The machines studied the radio pulse for a fraction of a second. There was much here to understand. Elaborate chains of deduction and inference led to a single conclusion: the third planet was the key. Caution was no longer justified.
The computers would have to revive the slumbering intelligence which could deal with these problems. They would become submerged in that vast mind. There was a bittersweet quality to the success of their mission; their identity would cease. The overmind would seek whatever channel it needed to understand this new species, and these more simple computers would be swept up in its currents.
The revival began.
The craft readied itself to answer.
The ferrite cube emptied itself. Nigel heard a blur of stuttered tenor squeals.
“Hey! What’re you—”
Lubkin had noticed the switch in cubes. Some indexing error? Lubkin reached over Nigel’s shoulder toward the board controls.
Nigel lunged upward. He caught Lubkin’s arm and twisted it away from the board.
Someone shouted. Nigel swung out of his chair and pulled on Lubkin’s arm, slamming him into another man. Lubkin’s coat sleeve ripped open.
His telltale beeped. The Snark was answering. Nigel froze. The pattern was clear, even though speeded up: the Snark was sending back Nigel’s original message.
Nigel wobbled. In the enameled light the faces of Evers and Lubkin swam toward him. He concentrated on the burbling in his head. There; the Snark had finished retransmitting Nigel’s signal. Nigel felt a surge of joy. He had broken through. They could reply with—
Someone seized his arm, butted into his ribs. He opened his mouth to say something, to calm them. Voices were babbling.
His telltale squealed. Shrieked.
Sound exploded in his mind. The world writhed and spun.
He felt something dark and massive move through him. There was a bulging surge, filling— The torrent swallowed his identity.
Nigel gasped. Clawed the air. Fell, unconscious.
FOURTEEN
Lubkin was talking to him. Meanwhile fireflies of blue-white banked and swooped and stung his eyes. They were distracting. Nigel watched the cloud of singing fireflies flitting between him and the matted ceiling. Lubkin’s voice droned. He breathed deeply and the fireflies evaporated, then returned. Lubkin’s words became more sharp. A weight settled in his gut.
They understood Nigel’s state of mind, Lubkin said. About his wife and all. That explained a lot. Evers wasn’t even very angry about Nigel’s maneuver with J-27. It was a better idea, the committee admitted, once they’d had a chance to study it. What the hell, they could understand…
Nigel grinned dizzily, ironically.
The fireflies sang. Danced.
Evers was pretty pissed at Nigel’s suckering them, Lubkin said, forehead wrinkling. But now J-27 had responded. That made things better. Evers was willing to ignore Nigel’s deception. Considering, that is, Alexandria.
“What?” Nigel sat upright in the hospital bed.
“Well, I—”
“What did you say about Alexandria?”
Nigel saw that he was stripped to the waist. Lubkin licked his lips in an uncertain, edgy way. His eyes slid away from Nigel’s.
“Dr. Hufman wants to see you as soon as I’m through. We brought you here from JPL, after we got that call, asking where you were. I mean, we understood then.”
“Understood what?”
Lubkin shrugged uneasily, eyes averted. “Well, I didn’t want to be the one …”
“What in hell are you saying?”
“I didn’t know she was that close, Nigel. None of us did.”
“Cl… close?”
“That’s what the call was about. She died.”
A nurse found him a stiff blue robe. Dr. Hufman met him in the corridor where he was saying goodbye to Lubkin and shook hands solemnly, silent. Nigel looked at Hufman but he could not read any expression.
Hufman beckoned to him. They moved down the hallway. Somewhere a summoning bell chimed. The sleek walls reflected back to Nigel the face of a haggard man, a day’s growth of beard sprouting, upper face fixed in a rigid scowl. The two men walked.
“She… she died right after I left?” Nigel asked in a croaking whisper.
“Yes.”
“I—I’m sorry I left. You tried to call me…”
“Yes.”
Nigel looked at the other man. Hufman’s face was compressed, eyes unnaturally large, his features pinched as if under pressure.