“YOU CAN’T DO IT,” MASSEY SAID, SHAKING HIS HEAD AS HE turned restlessly on his feet between the bunks in his cabin in Globe II. He sounded as near to angry as Zambendorf had ever heard him. “The Taloids aren’t some race of natural inferiors put there to do all the work for free. It’s taken us centuries to get over the consequences of trying to treat groups of our own kind that way back on Earth. Those days are over now. We can’t go back to them. It would be a catastrophe.”
“Any forms of life that have evolved intelligence and begun lifting themselves above the animal level possess something in common that makes accidental differences in biological hardware trivial by comparison,” Vernon Price said earnestly from the edge of one of the lower bunks. “The word human has a broader definition now. It describes a whole evolutionary phase, not just one species that happens to have entered it.”
They had the cabin to themselves as Graham Spearman was busy in one of the labs, and Malcom Wade, its fourth occupant, was busy running elaborate statistical analyses and cross-correlations on reams of worthless data that he and Periera had been avidly collecting from faked ESP tests. Zambendorf, who was sitting on a fold-out chair in the narrow space by the door, looked from Massey to Price and back again in bewilderment. Somehow they had gotten the idea into their heads that he had not only allowed himself to be brought into the plot to turn the Taloids into serfs, but that he had done so with enthusiasm, and they were very distressed about it. So was Zambendorf—to find himself accused of being a willing accomplice in the very thing that had been causing him so much concern.
“Okay, I know how you feel about a lot of today’s people,” Massey said, tossing out his hands. “They’ve grown up in the twenty-first century, surrounded by better opportunities for learning and education than anybody else in history, and if they’re too dumb to take advantage of what they’ve got, it’s not your problem. They had their choice. I might not share your view, but I can see your point.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “But keeping the Taloids in a state of deliberately imposed backwardness is different. They never had any opportunity to know better. They don’t have the same choice. That’s all I’m saying.”
Zambendorf blinked up at him and shook his head. “But—“ he began.
“You must see that it’s the beginning of the same line that’s been used to keep wealthy minorities in power and the people in their place all down through the ages,” Vernon Price said. “Real knowledge is strictly for the elites; the masses are fobbed off with superstition, nonsense, and hopes for a better tomorrow. New technologies and anything that might lead toward genuine mass education and prosperity are to be opposed. I know how you’ve made your living up until now, but as Gerry says, at least those suckers had a choice and should have known better. But with the Taloids it would be pure exploitation. You can’t do it.”
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” Zambendorf exploded suddenly. The cabin became instantly quiet. He gave a satisfied nod. “Thank you. Look, doesn’t it occur to either of you that I just mightn’t have the faintest idea what in hell you’re talking about?”
“Oh, come on, don’t give us that,” Massey said impatiently. “It’s the real reason you were sent all the way to Titan. Who do you think you’re trying to fool now? It’s obvious.”
“What is the real reason I was sent all the way to Titan?” Zambendorf asked, more baffled than ever but genuinely curious.
“Because a big-name cult leader like you can influence a lot of public thinking,” Price said. “You’re GSEC’s lever into the congressional policymaking machine.” Zambendorf shook his head and looked back at Massey.
Massey frowned down at him but seemed less sure of himself, “That’s why our society tolerates so many zany cults and crackpot religions, isn’t it,” he said.
“Why?” Zambendorf asked.
“A politician can net a lot of votes for a small amount of effort by saying nice things about a guru who’s got ten thousand disciples so brainwashed that they’ll do anything he tells them,” Massey said. “Or at least, if he’s smart he doesn’t say anything that might get them upset about him. So the guys who run the cults continue to get away with murder, and nobody bothers them very much. The business they’re really in is selling blocks of controlled votes and molded public opinion in return for political favors and protection.” He gave Zambendorf a long, penetrating look, as if to say that none of this should need spelling out, and then moved around the end of the bunks to pour himself coffee from the pot by the sink.
Vernon Price completed what Massey had been saying. “To a lot of very influential people, the political and economic implications of Titan’s being up for grabs must add up to a crucial situation, which they knew long before the mission left Earth...” He spread his hands briefly. “And we all know that such people can make very attractive offers when it suits them.”
“You think that I knew what the mission’s purpose was all along?” Zambendorf said.
“You certainly seemed to know about Titan long before most of us did,” Massey said. He stared down over the rim of his cup. “What was the deal—unlimited media hype and complete suppression of all competent reporting to make you the superstar of the century?” His voice conveyed disappointment rather than contempt. “Or was it the other way round—threats...everything over for you if you refused to go along with them? But that was a long time ago now, from a much narrower perspective—before we left Earth and before anyone knew what we all know now. All I’m asking you to do is see the big picture and think about the real implications.”
