“Quite. But it hasn’t bothered us, not until we did something out of the ordinary. Apparently our signals, coming from orbit farther out, don’t bother the thing. It’s—”
“A watcher. Transmissions of that slow chant from the EMs … they’re okay. So are ours, since they’re coming from far away?” She frowned.
“Yes, Watcher—not a bad name. Point is, what happens if we start returning the EM’s hailing signal—that old radio show? How will the Watchers react?”
“So Ted’s strategy group thinks … we should hail the EMs from the surface. Where it won’t look … unusual.”
“That’s the theory.”
“What do you think?”
Nigel shrugged “Those things are bloody dangerous. Best to be careful.”
“If we only … knew more about them …”
“Ah, but we do. A bit, anyway. The surface team transmitted a spectral analysis of the rock. It was fused in some high-temperature process, about 1.17 million years ago.”
“Ummm. Fits with the estimate of the lifetime of their orbits.”
“Yes. But about two hundred thousand years older than the maximum limit on their orbit lifetime.”
Her eyelids flickered; she was becoming drowsy, the knottings of strain in her face relaxing. Nigel felt a surge of elation himself, a conviction that the crisis was past for her. “I … see. Interesting … but …”
“Exactly. Where were the Watchers for those extra two hundred thousand years?”
Nigel was helping cool down a greenhouse compartment when Carlotta found him. He watched the winter landscape form as the cool air forced a rapid cycle. The condensation of mere moisture, he reflected, was an infinite source of beauty. First frost made her sketches on the panes of the observing station. Curled leaves applauded the winter wind. Fall came, setting forth ice like the best bone china.
“I dropped the ball,” Carlotta said. He glanced up at her and she shrugged. “Your self-serve is revoked. I thought I had all the admin programs blocked, but—”
“Ah, well. Cheeky of me, anyway, wanting to slip out from under the microscope.”
She put her arm around him. “Think they’ll pull you out of servo work?”
“Depends on my next physical.” He rubbed his hands together, studying the knuckles. “The joints have been protesting lately.”
“Naw, they’ll keep on the Grand Old Man.”
“Grand Old Crank is more the tune. At staff meetings I keep nattering on about the Snark and Marginis and machine civilizations in the galaxy. All quite unverifiable, unsubstantial stuff. I …” He gathered himself, stopped rubbing his hands, and stood up straight.
“Nigel, you look tired.”
“Optical illusion. See here, let me throw some of that Grand Old Sod tonnage around and get you some extra people. I think I know the right lever to use.”
“Listen, I am sorry I messed up.”
“Carlotta, that wasn’t some sort of sly jab. I never thought I’d get away with it for long, anyway.”
“If I’d just thought of that one retrieval option, I …” She leaned against a bulkhead. “Madre de Dios.”
“You’re the one who needs the help. Extra work for the mission, Nikka’s scrape—I’ll get you a shift off.”
“No, really, I …” It was his turn to put an arm around her. “Nonsense. It’ll serve other uses, to boot. Just the sort of thing to get Ted’s attention. A touch of special influence peddling, quite the way a Grand Ole Schemer would.”
“Ummm,” she murmured wearily. “So?”
“It’ll make me seem a bit more active, stirring up ship politics and all.”
“Oh. Listen, I think the medmon won’t flag you until after this surface mission, anyway.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “Good. Any chance there’s a way round that, ah, ‘retrieval option’ in future?”
She frowned. “Well, if I … um, maybe.”
“Good. Might need it later. Can you make it look as though we never tried this dodge?”
“Well, if I move fast—Hey, you figuring you might need it again?”
He said lightly, “Could be.”
TEN
Nigel moves restlessly on the brow of the hill. He has been told to stay in place, hold his position. The first attempt at contact must be orchestrated with care and each person will cover a piece of this long, sloping valley, but still he has been the quiet, persistent pressure forcing Bob Millard and Ray Landon toward this attempt, and he feels he should make the try himself, he has a sense of these creatures. Now the moment approaches and he is in a fixed spot, ready to flank the converging swarm of EMs and reinforce Daffler’s moves, listening to the voices as they report in the EM movements, waiting with the rest. First chance I get, I’m off, he had told Nikka this morning, half in jest, but the years of working in teams have blunted somewhat his oblique skepticism, and so he clanks across the hillface, listening, servo’d into this carapace which casts a shadow like an insect on a nearby slate-gray valley wall. A passing mist has cleared the air of sulfur dust. Nigel can hear small animals reviving as the oxy-absorbing dust becomes mud. High clouds let pass a restless flickering of direct Ra light, giving the humped land a glow of sullen rot.
I’m leaving cover, comes from Daffler. There’s a group of them turning their eyes upward. I think they’re going to start sending.
Bob Millard’s drawl replies, Earth just rose above ’at big hill. You figure they’re charged up?
“I guarantee it,” Nigel called. “They’ve been hard by the volcano up there on the ridge.”
