Sammi had been thinking about Bob a lot lately. Though Bob would have preferred that those thoughts concern him in a more personal (and sexual) way, it was actually something that he had asked her that had kept her subconscious going for a week now.
How many Phinons would her genanites kill?
She recalled the melodramatic way she'd told him that her bugs would kill all of them, but that was a reply more out of a thirst for vengeance than out of scientific reason.
In the era of genano technology, it was mandatory to insert within either the virus or the bacterium host a death gene that would cause the bugs to cease their activity after a specified number of replications. In some specialized cases where this was not feasible, the nanotools themselves might be designed so that they could shut the genano virus down when necessary.
This was to have been the case with her bugs during their original mission. They were to be released into the Martian soil, there to go merrily about releasing oxygen from the rust of the sea of sands that constituted so much of the planet's surface. After one hundred days of activity, the bugs would start manufacturing nanotools that wouldn't quite fit the bill for their task, and this would also lead to a failure to make food for the bacteria upon which the virus depended, and the process would grind to a halt. After the terraforming teams had evaluated the work done by the genanites, a new batch could be released to continue the work.
In the case of the anti-Phinon bug, however, since there was no way to know the size of the threat, and since there might not be any way to reinfect the Phinons (assuming they could infect them the first time!) it seemed clear to Sammi that she couldn't program in a death sequence.
She'd been sitting at her workstation for three hours straight, so she rose and went to get herself a cup of tea. Her hair was up in a severe bun, a style which she had never worn before Steve's death. She caught a glimpse of herself in the polished chrome canister that held eight gallons of hot tea for the entire laboratory section, and thought: I even look like a bitch. She reached up and pulled out the pins and let her long hair tumble freely down, then she tried to generate one of her famous smiles. She managed a weak grin. But it's a start. The start of what, though?
"Dr. Samantha?" It was Andy, the "other" genano engineer, though he was more of a regular biologist who'd taken a few graduate level classes in Samantha's specialty; a genano tech at best.
"Yes, Andy?"
"I'm having some trouble with those cultures you wanted me to make. Can you come look at them sometime this afternoon?"
Andy was clean-cut, shy, and he lacked confidence. It was easy for Samantha to walk over him. Sometimes she did. Though he was apparently an excellent biologistthe Patrol didn't put dummies at the High Commandhe was far from being her scientific peer. Yet someone had to work with her to know exactly what she was doing in the sad event that . . . ugh.
Recalling that she was trying not to be a bitch, she said, "Okay. I'll fit you in."
She looked at the clock on her way back to her station, and realized that the Hyperlight was due to hit hyperspace in less than an hour. She had no way of knowing that the crew had departed ahead of schedule. And now she thought about Bob in a way that would have pleased him more.
Why did I have to be so cold to him before he left? Poor man. He knew he'd never get the sort of traditional send-off would-be heroes think they deserve. A hug would have been fine. And he deserved that. He's been a good friend ever since I got involved in this damn mess. And what did I do? He comes to say good-bye and I panic. I punched him on the shoulder, for God's sake! I never do that.
Now it was too late. He was out there with the others, and if all went well, he'd be returning with a Phinon or two, subjects that she needed, that they all needed, to find out if her genanites would work after all.
How will history view me? Samantha MacTavishthe fate of humanity rested upon her shoulders. But if it rests on any shoulders, it rests on a lot of them. Without Chris we'd have no hyperdrive, without me no Phinon killer bugs, but without Bob and the others we won't have those anyway. Nothe fate of humanity rests with all of us.
Now, about killing Phinons.
She returned to her workstation and continued her research. Assuming she developed a working genanobug, how were they supposed to expose the Phinons? Chris had suggested that somehow they had to take on a fighting pair, either of ships or individuals, infecting one then killing the other so that the infected member would flee back to Phinon territory and hopefully infect the main group.