Zambendorf brought his hand up to his face and stared down at the floor in silence for a while. Then at last he emitted a long, weary sigh and looked up between his fingers. “Look,” he said. “I’ve got a feeling I’m wasting my breath saying this, but I didn’t know any more about where this ship was going than you did, until after we embarked in orbit. What I did find out, I found out myself by my own methods. When I agreed to come on this mission, I thought we were going to Mars. I accepted the usual kind of publicity deal, sure, but as far as I was concerned it was to do with the kind of stunt GSEC had been talking about sponsoring on Mars—not anything serious. I didn’t know anything about any aliens, or any of the things you’ve been talking about.” He stood up and moved past Massey to help himself to coffee.
Massey glanced questioningly back at Price while Zambendorf was filling his cup. Price could only return a helpless shrug. “It’s strange,” Massey said to Zambendorf. He paused and tilted his head curiously to one side. “For once I get the feeling that you’re telling the truth. Either you’re the most accomplished liar I’ve ever met—and I’ve met more than a few—or there’s something very screwy going on. I’d like to believe what you just told us.”
Zambendorf tired suddenly of the feeling of being scrutinized under a microscope. “Well, why won’t you believe it, then?” he demanded loudly, turning away and sounding annoyed. “What reason would I have to lie about something like this? If you must know, I was offered such a deal only recently. I turned it down. There, does that satisfy you?”
“You turned it down,” Massey repeated, not quite able to prevent a trace of mockery from creeping into his voice.
Zambendorf wheeled back again. “I turned it down.” He forced the words out slowly and deliberately, thrusting out his beard to within an inch of Massey’s face.
“Very likely the best offer you’ve ever had in your life, and maybe the best you’ll ever get,” Price drawled sarcastically from behind them. “With everything going for it, and all the right people lined up on your side...and you turned it down. Now, why would you want to do a thing like that?”
“My reasons are my reasons,” Zambendorf said. “What damn business is it of either of you?”
“When you’re helping people who are trying to condemn a whole race to second-class status to further their own interests and claiming that they’re acting in my name, it is my business,” Massey retorted.
Zambendorf colored visibly. “For God’s sake, I haven’t done anything to help them!” he shouted. “I turned their offer down. How many times do I have to say it? What’s the matter with the pair of you?”
“Why would you turn it down?” Massey asked again.
“What is this? I refuse to be cross-examined in this fashion.”
“Bah! -- just as I thought,” Massey snorted.
“He’s copping out,” Price murmured. “He has to. He’s in with them up to his neck.”
“Doesn’t it occur to you that you may not have a monopoly on all this touching humanitarian concern for your brother beings?” Zambendorf raged. “If you must know, I turned it down for the simple reason that I care what happens to the Taloids just as much as you do...even more, possibly. Do you understand that? Is it plain enough to get through your thick skulls?” He glowered at Massey defiantly, then shifted his gaze to Price for a moment. When he resumed speaking, his voice quivered with emotion. “I probably know them better than any other person on this mission. Wasn’t it I who exchanged the first meaningful information with them? Didn’t they continue to come to me for confirmation even after they’d been told repeatedly that Giraud and those walking procedure manuals that he calls aides were the mission’s official spokesmen?...Don’t ask me how, but I can sense the Taloid world that lies behind the words we see on screens, and those unmoving metal faces.”
Zambendorf’s manner calmed a little. “There is a world there, you know—not a world that we are able to experience directly, or even one that we’re capable of conceiving, maybe...but it’s there—as warm, and as rich, and as colorful when perceived through Taloid senses as Earth is to us. I can feel it when I talk to them.” The other two listened silently as he went on, now in a distant voice, “The Taloids know I can too. That’s why they trust me. They trust me to teach them about the worlds that exist beyond their sky, and the new worlds of mind that exist beyond the clouds obscuring their present horizons of knowledge. They trust me to show them the ways of discovery that will enable them to explore all those worlds. That’s more than all those fools back on Earth ever asked for, or understood that I could have done for them.” His expression became contemptuous. “And you think I would have traded that for anything a bunch of deadhead executives and bureaucrats might have to offer—people who’ve never in their lives had an inspired thought or a vision of what could be?” Zambendorf focused his gaze back on Massey and Price, and shook his head. “No, don’t you go preaching at me about the meaning of the word human, the insignificance of accidental differences in biological hardware, or any of that crap. Because I could give both of you a whole lesson on it.”
