The ground dropped away, and Zhtutin bent over the plate where the image of the landscape below unrolled. He spoke quietly, and the interpreter translated.
"Follow this river," said the interpreter. "Now go east."
Time passed as, on the plate, the ground flowed back.
Slagiron spoke to Arakal in a low voice. "What if we suddenly come in range of some Russ anti-rocket station left over from before the—ah—'accident'."
"If it doesn't bother our guest to be blown up," said Arakal, "why should it bother us?"
Slagiron grinned, and at that moment Zhtutin spoke excitedly.
The translator bent by the pilot, and they veered sharply toward the north.
A few moments later, Zhtutin spoke again.
"Stop," said the translator.
They hovered, and Arakal and Slagiron stepped over to the plate—then they both jerked back.
On the plate, superimposed on the image of the flat snow-covered plain, was a stylized skull.
Arakal looked out the curving window beyond the control panel, to see nothing but blowing snow.
The translator listened to the plenipotentiary, then said, "We must go down to see anything, but be careful. There were tall buildings here once."
The pilot looked again at the symbol on the plate, and turned in his seat.
Colputt was frowning. "Go down, but go slow. I think that is just for what this place used to be."
The pilot turned back to his controls.
Colputt tapped a switch on the control panel, and abruptly the opaque wall was transparent. They moved slowly through blowing snow, and, off to their right, there appeared a vague arch of white.
Zhtutin, frowning, stared at it, then nodded.
"That way. But carefully."
The arch of white slowly resolved into a huge, bent, snow-covered metal frame, supporting what appeared to be a number of gigantic slanting snow-heaped slats.
Zhtutin murmured, and the translator bent close.
"I had no idea the heat could have been that intense . . . Yes, but there it is. That is where the error began—that frame . . . It held up those panels, which were flat. The panels—No, that can come later. Now, you have seen it. We must go elsewhere. First, we must go higher. But carefully. If there is another of those frames, bent less completely—good."
As Zhtutin gave directions, Slagiron glanced at Colputt, then at Arakal. Arakal kept his mouth shut. Colputt's look of intense thought was, all by itself, an invitation to say nothing.
Zhtutin bent intently over the plate.
"We must be near . . . Slow, slow—There, the light!"
Outside, a dimness became a white glow, and then a glare.
Colputt tapped the control. The hull, save for the wide-curving window in front, was again opaque.
Zhtutin straightened.
"Go through once, quickly. I think the light is most intense near the edges."
Outside, the glowing snowflakes gave way to a drizzle that coalesced into drops on the curving window, to run back in glittering streams, and then the mist became a shining fog that suddenly vanished as they emerged into a dazzling brilliance that slitted their eyes even as the glass of the window darkened.
Below them, stretching out into the distance, was a bright green field of tall grass moving in long ripples toward the center, while at the edge it quivered and trembled in the focus of a light that seemed to brighten and darken, to strengthen, to fold on itself, as first one then another part of the field felt the compounded blaze hammering down from the sky.
Along the edge, there loomed through the smoke and mist heavy snowbanks that sent sudden sheets and streams of water draining down, trailing clouds of vapor that vanished in the blaze of light.
As the window darkened further, they could see the flames that ran along the stalks, as the focused brilliance of the shafts of light ate their way forward from the far edge of the field.
Colputt spoke sharply to the pilot, and suddenly the drizzle was running again along the curving window, and they were out of the glare.
Zhtutin spoke heavily.
"There is the curse."
Arakal didn't speak.
Colputt said carefully, "The light?"
"The weed."
Colputt frowned, but said nothing.
Zhtutin waited a moment. When he spoke, his voice was controlled and quiet. He spoke briefly, waiting while the interpreter translated one sentence after another.
"The first place we saw, just now, was the Experimental Station. If the fool who ran it had possessed a sense of duty, we would not now be in this situation. I have the story direct from the original records. At that Station, an attempt was being made to develop hardier types of hay and feed grains, for use where the summers are short. Nothing could have been more harmless! But the donkey who ran this station did not notify his superiors when one of the many varieties of hay being tested, for some reason not known, fell or was removed from its covered tray, and took root in a field nearby. As it soon proved difficult to control, recourse was had to machines which were being developed here, to cultivate the field. These machines were of an experimental type, large and powerful, which ground the dirt finely. They were used to grind up the experimental plant, in order to kill it."
Arakal, frowning, glanced at Colputt, who said, "And then—?"