But unless they knew how the Phinons were distributed out there, this wasn't an easy thing to ensure. For instance, how long would the genanites have to lay dormant before activating? If they turned on too soon, the carrier might die before it even reached other aliens. And how dense was their population out there? This question too played into the equation of how to design the bugs.
Sammi continued to plow through file after file of unfamiliar material, all of it dealing with the distribution of matter in the Kuiper Belt and the Oort cloud. She hoped that by finding an average separation, and by knowing the hypervelocity of 24c, she could somehow get a handle on how rapidly she could expect her bugs to spread given a single carrier.
Despite astronomy not being her field, she found much of it interesting, and some of it fascinating. She also discovered almost immediately upon accessing the files that many of the papers she needed had been authored or coauthored by Richard Michaels. The study of near extrasolar matter had been his particular niche.
It wasn't enough for her to just consult one textbook on the subject, for she knew too clearly from her own field that what was accepted as gospel in one text was sometimes considered outdated dogma in another, and she needed to know what everyone had to say. At least there seemed to be a consensus that the Oort cloud was not so much a cloud as a series of broad belts or bands. Good information to haveit meant right off that the average separation distance she had to consider would be much less.
But there was no consensus on the extent of the cometary halo, and thus, on the scale of the Phinon dispersion through space. It was clear that the Phinons had evolved on a planet somewheretheir physical structure was designed with a gravity well in mind. But what were they now? Were they strictly inhabitants of cometary haloes? And did it matter? Given the amount of transient material traversing interstellar space, cometary haloes as good as overlapped each other. With this the case, then the Phinons might occupy the space between the stars, and how many stars was anybody's guess. There wasn't any sound reason to suggest that they couldn't occupy the space between all of the stars in the galaxy. That would only depend upon how long they'd been around.
So just what was her virus going to do? Kill the Phinons around the Sun? Or kill Phinons spread across the entire galaxy, for century after century until all of them were dead?
She hadn't thought of it that way before.
Maybe it's time I did.
Massive, powerful, sublimethat was the effect that the architect of the Capitol Products corporate headquarters building had been commissioned to achieve. Patterned after the greatest of the old cathedrals and the shaft leading to the King's Chamber in the Great Pyramid, the architect had won a bonus with his design.
Even I feel intimidated, Knoedler thought as he entered the front doors. He had been forced to rent a ground car and drive himself from the spaceport since his aide had (apparently) messed up his transportation (again) and there had been no car and driver to meet him. This put him in a bad mood, and in some ways that was good, given the nature of his mission here.
Of course, the aide would have to go. How many was that in the last six months?
He did his best to ignore the psychological effects of the front entry and atrium, and reported to the main desk. Unlike Rick Vander Kam only the week before, the head of System Patrol Intelligence did not have a free pass even to the public restrooms. But Knoedler was sure that everyone working in the room knew who he was. He looked around and noted that ten security people were pacing the floor, when the standard complement was five. He also knew what sort of enhancements the security detail had been given to their bodiesmost of them had been commandos in the Patrol Special Forces.
The receptionist took his name and waved to a security officer. Knoedler was led to a special elevator (and under a special arch for a weapons check), and then whisked up to the summit of the building and into the President's office, and seated a full five meters away from the massive oak desk of Wayne Vander Kam.
Vander Kam's chair was empty. Knoedler had to wait eighteen minutes and twenty-two secondshe timed itbefore Vander Kam emerged from a side entrance and sat down.
"Been a while, Colonel," Vander Kam said. "How's the new transport working out for you?"
The second ship equipped with the new drive was assigned to the head of System Patrol Intelligence. "It's everything the good Dr. Dykstra promised such ships would be," he answered. "Now, is your office safe from listening devices?" He knew it would irritate Vander Kam even to ask. This office was safer than most other such offices in the entire Solar Union. Capitol Products had greater financial assets than the entire planet of Mars.
"Of course, dammit! You know that."
"Good. The Patrol wants a favor. I want a favor."
"Voluntary or forced favor?"
"We can argue over definitions later."