The cabin remained very quiet for what seemed a long time. Massey drank the last of his coffee, then looked across at Price with his eyebrows raised questioningly. Price looked uncomfortable and said nothing. “I, er...I guess we owe you an apology,” Massey murmured.
Zambendorf nodded curtly and left it at that. He looked at Massey curiously. “You still haven’t explained what made you think I’d accepted a deal,” he said.
Massey looked over at Price again. Price made a face and shrugged. “I guess he’s got a right to know,” he said. Zambendorf frowned uncomprehendingly.
Massey drew a long breath, held it for a second or two, then exhaled abruptly and nodded his agreement. “Set it up, Vernon.” Massey turned to Zambendorf. “Obviously what you’re about to see is not intended to become public knowledge. I don’t know if you’re aware that the news from Earth is censored before it’s broadcast around the Orion. In particular, a lot of what goes out across the Earth newsgrid is omitted from what’s shown here. However, that was anticipated before we left Earth and arrangements were made for me to have a private channel direct into NASO.”
Zambendorf watched as Price unlocked a storage locker in the wall and took out a small metal strongbox which in turn yielded a collection of video cartridges. Price selected one of the cartridges and walked over to the cabin’s terminal to insert it, at the same time switching the terminal to off-line local mode. Whatever was stored in the cartridges evidently was too sensitive to be entrusted to the ship’s databank. Zambendorf gave Massey a puzzled look. “If you were told we were going to Mars too, why would anyone give you a private information line?” he asked. “Why would you be supposed to need one?”
Massey smiled faintly. “I didn’t know I had one until a timelocked message from the databank told me about it after we’d left Earth. I guess you weren’t the only one who didn’t find out what he was really here for until a while after you’d signed up.”
“You mean you weren’t sent to monitor the ESP experiments on Mars?” Zambendorf said, surprised.
“No more than you were sent to conduct them.”
“So...what were you sent for?”
“I very much suspect that we’re just beginning to find out.”
The terminal screen came to life to show a man with a red, gnomish face topped by a mat of white, close-cropped hair saying something that was inaudible since the sound was still turned down. Zambendorf stared hard for a moment, then said, “Isn’t that Conlon from NASO?”
Massey raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You know him?”
“I know his face.”
“How come?”
“I make it my business to know lots of things.”
The view on the screen changed to a picture of Saturn with the words TITAN MISSION superposed in large letters along with the GCN logo; then followed a shot of the Orion in orbit against a background of part of Titan’s disk. Evidently the footage was a replay of a routine newscast from Earth. A woman’s voice faded in as Price turned up the sound, and the picture changed again, this time to a view of an area of cluttered machinery and scrap piled just outside Genoa Base.
“...said that there might be a possibility of salvaging something useful from the remnants of the defunct alien civilization discovered on Titan, but most of it must be considered a total write-off. In any case, the cost of attempting a full-scale cleanup operation from Earth would more than offset any benefits that could conceivably be obtained.” A good-looking, aubum-haired, smartly dressed woman, probably in her midforties appeared, sitting at a desk facing the camera. She smiled out at the viewers as she turned a sheet of paper in front of her. “A disappointment, I’m afraid, for those people who have been hoping for a new Industrial Revolution that would change the lives of all of us here on Earth. But it’s still the biggest junkpile in the known universe, I’m told. So who knows—it could turn out to be good news yet for all you scrap-metal dealers. Better start submitting your bids. You’ll probably have to add a reserve tank to your pickup though.”
Zambendorf turned a stunned face toward Massey and shook his head disbelievingly. Massey nodded for him to keep watching.
The newscaster looked down and scanned quickly over the next sheet. “More news about the Taloids—the man-size, walking maintenance robots that have been catching a lot of people’s imagination. They see a composite image made up of electronically intensified optical wavelengths—in other words ordinary visible light highly amplified—and infrared wavelengths, or heat, according to an MIT professor who has been studying reports from the Orion. The pitviper and boid families of terrestrial snakes employ a similar system, apparently, but nothing as sensitive as the Taloid version. We’ll be talking to Professor Morton Glassner to hear more about that in just a few minutes...
