“That’s bloody simple-minded. No species from another star is going to come all this way to drop a bomb on us.”
“You know that. I know that. But some of the generals are worried.”
“Whatever the hell for?”
“The danger of triggering the Nuclear Warning Net, though that is reduced now that more participants know of the, ah, Snark. There is also the possibility of biological contamination if this thing should enter the atmosphere…”
Lubkin’s voice trailed off and both men stared mood-ily for a long moment at a eucalyptus tree that dripped steadily from the light gray fog outside the window. The continuing alteration in the world weather cycle made these fall fogs more intense each year; the process was understood but beyond control.
Lubkin tapped his pen on his desk’s polished sheen and the ticking rhythm echoed hollowly in the still room. Nigel studied the man and tried to estimate how Lubkin was dealing with the politics of this situation. He probably saw it as a matter of containment, of separate spheres of activity. Lubkin would do what he could to keep Nigel toeing the line, keeping mum, and rummaging around the solar system after the Snark. Meanwhile, Lubkin could play the steely-eyed, competent, can-do type back at the UN. To harried diplomats someone like Lubkin, with hard, sure answers, must seem like a good bet, a bright candidate for better things.
Nigel twisted his lips and wondered if he was becoming cynical. It was hard to tell.
“I still believe we have an obligation to tell the human race about this. The Snark isn’t merely another strategic element,” Nigel said.
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Nigel.”
There was no reply. Outside drops pattered silently in a moist, gray world, beading the pane.
“You do acknowledge the need for secrecy in this, don’t you? I mean, despite your personal feelings, you will maintain security? I would—”
“Yes, yes, I’ll go along,” Nigel said testily.
“Good, very good. If you hadn’t, I’m afraid I would have had to remove you from the group. The President was very firm about it. We, nothing personal, of—”
“Right. Your only concern is the Snark.”
“Uh, yes. About that. There was a little concern about attaching such an odd, mythical name to it. Might excite interest, you know, if anybody overheard. The UN Chancellor’s office suggested we give it a number, J-27. With twenty-six discovered Jovian moons, this is the next, you see—”
“Um.” Nigel shrugged.
“—but of course, the main interest expressed by the Chancellor lay in finding out where we can expect it next.”
Nigel saw he could wait no longer. The card in his hand couldn’t be turned into a trump, so he might as well play it. “I think I may already know,” he said evenly.
“Oh?” Lubkin brightened and leaned forward gingerly.
“I guessed the Snark would follow a reasonably energy-saving orbit. No point in squandering essentials. Given that, and the crude Doppler shift measurement we got of its fusion flame, I figured it for a long, sloping orbit in toward Mars.”
“It’s near Mars?” Lubkin stood up excitedly, his distant manner forgotten.
“Not any more.”
“I don’t—”
“I’ve been putting in a lot of hours on the Mars Monitors. Used that blanket budget charge and had the camera and telescope rigs doing a piecemeal scan of the available sky around Mars. The program ran round the clock and I’d check the results each day. I got behind. Yesterday I found something.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“I am telling you.”
“I’ll have to call Washington and the UN at once. If the object is in orbit around Mars now—”
“It isn’t.” Nigel folded his arms, a faint sour taste in his mouth.
“I thought you—”
“The Snark was outward bound, away from Mars. I got two shots, spaced hours apart. The data was from seven days ago. I looked again today, when I finally read that week-old readout, but it’s gone, out of resolving range.”
Lubkin seemed dazed. “Already left,” he said slowly. “Even with only two points, the flight path is pretty clear. I think it must’ve done a gravitational rebound, looping in for a quick look and picking up momentum from the encounter.”
Nigel was standing now, and he walked leisurely over to Lubkin’s blackboard. He leaned against it, hands behind his back and resting on the chalk tray, elbows cocked out. He stood in the dim light, where Lubkin could not quite make out the expression of wry superiority on his face. He brushed away drifting swirls of yellow chalk dust and studied the other man. He was glad for once to have Lubkin on the defensive, in a way. Perhaps the Snark riddle could deflect the man from his fascination with generals and presidents.
Lubkin looked puzzled. “Where is it going next?” “I think…Venus,” Nigel said.
The ship knew, even before leaving the banded giant planet, that the next world inward was barren, a place where reddish dust stirred under the touch of cold, thin winds. Absence of a natural life system did not rule out inhabitants, however. The craft recalled several other such worlds, encountered in the distant past, which supported advanced cultures.
It elected to fly past the planet without orbiting. This would subtract more angular momentum during the gravitational “collision,” readying the ship for the venture further inward.
This loomed all-important now, for the blue and white world demanded most of the craft’s attention. Many overlapping radio signals chorused out from it, a babble of voices.
A debate ensued within the ship.
Matters of judgment were decided by vote between three equally able computers, until intelligent signals could be deciphered. Only a short while remained until a preliminary breakdown of the incoming transmissions was complete. Then, still higher elements of the craft would be warmed into life.
One of the computers held out for an immediate change of orbit, to skip the dry pink world and drive on, burning more fuel, toward the blue world.
Another felt that the bewildering torrent of radio voices, weak but all different, bespoke chaos on the third planet. Best to allow ample time for deciphering these confusing signals. The minimal energy course involved yet another flyby, looping by the second planet, the world which was shrouded in thick, creamy clouds. This path would trade time for fuel, a clever bargain.