"I see," Vander Kam said. "Colonel, I know how this works. Just what percentage of the Joint Staff even knows you're here?"
"I'll be honest. A small one. And it's my ass that gets hung out to dry if I screw this up. If I get caught, then I'm a renegade, a traitor," Knoedler said. Then: "Sort of like your son."
"What?"
"Thought that would get your attention. I know what Dykstra had planned. I know the Hyperlight isn't coming back on schedule. I know your son was in on it from the start." Knoedler decided to push the envelope. He held out his hand palm up. "I have his balls right here," he said, making a fist.
Vander Kam sat very still. Knoedler could see the rage growing behind his eyes. Powerful men usually kept themselves under very tight control. But they were always dangerous. Finally Vander Kam spoke. "And I have eighty floors between you and the pavement."
"Nice retort," Knoedler said. "I also have this," he said and removed an exceedingly flat but decidedly wicked looking energy pistol from within his shirt and leveled it at Vander Kam.
"How did you get that through security?" Vander Kam demanded. "Shoot me and you're dead before you reach the office door."
At least he looks scared, Knoedler thought.
The colonel said, "No doubt by the same security folk who missed this," while sliding the weapon back under his shirt. "Mr. Vander Kam, I am not looking for Pyrrhic victories. I need you to listen and I need you to know how serious this is."
"I'm listening."
"Good. How many ships will Capitol Products be able to convert over to the new drive in, say, the next month?"
"We're already getting the retrofit kits together for every version of military craft we manufacture. In a couple of weeks we'll be able to ship hundreds, maybe a thousand units a day," Vander Kam said. The man knew his company.
"That's what we projected in Intelligence also," Knoedler said. "But that isn't what's going to happen."
"Why the hell not?" Vander Kam exploded.
Knoedler told him. In detail. It took forty-five minutes.
"Bottom line, Mr. President, is this," Knoedler said near the end of the conversation. "I'm not asking you to do any more than your son is doingrisk being held up as a traitor if things don't work out."
Vander Kam leaned back in his chair. "I'll help you, Colonel," he said. "You and those shadows above you. I'll obfuscate the issue of why ships aren't being converted over much more quickly. But not because of your threats, dammit, to my son or to me. I'm doing it because I think you're right. Now get the hell out of here. I don't like you and I don't like your methods. I never have."
Knoedler rose. "Shake on it?" he asked, but he didn't bother extending his hand.
"My word is good without it."
"At least let me give you this then," Knoedler said, reaching under his shirt and removing the weapon, in one motion tossing it onto the desk. It clattered and came to rest. Vander Kam picked it up gingerly.
"It's a fake," Knoedler said. "It's made out of a solid piece of the same stuff they make gel caps from. Your security sniffer thought I was carrying cold pills. I'm a sneaky son-of-a-bitch, Mr. Vander Kam. Never forget that."
"We're in hyperspace, men. Did anybody feel anything?" Bob asked. He was looking out into a sky gray with smears of darker or lighter color, and whorls and pulses. This was the tachyon sky Chris had told him he was likely to see, but he hadn't been prepared for the monochrome beauty of chaotic magnificence that the hyperspatial panorama turned out to be. Pops also seemed transfixed by the view.
Unfortunately, there was no way to navigate through it. For that, they'd have to drop out and look around.
"I didn't feel anything strange," Rick replied. "But I didn't know the engines would hum in that frequency range. Or maybe `drum' is a better word."
"Sounded like soft kettledrums to me," Pops said.
"Okay, we've got just a bit over a day until we reach the site of OEV 1, but we're going to have to drop out to take our bearings a couple times, and it probably wouldn't hurt to shed some velocity, too," Bob informed them. "We were going at a pretty good clip when we transitioned."
They settled in for the flight and after a while Rick exchanged seats in the cockpit with Pops so he could enjoy a good view of hyperspace for a time. Later, they gathered around the table to eat, and the first meal humans had in hyperspace consisted of hot dogs and french fries.
