alone for insurance. So your strategy becomes molelike. You make your Watcher careful, conservative. Don’t waste energy. Don’t risk damage of materials.”