BEHIND A SHALLOW RISE AT THE FOOT OF SOME ROCK OUTCROPS near the fringe of one of Titan’s deserts, the surface lander stood in an oasis of light cast by its perimeter arc lamps. Smaller lights flashing and moving on the slopes below and to either side of the rise marked the positions of the landing party’s U.S. Special Forces and British marine contingents deploying into concealed positions to cover the approaches.
Inside the lander, Zambendorf and Abaquaan, carrying helmets under their arms and moving slowly in their ungainly extravehicular suits, picked their way forward among the similarly attired figures sitting and standing in the cramped confines of the aft mess cabin, and stopped at the doorway that led into the midships control room. Amid the clutter of crew stations and communications consoles ahead, Charles Giraud, Leaherney’s deputy, was talking to an image of Leaherney, who was following the proceedings from the Orion, while other screens showed the surroundings outside. One display presented the view from a highflying drone, and showed as a tiny pattern of slowly moving dots on the computer-generated, false-color landscape the group of approaching Taloid riders, now less than two miles away, that had been selected as first contacts—partly because of their small number, and partly because of the isolated surroundings, which it was felt would minimize possible complications.
“Ah, the psychologists are out in force, I see,” Zambendorf remarked, looking down at Massey, Vernon Price, and Malcom Wade, who were sitting nearby.
“At least we’ve got a good reason,” Vernon said. “What the hell are you two doing down here?”
Zambendorf shook his head reproachfully. “Just because you have successfully exposed some rather amateurish frauds, you shouldn’t make the mistake of concluding that therefore nothing genuine can exist,” he cautioned. “Mustn’t rely too much on generalizations from one’s own experiences. That’s not being scientific, you know.”
“A good point,” Wade commented. “That’s just what I’ve been saying all along.”
“Are the Taloids believed to be telepathic?” somebody else asked curiously.
Zambendorf permitted himself the condescending smile of one unable to say as much as he would have liked to. “Shall we just say that I am here at the personal request of the mission’s Chief Scientist?” They could say it if they liked; it wasn’t true. Massey turned his head away in exasperation.
Meanwhile Abaquaan was following events in the control cabin through the door ahead of them and talking in a low voice with one of the ship’s officers who was standing just inside. Zambendorf moved a pace forward and peered past Abaquaan’s shoulder just in time to hear Daniel Leaherney ask from the monitor, “Does it change the situation in your estimation, Charles? If you want to reembark your people down there and wait for a more opportune occasion, you have my approval.”
Giraud shook his head. “The armed drones will provide ample reserve firepower if there are any hostilities. Let’s get on with it now that we’re here. Colonel Wallis agrees. We’ve decided to leave the arc lights on to give some warning of our presence.” Reactions observed previously had confirmed that the Taloids possessed at least some sensitivity to ordinary visible wavelengths.
“What’s happening?” Zambendorf whispered.
Abaquaan gestured at the screen showing the terrain across which the Taloids were approaching. “A second group of Taloids is following the first group and catching up fast,” he said. “About thirty of them...and they’ve some of those crazy walking carts.” The Taloids were known to possess, incongruously, legged vehicles that were drawn by machines running on wheels.
“Is the second group chasing the others or trying to join them?”
Abaquaan shook his head. “Nobody knows, Karl. But the ones in front are taking their time. Either they’re not bothered, or they don’t know that the other guys are there.”
“The lead group of Taloids has stopped moving,” an operator announced. On the screen, the pattern of dots had reached the far side of a broad, flat-bottomed depression that lay beyond the rise. “They should be able to see our lights from where they are now.”
Giraud studied the display for a moment, and then turned to face the ship’s captain, who was standing next to him. “Better get the rest of the surface party outside,” he murmured.
The captain nipped a switch and spoke into a microphone. “Attention. Remaining personnel for surface, helmet up and assemble at midships lock. All remaining surface personnel to midships lock.”
Five minutes later, Zambendorf and Abaquaan emerged onto the platform outside the lock and stood gazing out at the wall of impenetrable gloom beyond the arc lamps. Ignoring the ladder extending downward on one side, Abaquaan stepped off the platform and allowed his twenty-two pounds of weight to float to the ground six feet below. Zambendorf followed as more figures appeared in the lock hatchway behind, and an instant later his feet made contact with the soil of an alien world. For a moment he and Abaquaan looked at each other through the faceplates of their helmets, but neither spoke. Then they turned and moved forward to join the reception party assembling ahead, fifty yards inside the edge of the circle of light.