"Y'know, filet mignon wouldn't have been out of place for our first meal," Rick said with another handful of fries on the way to his mouth.
"I'll buy you the best steak in the Solar System once we get back," Pops said. "Now, will someone tell me why it is we're going to OEV 1? And while we're at it, will you tell me what OEV 1 is?"
"OEV 1 stands for Oort Exploration Vessel 1. It was a probe designed to head deep into the Oort cloud and figure out what the structure of the cometary halo actually is, in addition to picking up samples of pristine comet matter which conceivably hasn't been warmer than a few Kelvins since the day it was made. That's the ship Richard Michaels was on when the Phinons found him," Bob said, sounding like he was quoting from somewhere.
"Why was he on that probe?" Pops asked. "I mean, he was going to be gone for years. Why did they want a person out there anyway? Didn't the probe have the best expert systems available?"
"Computers don't go `aha,' " Rick answered. "It's been understood for a long time that, as expert or intelligent as you want to make a computer, they still don't match up to us in imagination. Some people doubt they ever will. So just in case something turned up out there that required an intellect capable of going `aha,' they sent him."
"You two sound like you know all about this," Pops said.
"We've both met Michaels," Bob told him. "He's not hesitant to tell you all about what happened. Getting him to shut up about it is something of a problem.
"Anyway, the reason we're going to OEV 1 is because Intelligence has had more time to think about the Phinons since Michaels was recovered, and also to reduce some of the data that OEV 1 gathered. That comet where he found the Phinon `refinery,' and where they attacked him, is right on the edge of a ring, or band, of comets. The Oort cloud isn't so much a cloud as it is a series of belts, and the distribution of matter isn't remotely homogenous. The hope is that from there we can begin to get a good idea of just how many Phinons are out here that we may have to deal with."
"I never heard the whole story of his encounter with them," Pops said. "Other than a few bits and pieces to give a general idea of what happened. Since you've both heard the account right from the horse's mouth, why don't you get me up to speed?"
Rick began. "The ship spotted something on one of the comets that shouldn't have been there, something that looked like a refinery. Obviously it couldn't have been anything people had put there. While he was wondering what it might be, a Phinon ship popped out of hyperspace and blasted the drive section of the ship. Then they landed on the ship and blasted their way in."
"That part I know about," Pops said. "And the airlock didn't even lock. They could have just cycled it."
"Almost. It was open on the outside. Once they entered, it closed and pressurized. Then they cut through the inner door, and once inside, could have just opened each of the doors down the corridor they were investigating. But they didn't even try. Michaels says he got the distinct impression that it never occurred to them to see if a door would just open first."
"When did he kill one with a spear?" Pops prompted.
Bob picked up the story. "Not a speara piece of wire conduit heated in the mess oven. He hid in the kitchen and when one entered he rammed it right through the breathing hole in the chest. After that it struggled and almost got him even though it was skewered, but he got its weapon and cooked its head right in its helmet. That killed it even though Phinons don't keep their brains up there."
"And then he threw up," Rick put in. "He always brings that up. Michaels is pretty much a pacifist. He wants everyone to know he didn't have a choice."
"He left the corpse in the hall to be found by the other," Bob continued, "and was hoping it would pause or something and then he could kill it. But the second one ran away the instant it saw the first one dead. He chased it but it got away to its ship and took off, never to be seen again.
"After that he lasered a message to the Patrol and within a few months the ultraspeed delivery ship the Patrol shot out of the cannon used the mass of the comet to slow down, then they gathered up Michaels and some artifacts and used the comet to fling them back into the Solar System."
"I still don't know what kind of ship that was," Rick said. "I never heard of this cannon thing before Michaels brought it up."
"The cannon is on Mercury," Bob said, "and the Patrol uses it to throw supplies and personnel out to the deep stations beyond Pluto's orbit. It costs a hell of a lot of money to use."
