“The National Science Foundation has decided not to release any of the pictures you are recovering from the alien console. It is thought that the impact at this time might be undesirable.”
“Damn! Undesirable how?” Nikka said sharply.
“We want a serious scientific study of everything that comes out of Site Seven. Releasing information now would just inundate the NSF and strain an already fragile budget,” Valiera said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“I quite agree,” Sanges said. “Many people will find such photographs as the large rodent quite unsettling. It is our duty to release information only when it is well understood. The First Bishop has stressed this point several times.”
“Ah, and I’m sure the First Bishop is an authority on cultural shock and exobiology.” Nigel raised an eyebrow at Sanges.
“The First Bishop was present when the New Revelation was manifested to the world,” Sanges said sternly. “He has a great and abiding knowledge of man’s ways and the best course for humanity. I should think even you could see that.”
“Nigel, I’m sure you know the New Sons are not hostile to the existence of extraterrestrial life,” Valiera said diplomatically. “The New Revelation grew out of the discovery of life on Jupiter, after all. The First Bishop merely makes the point that man is specifically wedded to this planet, so things extraterrestrial will probably seem quite foreign to man, even frightening.”
“Are you going along with the New Sons, then?” Nikka asked.
“No, of course not,” Valiera said quickly, “I merely think I should take a position in between these two diverging views.”
“Diverging they are, yes,” Nigel said. “I don’t think extraterrestrial life has to be so bloody frightening. And I don’t necessarily think our limited knowledge about how we evolved falls in with the First Bishop’s dogma.”
“What do you mean?” Sanges said severely.
“Never mind. I simply think we should keep our minds open. Release of all the data we recover from the computer is an essential. We need the best minds working on this problem, not just a committee of the NSF.”
“Nonetheless,” Valiera said mildly, “the judgment of the Congress and the NSF has been made and we must go along with it.”
Nigel leaned back and drummed his fingers on his knee.
Nikka exchanged glances with him and turned to Valiera. “Let’s drop that topic for now. Nigel and I agreed on the way over here that we need a separate link to Alphonsus to insure no loss of computer files occurs again.”
“That seems a reasonable proposal,” Valiera said. His face lost some of its lines of tension.
“It won’t take very much trouble or time to install a separate transmission link near the console itself,” Nikka said. She took a pad of paper and sketched a circuit configuration. “I want to locate a computer file inventory inside the ship itself, so there will be a separate inventory available to whoever is at the console at all times. That way even if something is erased in Communications by accident, there will be another copy that can be transmitted to Alphonsus for permanent storage.”
“That seems rather a lot of work and expense—” Sanges began.
“Expense be damned!” Nigel said suddenly. “We’re not running a shoestring operation here. That ship is at least half a million years old. It’s still armed and it can teach us more in a few years than mankind might learn in a century. I’m not going to let—”
“I think your proposal is well taken,” Valiera broke in. “I’ll tell Engineering to give you every assistance with it.”
“I want a separate link to Alphonsus,” Nikka said. “A complete separate subsystem.”
“I’ll see that you get it immediately. We have enough equipment to spare. And now”—Valiera glanced at his wristwatch—“I believe it is time for the New Sons’ hour of withdrawal and meditation, Mr. Sanges.”
“You’re setting time aside for that?” Nigel said in dis-belief. “Even here?”
“We must compromise on all things, Nigel,” Valiera said, smiling.
Nigel grimaced, got to his feet and left the room. The slamming door made a booming echo.
ELEVEN
He stood on a high ledge and watched the flames eat their way down the valley. The dry tan grass caught readily and burned with a crisp roar, a sound like many drummers beating. Through the pall of black smoke he could see the scattered small creatures who had set the fire going. They were gesturing to each other, following the flames at the edge of the valley floor, carrying small torches to insure there was no break in the fire wall.
Before the flames ran the elephants. Their long, loping shamble had a touch of panic to it now; they made low cries to each other as they rushed toward disaster.
From his ledge he could see the dark line of swamp-land that lay before the elephant herd. The image danced in the shimmering heat, but he could make out the grassy bogs now only a kilometer from the elephants. At each side of the swamp, near the valley wall, waited small bands of the fire-carrying creatures.
It was too far to make out any detail but they seemed to be dancing, their long poles twirling high in the air.
Far away, beyond the moist swampland, lay a dryer upper plateau. On it he could see a huge herd of foraging animals, probably antelope or wild cattle; a vast ocean of game. Yet the creatures with fire ignored the herd; they drove the elephants and waited to butcher when the animals were caught in the mire.
Why did they run the risk of trampling or the searing pain as an elephant tusk skewered them? To show courage? To have more tall tales around the late night hearth? To fuel the myths and legends that grew with each retelling beside the firelight?
How did they learn to cooperate so, moving in and out in an elaborate dance as they probed the prey for weakness? Who taught them to make tribes, kindle fire, form the delicate web of family? So nimble a craft, acquired so quickly. It was hard to believe these creatures were driven by the slow, ponderous hand of evolution, the workings of—
A shifting of shadows caught his eye. He turned. One of the creatures stepped from behind a spindly tree. It was scarcely a meter high, shaggy, with hands and feet that seemed swollen. The deep-set eyes darted left and right, checking the terrain, and the small erect creature shifted the pointed stick it carried in its hand.
The wind shifted slightly and brought the rank, sweaty smell of the creature to him. Neither of the two moved. After a moment the creature shuffled its feet, took the stick in one hand and raised the other, palm outward. It made a series of low, rumbling grunts. The palm it held up was wrinkled and matted with coarse hair around the sharp nails.
Nigel raised his palm in the same gesture. He opened his mouth to reply and the image drifted away in a curl of smoke. Light rippled and danced. A hollow drumming enfolded him, dense in the thick air.
Someone was knocking on his door.
He brushed some papers from his lap, swung his feet to the floor and took the two paces to the door. When he opened it Nikka was standing awkwardly in the passageway.
“My doctor has advised me never to drink alone,” she said. She held up a small chemical flask of transparent liquid. “The purest stuff, distilled at Alphonsus for the purposes of scientific research and the advancement of man’s knowledge.”
“A most interesting specimen,” Nigel said judiciously. “Come, bring it inside for further study.”