Zhtutin made a weary gesture of the hand.
"The machines used to cultivate the field were almost ready for their first trials. These machines were experimented with in different types of soil all over the country. What none of the agricultural scientists realized was that during the trials, fine bits of this plant, stuck here and there in the insides of the machines, were sown in a great many different places."
Colputt put his hand to his chin.
Zhtutin went on. "And it took root. No one in the other districts recognized at first that this plant was new. Since no word of the accident had been given, there was no warning."
Outside, as the pilot turned, glowing mist blew back across the curving window.
"It was," Zhtutin went on, "merely a grass. There seemed to be no cause for alarm."
Colputt, frowning, said, "And when it went to seed—"
"It has no seeds. It forms a husk, and within the husk there is nothing. But it is extremely hardy, and vigorous. In each field where it was found, naturally the attempt was made to control it. In some cases, it was chopped up, in the attempt to kill it. Ordinary grass is hard to destroy, but, if you pull it up, and chop it up, most of it, at least, dies. Any bit of this weed, in contact with the soil, is capable of forming a root, and starting a new plant. In the places where it was let grow, it gave a wonderful yield—of hay."
Colputt looked sober. "It crowded out the other plants?"
"Nothing could compete with it. Wheat, rye, oats, corn, barley—anything was strangled by it. And it grew fast."
"How long before anyone realized—"
Zhtutin shook his head.
"It was a query from the Americans, studying their satellite pictures, that finally made it known. The Americans noticed places where the vegetation seemed to absorb light more fully than the plants they knew of. As it evidently was being very widely planted, they assumed it was a new food plant, and asked for information. But it was the opposite of a food plant. It yielded no grain, and destroyed the plants that did. We could use it to feed animals—that was all. Unless it could be killed, we could never make up for the grain that would be lost."
"It absorbed light more fully?"
"It utilized light more fully. It grew faster. It was said later that it utilized water and carbon dioxide better. It was a very efficient plant. It began to grow as soon as the snow cover melted enough to give it light, and it did not stop till it was covered again the next winter. And then something else was discovered."
Colputt looked uneasily out the window toward the glow.
The translator leaned forward as the plenipotentiary spoke in a lower voice.
"The fields cleared the previous year, at great pains, the following spring grew up in clumps of this plant. For reasons that were never found, because there was not time, parts of the root break off in the soil and become dormant. They can live over until another year. Only when the soil had been sifted, or the root cooked by intense heat, could the soil be trusted."
Colputt's eyes widened. He glanced at Arakal.
Arakal said, "This change of weather is to fence off and destroy the weed?"
Zhtutin nodded. "But this was not the only trouble. As our side contended with this, and was being kicked to pieces by it, the Americans had their own accident. And no one knows how that happened." He glanced intently at Colputt. "Unless, perhaps, you have found the records?"
Colputt shook his head.
Zhtutin said, "At that time, experiments were being carried out that I personally do not understand. It seems that substances are released naturally in the human body, and that by manipulations involving the structures which control heredity in microorganisms, a microorganism can be so made over that it produces the natural human substance. Further, and more surprising, it may be possible to induce the microorganism to release the substance in response to other substances present in the human system, in varying amounts in health or illness. If, then, this microorganism is used to infect a human being, symptoms may be relieved—or a cure may follow—caused by the substance released by the microorganism. Of course, this work required great skill, special apparatus, and caution."
Zhtutin glanced at Colputt, who nodded, his expression grave, and Zhtutin sighed and gestured wearily with his hand. "Many were working on such things; they had, as I understand it, great theoretical as well as practical significance. The accident could have happened anywhere. As it was, it happened in an American laboratory, and the result was the release of a quantity of specially altered microorganisms. I assume most died at once. It would seem that they would be ill adapted to act as germ organisms, because of the changes in their structure; but it may be that the scientists had found a way to avoid this, while trying to adapt the organisms for medical use. In any case, America soon had a wave of what was called 'Killer Flu'. Our information is that it was not actually a form of influenza at all. What appears to have been done was to create a form of microorganism capable of excreting—"
The interpreter paused, and after several puzzled exchanged with Zhtutin, the interpreter turned to Colputt.
"I'm not certain how to translate these words, sir. It seems that the body has something in it like sugar, and another substance that makes it possible to get more use out of this substance that is like sugar."
Colputt nodded. "Just call what is like sugar 'glucose', and what makes it easier to use the glucose, 'insulin'."