"It's scary, too," Pops put in. "I've ridden it a few times. Someone screws up on the field gradient by even a fraction of a percent, and you're either suddenly sausage or a pancake."
"You two have no idea about what kind of uproar his message created in the High Command when we intercepted it," Bob told them. "There Intelligence was, right in the middle of getting a war off the ground, and here comes this report of hostile aliens in the Oort cloud with advanced technology and maybe FTL technology. They wanted that alien `stuff' in the worst way, and they threw together that cannon shot in one hell of a hurry. And once that stuff came back, the Phi Nonsense group got a burst of funds and went from four guys to four hundred overnight"
" `Phi Nonsense'?" Pops asked.
"That was the name of the subgroup dedicated to studying alien contact scenarios. No one ever thought the group would actually be needed. That's where the name for the Phinon Project came from."
The meal was almost over when Rick asked, "Are you hoping the Phinons show up at the comet while we're there, Bob? And you too, Pops? You're anxious to try fighting them ship-to-ship, aren't you?"
"I'm a wee bit anxious," Bob replied with a grin.
"You bet I'm hoping for it!" Pops answered, almost leering with delight. "I have a score to settle with those bastards. And besides, the Patrol needs to know how the Hyperlight would fare in an engagement. It's not every day you get to indulge in revenge for the good of the nation."
"How about you, Rick? You want to see what Arie's `improved' weaponry can do, don't you? Aren't the laser cannons powered from their own mass converter now?"
It was Rick's turn for a guilty grin. "Guilty as charged. I'm a man. My brain's hard-wired for it."
The next day Bob directed everyone's attention to the screens. They'd dropped out of hyperdrive and were in the vicinity of the comet. "See that? If I'm not mistaken, that's OEV 1. We'll be in visual range in about fifteen minutes."
"Where's the comet?" Pops asked.
"The ship that picked up Michaels would have given the cometary mass a hell of a kick," Bob said. "It's probably" He paused to check his scanner display. "The nearest large body is 42,000 kilometers away. That should be it."
This was their first time since leaving the Solar System that they'd had to try to match velocities with anything, and despite the ultra-high capabilities of the ship, this took time. But shortly Bob had the Hyperlight doing a slow pass alongside the huge bulk of OEV 1.
"I'm surprised she's not tumbling," Rick said.
"She has a power core separate from the main drive," Bob told them. "The Phinons didn't hit that. The attitude thrusters will probably maintain her orientation for decades." He was watching the screens intently. "In a couple seconds we'll be able to see where they blasted the ship."
OEV 1 had been fueled by antimatter and could have made it to the stars and back if anyone had wanted to spend decades aboard her. The drive tubes were 300 meters long, and the whole drive section was separated from the data gathering and life section by a boom another 200 meters in length. "Right there," Bob said, pointing. "See that slice right through the reaction chamber? Michaels says they did that from one hundred thousand kilometers away. The emergency systems dumped all the antimatter to space after the breach and the ship was dead in the water."
"That's damn good shooting," Rick said.
"Now we're going to do a pass on the life section," Bob said. "I saw Michaels just before we left, Rick. He told me about something I'd like to show you guys if I can find it."
Moments later, Bob pointed again. "Okay, freeze the screen. Right in the middle. I'm going to magnify it ten times."
"What is that?" Pops asked when the magnified image appeared.
"That's a Phinon's leg," Bob replied. "When Michaels was chasing the second one, once it got back to the airlock it had to blast through the outer door since it wasn't going to open with the inner one destroyed already. The decompression carried the Phinon out and it impaled its leg on that jagged piece of hull metal."
"Wait a minute. How did Michaels survive the decompression?" Pops asked.
"He said that the minute he saw them using beam weapons inside a spaceship he went and put his spacesuit on."
"A prudent move," Pops observed.
"He said he was just in time to watch the Phinon cut its leg off with its weapon and race off faster than hell back to its ship," Bob finished.
