Nigel spread his hands. “I don’t know. Control, maybe. The most striking thing about man is how he learned to move small bands of roving hunters, to big game operations involving hundreds or thousands at a time. How did that cooperation come about? It seems to me that’s one of man’s most efficient features, and on the other side of the spectrum he’s plainly antagonistic toward his fellows. War is an expression of that tension.”
Valiera made a thin smile and said, “Why bother to control something little better than an animal?”
“I do not believe we can even guess,” Nikka said. “Their aims could even be economic, if we could be trained to make something they wanted. Or it could be that they wished to pass on intelligence itself to us. Those furry creatures—the ones we have pictures of—were probably half-intelligent already.”
“Yes,” Nigel said quickly, “even with the crude methods we have now, the physostigminian derivatives can train animals to do amazingly detailed jobs. They can make a man believe anything.” He looked wryly at Sanges. “Or almost anything.”
Sanges sniffed disdainfully. “This entire idea is incredible.”
The thumping sound woke both Mr. Ichino and Graves. It was a ponderous booming that cut through the thin murmur of wind.
“What’s … what’s ’at?” Graves muttered.
“An aircraft,” Mr. Ichino said, though he did not believe it. He stood at the window and peered through the starless night. He could make out the nearest tree. There was no light whatever from the direction of the slow drumming.
“Nothing, I expect,” he said. “Would anyone be using a helicopter to search for you?”
“Ah… yeah, maybe. A guide back in Dexter. He’d miss me by now.”
“He may see our light.”
“Yeah.”
“No matter. In a day or two I can hike out.”
“Good. No rush, I s’pose.”
Mr. Ichino turned on the cabin radio to distract Graves from the slow, rolling bass notes that seemed to become stronger the longer he listened. The radio gave a whistling static but no stations. Mr. Ichino fiddled with the dials. Something had failed in the radio but he did not want to take the time to repair it. He moved to the fire-place and threw on some cedar shingling. It caught merrily, popped and crackled and covered the distant thumping rhythm.
“There. It was getting cold.”
“Yeah. Hell of a storm,” Graves said.
Valiera made a small smile.
“Much as I appreciate your coming to me with this, Nikka and Nigel,” he said judiciously. “I think you should consider things from a broader point of view.”
“They could certainly try,” Sanges murmured dryly. “I happen to know,” Valiera went on, “that Mr. Sanges’s religion holds that the Bible—and all earlier texts—contain a metaphor for creation. They have no true dispute with the modern view of man’s evolution.”
“Certainly not,” Sanges put in. “As you would know if you’d taken the time—”
“They will even agree that life could originate elsewhere,” Valiera overrode him, “since the necessary conditions seem to exist throughout the universe. But they do hold that Earth was the host to our life—”
“Divine natural origin,” Sanges said. “A very important principle to us.”
“And there are other opinions about man’s origins, too,” Valiera went on. “I believe that we, as a scientific expedition, should not try to stir up these issues without definite proof.”
“But the only way to get proof,” Nikka said sharply, “is through further study—bring in as many specialists as we can.”
“Once released to even a small body,” Sanges said, “this sort of thing has a habit of filtering through to the press.”
“That’s the NSF’s problem, isn’t it?” Nigel said with a slow, deliberate coolness.
“It is a difficulty for all of us,” Valiera said.
“The fact remains that we are requesting that we transmit all of this to Earth,” Nigel said.
“Don’t keep it in storage,” Nikka said. “With the sloppy procedures here it’s too dangerous. We could lose—”
“You merely attempt to circulate your own, your own theories about this,” Sanges said savagely. “To destroy beliefs without—”
Valiera waved a hand and Sanges abruptly stopped, mouth hanging open for a moment before he snapped it shut.
“And I believe you do an injustice to Mr. Sanges’s beliefs,” Valiera said mildly. “The New Son theology is subtle and—”
“Oh yes,” Nigel said. “He’s quite the subtle type. Tell me, Mr. Sanges—when you go fishing, do you use hand grenades?”
“I don’t believe sarcasm—” Valiera began. “Whatever it takes to wake you two up,” Nigel said lightly, raising his eyebrows.
“Wake us to what?” Sanges said.
“To reality. We’re making a request.” Nigel looked at Valiera. “Act on it.”
“You wish to transmit freely to Earth?” Valiera said. Nikka: “Yes. Now.”
Nigel: “Under both our names.”
Sanges curled his lip. “Your names, too?”