“Another question that a lot of people have been asking is, Can the Taloids think?” The woman’s face vanished and was replaced by a shot of two U.S. soldiers in EV suits facing a Taloid. Although the shot was from Genoa Base, nothing of the city was visible in the background; only a jumble of derelict machines was visible. The view gave the impression that the Taloid had just emerged from some habitat in a kind of jungle. One of the soldiers was offering something, then pulling it away as the Taloid reached for it—as if teasing a big metal bear—while the second soldier could be seen grinning through his faceplate. Zambendorf wondered how many hours of recordings this particular sequence had been selected from.
“Well, there’s no getting away from the fact that they are extraordinary machines,” the voiceover continued. “But then, wouldn’t we expect to find at least a few cute tricks in machines left behind by an alien civilization that most of our scientists are convinced must have achieved interstellar travel? It all depends what you mean by think, says well-known philosopher and social scientist, Johnathan Goodmay, in an article in this month’s issue of Plato. If you mean the ability to accept and process information, and manufacture self-improving rules for problem-solving based on that information, then the answer is yes, the Taloids can do that—but so can any of the so-called smart machine tools in a modem automobile factory, an editor-transcriber computer, or any reasonably proficient chess-playing program that learns. The difference is merely one of degree, according to Dr. Goodmay, and not anything fundamental. But if by think you mean the ability to imagine, create, aspire to greater things, see the world through emotion-tinted glasses, and all the other things we take for granted when we apply the word to people, then the answer is no way. People can externalize aspects of their own thinking and project them into Taloids in much the same way as children can convince themselves that the computers they talk to at home are really alive and understand what the kids are saying.”
Before Zambendorf could recover from the shock of what he was hearing, the picture changed to show himself with Osmond Periera, walking along a corridor inside the Orion and disappearing through a doorway. He couldn’t remember when the shot had been taken—it could have been from any time in the voyage. The commentary resumed, “Another person who’s spending a lot of time looking for answers to the same question is Karl Zambendorf, seen here with Dr. Osmond Periera, the Orion’s principal investigator of the parapsychological sciences.” Zambendorf choked over the mouthful of coffee he had been about to swallow; the screen showed him apparently discussing experimental procedures and nodding at Periera, who was holding a clipboard in front of panels of flashing lights and a computer console. The voice went on, “After the encouraging results of the experiments performed during the voyage and after arrival at Titan to assess the effectiveness of extrasensory communications away from the terrestrial environment, the Austrian psychic and other experts with the mission have been examining the possibility of probing whatever emergent Taloid psyche might exist by means of what are called psychodynamic sympathetic resonances, or what amounts to the same thing, mind reading.” Now Zambendorf was being shown with a set of wires and electrodes taped around his forehead and temples, staring, with an expression of deep concentration, at a wall of equipment racks. That was an old shot from the early part of the voyage. It was a stunt he had pulled to demonstrate how he could alter the readings of a mass spectrometer by changing its magnetic field profile through mind power; in fact Thelma had simply kicked the leg of the table supporting the chart recorder and produced an abnormal trace at a moment when everybody’s attention had been on Zambendorf. The view switched to one of a Taloid surrounded by electronics equipment and recorders, which Zambendorf recognized as part of Dave Crookes’ setup for capturing Taloid speech and facial patterns at the first meeting in the desert. The two shots had been taken months apart, but the continuity of the TV presentation suggested they were closely connected parts of a single process.
“This is insane!” Zambendorf protested. “I don’t know anything about this. I’ve never tried any mind reading of Taloids.”
The commentary went on: “Preliminary results were negative, however. Zambendorf was unable to detect any trace of the energy patterns that characterize intelligent mental activity, a certain degree of which, he says, he has no trouble picking up even from higher animals such as primates, whales, and some species of monkeys, dogs, and cats.”
“Lies! Lies! Lies!” Zambendorf shouted. “I said no such thing. They’re more intelligent than that stupid woman!”
“But the scientists out at Titan are not about to give up yet. According to Dr. Periera, a whole new technique might have to be developed for tuning into holoptronic minds. In any case, even if everything does turn out to be the way it looks at present and there aren’t any minds on Titan to tune into, nevertheless, Zambendorf thinks it might be possible to link human minds into Taloid sensory systems and use them as free-moving vehicles for remote perception.” The newscaster lowered the sheet and concluded with another smile from the screen, “There, wouldn’t that be great—send your own Taloid wherever you’d like to go, and see the world through its eyes. Maybe one day that will turn out to be the regular way of exploring the surface of Titan—without any need for a spacesuit...and maybe other places too. Who knows? Whatever happens, I’m sure we’re in for more exciting developments.”