"Hold on, again. The Phinon still had its weapon while Michaels was chasing it, and it didn't shoot at him, and after it was impaled, it cut its leg off but still didn't shoot Michaels while he was watching it?" Pops asked.
"It's fight or flight," Bob said. "Not and/or. But that's enough sightseeing, here. The Patrol took everything of value from the ship when they picked up Michaels. Now let's see what's on that comet. They only popped down to look at the refinery and collect a few artifacts. There might be more to learn down there."
"Let's hope so," Rick said. "So far, we haven't found out anything new about the Phinons."
"Sure we have," Pops said. "We found out that we can fly through hyperspace for a day without having a flock of Phinons come after us. We'll be at the comet in a few minutes. I'm going to get my power suit on. Which of you two are coming with me down to the surface?"
"Bob, we're not landing on the comet, are we?" Rick asked. "If the Phinons show up we shouldn't"
"Relax, Rick. We're not landing. Pops is going to jump down."
"I'll go down this time," Rick said. "But I don't have a power suit."
"You'll be safe as a baby in my arms," Pops told him.
"How long before Bob sets off the neutrino bomb?" Pops asked.
Rick checked the time in his heads up display. "Another five minutes," he said.
Rick had found the drop down to the surface of the comet as uneventful as Pops had promised, and was impressed by the old man's skill at maneuvering his power suit. Pops had canceled their slight velocity within twenty meters of the surface, then brought them down as smooth as could be hoped. Now, gripfields in their boots held them reasonably tightly to the ground in the trivial gravity.
They'd already looked over the "refinery" that Michaels had discovered. But after a brief inspection, they concluded there wasn't anything new that they could learn from it. Now they were waiting for Bob to detonate a neutrino bomb nearby. He'd placed the bomb out in space on one side of the comet, and was now positioning the Hyperlight on the other side, a hundred klicks away, to see what the blast would illuminate inside the comet.
Rick looked into the sky, noticing the bright star that was the Sun. He held up his thumb and covered it, and realized he'd also covered up the entire domain of human civilization. Then he turned to look at the rest of the stars in the sky, spread his arms wide and couldn't encompass it, and thought about destiny.
It suddenly came home to him just how much was at stake.
"What the hell are you doing?" Pops asked. He'd obviously been watching Rick's gestures.
"Just thinking about something," Rick said.
"Twenty seconds to detonation," Bob suddenly said over their comms. "Just to be safe I'd say you should look at the ground. You in particular, Rick. Pops' power suit can probably take the flash, but I don't know about yours."
"Okay," Pops acknowledged. They both looked at the ground, which suddenly brightened as if the comet had been moved to Earth orbit, then darkened again rapidly. Although the neutrino bomb expended 95 percent of its energy in neutrinos, that 5 percent given up as photons was not to be ignored.
Neutrino investigation of small masses was old technology, and within minutes the Hyperlight's computer flashed down a processed image of the interior of the comet which Rick and Pops watched on the inside of the faceplates of their suits. "The expert system is going over the data now," Bob told them. "I told it to look for unusual cavities." Then: "Damn. Wait until you see this," and he flashed down an updated image.
The shadow image that was the interior of the comet looked like it had layers of spider webs superimposed on it. "Ever see anything like that, boys?"
"No."
"Nope."
"I've never read one of these before," Pops said. "But I gather each strand represents a tunnel or cave?"
"Bingo," Bob said.
"Artificial?" Rick asked.
"Has to be," Bob replied. "Guess we know what that means."
"Yeah," Pops said. "Where's the nearest spot to us where the network breaks the surface, Bob?"
There was a pause during which Rick discovered his palms were sweating. "You ever go caving, Rick?" he heard Pops ask, but didn't reply. He was still staring at the image of the comet.
He felt a tug on his arm and dissolved the image to look out directly into the face of Pops staring into his helmet. "You okay, kid? If it helps, I'm scared, too."
"About eighty-five meters northeast of the refinery it looks like a tunnel comes out," Bob reported.
