She walked up behind him, studied his profile. “I think I’ve seen you via opto report. You’re Kemal Tarragon, aren’t you? With WOSA security?”
He turned to face her. “Yes, that’s me, Dr. Ponnani.”
“Just arrived?”
“On the last shuttle, yes.”
“I understand that you had more contact with this Eric Abbott than anyone else during the last several weeks.”
Tarragon nodded, smiled sardonically. “We weren’t close.”
“That’s hardly surprising. What did you think of him?”
“I thought he was a bad man, Dr. Ponnani. I thought he was a dangerous man.”
“He was, but not in the way you think. He was dangerous because he had too much knowledge. I think that may be one reason he’s chosen this extraordinary avenue of escape, so that he won’t be a danger to himself or anyone else.”
Tarragon glanced again at the dusky emptiness that was the GATE. “You can’t trace them?”
“It appears not. These people”—she gestured at the remaining decolonials—“know nothing. I doubt anyone on Eden knows more. The only possible way to trace him would be to strike a bargain with the Syrax. The politicians will not let that happen for some time, I suspect. Perhaps after I am dead. A pity.”
“You know,” Tarragon murmured thoughtfully, “I never really got to talk to him. I was so busy trying to find out what he was up to and then track him down that I didn’t talk to him. I regret that now. He was an interesting man, if man is a proper description.” He blinked, looked back at her.
“Where did they go, anyway?”
“To a world named Paradise, according to a representative of Abbott’s who remained here. Whether the name is descriptive or merely hopeful we’ve no way of knowing.”
“I see. Well, my department should be pleased. The secret of the GATE is still safe from the Syrax, and that was their primary concern. There will be a problem with these returned colonials … I’ve heard their complaints and I can’t say that I blame them … but that’s a problem for WOSA’s hired apologists, not me. I think I'll keep my job, and that was my primary concern. May I ask you something, Dr. Ponnani?”
“What's that, Mr. Tarragon?”
“Call me Kemal. I’ve had a lonely time this past month and I'm sick of dealing with nothing but business. This is my first visit to GATE Station. Would you do me the honor of dining with me tonight?” His meeting with the Colligatarch itself had killed much of the awe he'd felt for those who worked with the machine.
“I am also tired. Han … yes, I accept your invitation.”
He looked very pleased as he moved to talk with Rasmusson.
An interesting man, she thought, but anyone who’d had so much contact with Eric Abbott was bound to be interesting. Dinner conversation should prove equally interesting.
She returned her attention to the silent black nothingness that was the GATE. Dust motes danced in and out of the enigma.
Where have you gone, Eric Abbott? What hopes and fears and private terrors did you take with you? Those of mankind, of your creators, of your unique inner self we are never to know? It seems I am never to meet you in person. What were you? Man, android, artison, sculpture of the Syrax; where in that pantheon of intelligence and flesh lay the line that divided? And what was the difference?
She would have to settle for what information the returned colonists could provide, try to piece together the illusion of a man from the memories of casual acquaintances. Lure Tambor series four could tell her more, but she was likewise gone with the galactic wind. Ponnani’s lips crinkled into the semblance of a smile.
Tambor series four, thought Dr. Emeritus Dhurapati Ponnani, why do I stand here envying you?
The reports were filed—by Tarragon, by Ponnani and Rasmusson, by the scientists and engineers and technicians and those of the disgruntled colonists who could be persuaded or bribed to do so. Every word was dissected, studied, digitalized, and entered into the Colligatarch. In less terse terminology, the information thus gleaned was also passed on to Martin Oristano.
“So what do we do about it?” the Chief of Programming and Operations asked the machine many months later. “We can’t trace Eric Abbott and his friends to their new home unless we cooperate with the Syrax.”
“The time for that is not now,” the machine intoned.
“I agree. We stand to lose too much. More immediately, what are we going to do now that the decolonials have made the secret of two-way GATE travel public?”
“It would have come out sooner or later. We will offer rationalizations for our secrecy that the general public will accept. There may even be a brief upsurge in the desire to emigrate. I believe enough will want to go to cancel out those who desire to return, now that Eden and Garden are well established. The storm will pass.”
Oristano nodded, rose to depart. He hesitated halfway out of his chair. “May I formally declare the emergency ended, then?”
“Do I detect a touch of sarcasm in your tone, Martin? That is not like you. But I sympathize with your frustration. These past weeks have been difficult.”
“Difficult!” Oristano could only shake his head wonderingly. As always, the machine was a master of understatement.
“Yes, the threat has vanished. And if we are to speak of difficulty and frustration, consider the frustration of our friends the Syrax. Now that we are aware of the nature of their biological constructs, we can take steps to guard the GATE against a reoccurrence, regardless of their insistence that they have built their first and last ‘Eric Abbott.’ ”
“I’ll leave the details to you,” said Oristano. “All I want is to get back to the business of running this planet.”
“Yes, Martin. It will be good to get back to business as usual.”
“Speaking of which, you'll have to excuse me. I have—”
“I know. A conference on Level Six. It’s those South Americans wanting to move the Humboldt Current again, isn’t it?”
Oristano nodded tiredly. “I can handle it. But it’s hard for me to keep a straight face when we’re discussing the future of several million tons of anchovies. I hate anchovies.”
“I know that you will placate all parties concerned, Martin.”
Oristano smiled and exited the office. Behind the walls of reinforced concrete and hewn granite and steel beams the Colligatarch pondered the recent series of events all along the miles of chips and circuits that were itself.