She laid the paper aside. “And now, returning from Titan, we move to Sydney, Australia, where a young man by the name of Clive Drummond is planning to—“ Price stopped the recording.
“There’s more,” Massey said. “But I think you get the gist of it.”
Zambendorf was nonplussed as he stared at the blank screen. “How long has this kind of thing been happening?” he whispered.
“About three weeks,” Massey told him. “Before that, the media hadn’t started systematically developing any particular thematic image of the Taloids.”
“So there’s no question it’s deliberate?”
“None.”
“What about that man Conlon back at NASO, and whoever else he’s working with?” Zambendorf asked. “If you’ve got a direct line, they must know that what the public are being told is garbage. You must have told them...Can’t they do anything?”
“They’re trying,” Massey said. He shrugged. “But you know how it is.”
Zambendorf shook his head. “Leaherney, Lang, all of them...they knew. Even while they were talking about offers, they knew these distortions were being made. And even though there was no question that I’d have to find out sooner or later.”
“Perhaps they were certain they’d be able to swing you round if they simply cranked their offer high enough,” Price said. “That is pretty much the way they operate.”
“It fits with the way they think,” Massey agreed.
Zambendorf walked slowly between the two tiers of bunks and turned when he reached the far wall. “So what does all this mean?” he asked. “What’s behind it all? Have you any theories about that?”
“Well, I don’t know that it’s anything especially new,” Massey replied. “But the first step toward reducing a nation to colonial status in order to exploit it has always been to dehumanize its inhabitants in the eyes of your own people and—“
The call tone from Zambendorf’s personal communicator interrupted. “Excuse me,” he said, taking the unit from his pocket and activating it. The miniature screen showed the features of Otto Abaquaan, calling from the team’s quarters. “Yes, Otto?” Zambendorf acknowledged. His choice of phrase indicated to Abaquaan that Zambendorf had company.
“Have you got a moment?” Abaquaan asked.
“Go ahead.”
“Um, do you know where Joe is? Need to talk to him.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Got any idea where he went?”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, hell. Too bad, huh? Send him back if you see him. We need to talk to him. Is that okay?”
“I will if I see him.”
“Okay.”
Zambendorf frowned for a second. Abaquaan wasn’t interested in locating Joe Fellburg. His utterances had been structured according to a magician’s code in which the mood of each phrase—interrogative or indicative—along with its initial letter, conveyed an alphabetical character. What Zambendorf had read from it was CMLT URGNT, which he interpreted as “Camelot. Urgent.” Abaquaan was telling him that something had come in over the line from Arthur, and it couldn’t wait. Massey and Price were looking at each other suspiciously. They were magicians too.
Zambendorf stared from one to the other and bit his lip uncertainly. Were Massey and he on the same side now? Now that Massey had taken Zambendorf into his confidence, did he owe it to Massey to do likewise? His instincts were to cement the alliance, but a lifetime’s experience urged caution.
And he saw that the same question was written across Massey’s face. Their differences were trivial compared to the things they now knew they shared. Zambendorf had to give some tangible sign that he felt the same way. Zambendorf looked down at the screen of the communicator in his hand. “I’m with Gerry Massey and Vernon Price,” he said. “A lot has happened that would make too long a story to go into now. But you can speak plainly, Otto. The team has just acquired two more members.”
The surprise on Abaquaan’s face lasted for just a fraction of a second. He was used to adapting to new situations quickly without having to ask questions. “We’ve had a call from Arthur and Galileo,” he said. “It’s bad news—real bad news.”
Massey gasped disbelievingly. “Arthur—the Taloid? But how? Where did you—“
“Oh, we also have a private communication line that you don’t know about,” Zambendorf told him. He looked back at Abaquaan. “What’s happened, Otto?”
“Those fundamentalist fanatics out in the hills—the ones that Arthur’s soldiers are always having trouble with,” Abaquaan said.
“The Druids. Yes, what about them?”
“They wiped out a whole Genoese patrol and then massacred a larger force that was sent after them,” Abaquaan said. “Putting it mildly, Arthur’s pretty upset.”
Zambendorf looked puzzled. “That’s terrible, Otto, and of course I sympathize—but why is it such serious news? How does it affect us?”
“Because of how they did it,” Abaquaan replied. “They did it with Terran weapons. Someone has started shipping Terran weapons down to Henry and the Paduans, and the Paduans are passing them on to the Druids to stir up trouble in Genoa. Arthur says he’s had enough of promises and words. He wants something he can defend himself with. If we can’t deliver, he’ll take the deal that Giraud’s bunch has been pushing.”