"Let's go," Rick said, but his voice nearly cracked on "go."
"That's the spirit," Pops said. "But I'll go first."
"Damn right you will! You're wearing the power suit."
They'd defined a coordinate system before landing on the comet so they knew just which way to head, and soon they were standing next to a dark shaft about twelve meters across and no way to tell how deep. Lying right next to the shaft was a circular piece of something, also twelve meters in diameter. It looked like it had the remains of a hinge on the side nearest the hole.
"I guess that was the door to the airlock," Rick said.
Pops shined his light down into the shaft. "I can't see any interior door. This tunnel is open to vacuum. Maybe they all are."
"Abandoned? I hope so. But why would the Phinons abandon this comet?" Rick wondered.
"Why do they attack us?" Pops replied. "It's anyone's guess right now. Are you ready?"
Rick looked into the shaft, wishing there was some way to pierce the gloom below the limit of Pops' light. "Yes."
Pops picked Rick up and jumped directly into the center of the hole. They hovered there a moment while Pops oriented the suit, then he cut the jets and they dropped slowly into the unknown.
The elevator doors opened and Sammi was caught by thethere wasn't any other word to use than "romance"of the image she saw. There was Chris Dykstra, supporting himself slightly with his cane, looking out at the vast array of stars, almost as if it were his domain.
Sammi had come to the observation bubble at Dykstra's request, though he hadn't said why he wanted to meet her here. She had seen him so little since the party, and had missed their talks, much more than she'd been admitting to herself, she now realized.
He still hadn't noticed her arrival. "Chris?"
He turned and smiled. "So good to see you again, Sunshine," he said.
"I tried to see you last week when you were supposed to come back, but I was told you were delayed a day," Sammi confessed as she joined him where he was standing.
"Yes. Dr. Hague refused to return to the Moon without taking along his squirrels, and no amount of discussion was going to change his mind. So we had to make plans to transport thirty-two squirrels up to Luna."
"How did you catch them?"
"Arie has been feeding them for months. He pretty much just told them to hop into his cage, and they did. What took time was setting up a place for them to stay when we got here. Arie has them in his lab, now, and he's constructed, er, is constructing continuously, quite a home for them. `Elaborate' hardly describes it.
"But tell me about you. How has your work been going?"
"Slow but steady," Sammi replied. "I'm pretty sure I can get the bugs to do everything we want, and I've been able to get them to manufacture their own tools now. But I've been wondering about the latency period. Do we want the Phinons to notice the infection quickly, or should it take weeks before the infection becomes apparent?" She did not mention her qualms about how many Phinons should ultimately die.
"Hmm. That's going to depend on how we intend to go about getting them infected, and how we want them to spread the disease to others," Dykstra said.
"That's what I think, too. I guess I should work on both a fast and slow version," Sammi said.
"I think that would be wisest."
"But I don't think you asked me here to talk about my work, did you?"
"No," Dykstra said, and then a troubled look came over his features, and he turned away from her to stare out into space, almost as if he was looking for something, perhaps the men in the Hyperlight. Finally, he turned back to her and said, "Tomorrow they'll be officially overdue.
"We purposely kept you in the dark as to most of the details, Sammi. There was no point in involving you more than necessary during the construction of the ship. One of the compromises I finally worked out with Knoedler was to let the men spend two days out of contact while putting the Hyperlight through her paces. They can't radio out of hyperspace, and we haven't developed the hyperspatial equivalent yet, though it's certainly possible to do. At any rate, tomorrow morning the Hyperlight will not return to Fort Conger Station, and Colonel Knoedler will have cause to start asking questions. He's been suspicious of me all along, but he'll need the delay of the ship to give him leverage to start making my life difficult. I want you to be ready in case he asks you any questions."
"What do you want me to tell him?"
"Mostly the truth. You knew I wanted a more involved first trip, and I asked you if having a live Phinon would help you in your work. But all that was months ago and you don't know any of the details. But if you're pinned down, I want you to lie about your understanding of the gravity of the matter. You're just a civilian who got caught up in this and to you the whole business just looked like policy squabbling among the higher-ups."