The translator nodded, and Zhtutin, looking relieved, went on. Arakal, trying to piece together the sense of what was said, found the discussion as confusing as a foreign language.
"Then," said Colputt finally, "the insulin was somehow synthesized by the microorganisms, and released in the body? And the idea was to have a trouble-free source of insulin for diabetics? But what was the insulin formed from?"
Zhtutin shrugged. "Who could say, now? In any case, the work was not finished. The organisms were released prematurely. The control of their responses was incomplete. They invaded non-diabetic individuals. The results were severe."
Colputt stared. "Insulin shock?"
"Yes. Which damaged the central nervous systems of the persons infected."
"When did this happen?"
"When our troubles with the strangleweed were well developed, and it had become a question whether we could limit its spread."
Colputt looked out the window. He glanced at Arakal, then at Slagiron. The he looked back at Zhtutin.
"What then?"
Zhtutin turned to Arakal.
"You see the situation?"
"I see it."
"The weed was kicking our ribs in. If it spread beyond our borders, it might never be stopped. The trained germs were slaughtering the Americans. At any moment, these germs, which despite a ban on travel were spreading erratically and unpredictably, might be carried across the oceans to exterminate the rest of the human race. What could we do?"
Colputt nodded slowly.
Arakal said, "What happened?"
Zhtutin looked out the window toward the glow, brightening as the pilot swung closer.
"We," said Zhtutin, "took care of the germs for the Americans. They, in turn, took care of the strangleweed for us."
As the luminous drops blew back along the curved window, there was silence.
The silence stretched out.
At last, Zhtutin turned as if to speak, but changed his mind.
Arakal felt the urge to say something, but forced himself to wait.
Zhtutin finally shrugged, and looked at Arakal.
"You said perhaps there was no war. In such a situation as that, who is to say?"
Arakal nodded. "But the grass back there is strangleweed?"
"Yes. It is the largest remaining patch of strangleweed that we know of."
"Are any of the germs left?"
"To our knowledge, no."
Colputt suddenly looked alert. "What is the incubation period?"
Zhtutin smiled faintly, and shook his head.
"If you are thinking you might have caught it when you discovered this vehicle, ease your mind. The time since then has been too great. It acts rapidly."
Arakal glanced at Zhtutin, thought a moment, noted Colputt's look of relief, and turned back to Zhtutin. "The idea is to freeze what weed isn't being burned?"
"Yes. And it is a very complex problem. The weed recurs, world climatic change must if possible be limited, and there is danger if the weed should be spread by minute pieces carried in runoff water. The problem involves complications I do not understand well enough to mention. But, even today, the planet is ringed by satellites, and if, anywhere, a particular characteristic absorption of light should be detected, an intolerable rise in temperature will follow very quickly at that location."
"And this mechanism runs itself?"
"There is the difficulty we hope you will take an interest in. We do not know if the array of mechanisms which is fighting the weed is programmed to stop when the weed is destroyed. We assume that the technicians died on returning to Earth—because of the germs. The mechanisms have shown great delicacy of control, and apparently little wear or deterioration. But if you will imagine that you were in our situation, you will understand our viewpoint. This matter is of interest to us."
Arakal said, "What is of interest to us—what we are here to do—is to free Old Brunswick, Old Kebeck, and those other parts of Europe that were part of the land of the O'Cracys. If we can do that, our minds and strength will not be concentrated on fighting to free them. We would then have more time to think of other interests."
"That is understood." Zhtutin looked at him curiously. "Yet you asked for the agent lists only for France and the United Kingdom."
"Too little food and drink," said Arakal dryly, "causes hunger and thirst. Too much at once creates other complaints."
Zhtutin looked at him, and a brief grin crossed his face. He nodded toward the glare outside. "And that?"
"We will do all we can, when we understand the mechanism—and we will do it with great care. But it may be that all that has already been allowed for." Arakal hesitated, feeling the impulse to say more. The thought passed through his mind that if what Zhtutin had said was what had happened, most of the bad feeling between the Russ and the O'Cracys might disappear. But then Arakal considered S, and said nothing.
Zhtutin glanced at Arakal, began to speak, and cleared his throat instead.
Arakal, glancing at Zhtutin's face, seemed to see mirrored there his own thought of a moment before. Involuntarily, he smiled.
Zhtutin made an apologetic gesture, and spoke briefly.
The interpreter looked puzzled, but translated dutifully:
"It goes on."
Arakal nodded.
Outside, the glare faded away as they headed back.