Sammi understood the logic of this, but she felt a little offended. "Chris, I know you want me to save my ass, but really, that's kind of"
"Stop!" he snapped. She hadn't seen those flames in his eyes directed her way before, and she was taken aback. "This has nothing to do with saving your ass. When this is all over you'll testify as to the truth with everyone else. But we need you to be able to keep working unimpeded. Now that the Hyperlight is finished, others can build more. Men with better tactical minds than mine, like Knoedler himself, can plot defense strategies. But you're the only genano engineer we have. It would take months for others to get up to your speed, and then I doubt that they'll ever be as effective as you. This is your war in more ways than just because you happened to be born when you were . . . ."
Well, there is Andy, she thought, but it didn't seem like the right time to bring him up. And for that matter, Dykstra's assessment was right.
His voice trailed off and he took steps from her and turned away again. Then he continued softly. "Knoedler might not even question you anyway. He's different, very clever. He had a ship out at Fort Conger Station waiting for the Hyperlight, ready to stop it. He might have succeeded, too, except that they left early so he wasn't in position. He hasn't come to see me about that, yet. But he's no fool. He's too sly to be second-guessed. And he commands a lot more power than his rank would lead you to believe."
"Is that why you're brooding up here?" Sammi asked. "Are you afraid of Colonel Knoedler? Is that why you snapped at me?" Lots of different feelings were coursing through her over that.
"I'm sorry about that, Sammi. Uncharacteristic, wasn't it? I haven't snapped at a friend like that since Jenny passed away."
"Your biographer friend Jenny?"
"Yes. I guess it makes sense. You remind me of her so much. I've told you that before. But actually, I'm not afraid of Knoedler. I'm probably more just worried about our friends. What did I send them into?"
"I've got a load of guilt about that, too. At least with Bob. I was really cold to him before he left, Chris. I acted like he was just going off on something trivial. I could have at least given him a hug. A stranger could have done that given the risk he's taking."
"Why didn't you?" Dykstra asked softly.
"I think because I felt like I'd be betraying Steve. Like if I let myself show any affection to someone else, then I'm somehow letting him go, like I'm getting over him. I don't ever want to get over him, Chris. Never." She did her best to keep from crying, and the fact that she was successful was itself disconcerting, more evidence that she was "getting on with her life."
"I know what that's like," Dykstra said. "There was a time when telling you that you remind me of Jenny would have felt like I was betraying her memory, too. But I'm not. You begin to get a better sense of perspective as time goes by, Sammi. When I compare you to her, I'm both complimenting you and celebrating her memory."
"I've always wondered. Did you love Jenny, Chris? Why didn't you ever marry her?"
"I certainly loved her, Sammi. But it was as a dear friend. She, on the other hand, very much wanted more at one time. But then my friend Jamie won her over and she married him instead. After he disappearedwe never did find out what happened to himshe decided that her place was beside me, as friends, and things stayed that way for the rest of her life. I sometimes wondered what would have happened, but then, I don't have any memories that I want to give up to find out."
"I'm still surprised you never married her."
"Do you recall that scene in my biography when she, Jamie, and I met the first Protestant saint, St. Paul McAndrew?"
"Of course. He shook your hand and said, `Through you, God will give Man the stars.' "
"That is correct, Sammi. But what Jenny did not record, couldn't bring herself to even though years had gone by since Jamie had disappeared by the time she wrote the book, was what the Saint had said to Jamie."
"Which was?"
"Right after he told me what God would do through me, he turned to Jamie and said, `Which is as nothing compared to your destiny.' " Dykstra turned back to the sky. "Till the day Jenny died, we wondered if he'd ever come back. Considering recent events, I can't help but wonder about the Saint's prophecy again."
Sammi moved up alongside the old scientist and put her arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulder, and they watched the stars together for a time.