by Ben Bova
“Thank you,” said Zworkyn.
“Of course, I’m not an astronomer. We’re going to have the real stargazers look over your evidence.”
“I am an astronomer,” said Gordon Abbott, sitting at Millard’s side. “They’ve convinced me.”
“Uranus’s moons were disturbed just two million years ago,” Millard mused.
“Give or take a few millennia,” said Zworkyn, with a wily grin.
Dead serious, Millard went on, “By alien invaders.”
“That’s one possibility,” Zworkyn said.
“The most likely one,” Gomez added.
“Fantastic.”
Abbott said, “This has enormous consequences. If it was an alien invader…” His voice faded away.
“But why Uranus?” Millard asked. “Why didn’t they strike any of the other planets?”
“Maybe they did,” Gomez said, in a low, anxious voice.
Millard fixed him with a hard stare. “What do you mean?”
“The last ice age on Earth started about two million years ago.”
“Ice age?”
From behind his desk, Umber disagreed, “Surely you’re not suggesting—”
“That the ice age was caused to wipe out the ape-like creatures that had arisen on Earth,” Gomez said, in a near whisper. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The aliens tried to prevent the human race from being born.”
Kyle Umber’s elaborate office went dead silent.
* * *
Meanwhile, in his own office a few paces down the passageway from Umber’s, Evan Waxman was contemplating his future.
The safest place for me is right here, in Haven. Even if Kyle gets the Interplanetary Council to accept this space habitat as a member nation, I’ll be protected here. I’m an important man here, respected. There’s no reason for me to run away.
Unless Kyle Umber banishes me, he realized. I’ve got to prevent that. I’ve got to convince Kyle that I can still work for him. That I’ll follow his rules.
Then it struck him. I’ll become a penitent! I’ll beg him for my life. I’ll swear to be a good, upstanding, rules-following citizen.
I’ll throw my life at his feet. He won’t be able to cast me into the outer darkness. That would be the same as killing me. He’s too softhearted for that.
I hope, Waxman said to himself. And he noticed that perspiration was beading his forehead.
* * *
Raven sat silently in Reverend Umber’s office as Tómas, Zworkyn, Abbott and the newcomer from Earth discussed the consequences of Tómas’s discovery.
In her mind she understood what the men were saying. But it didn’t seem real to her. Alien invaders sterilized Uranus two million years ago? They caused the ice age on Earth to prevent the birth of the human race?
It was too fantastic, too outlandish to be believed. Where are these murderous aliens now? she wanted to ask. Do you have any shred of evidence that they really exist?
But she kept silent. She noticed that Reverend Umber had also lapsed into silence as the scientists tossed ideas and discoveries at one another.
It’s too crazy to be believed, a voice in her mind insisted. Destructive aliens swooping through the solar system two million years ago, killing and destroying?
Then she looked again at Tómas’s face. He believes this with all his heart, she realized. He’s positive that he is right, that he’s discovered an enormous threat to the human race. A threat to all the life on all the worlds in the solar system.
What if he’s right?
DECISIONS
Kyle Umber felt weary. Millard and the others had left his office hours earlier, still debating Gomez’s idea that the solar system had been invaded some two million years ago. Now Umber sat alone at his ornate desk, pondering, worrying.
Gomez’s discovery is just too big to be believable, he told himself. Alien invaders sterilizing the planet Uranus. Causing an ice age on Earth to prevent the birth of the human race. Fantastic! Unbelievable!
Yet, deep within him, he feared that Gomez might be right. Abbott believes it and he’s an astronomer. Millard seems to believe, although he says he wants to see more evidence.
If it is right, it means that somewhere out there among the vast clouds of stars there is an alien race that is our implacable enemy.
A superhuman force of evil. The devil incarnate. All the superstitious terrors of the human race made real, living, waiting to strike us again. Maybe they’re already on their way here, coming to smash us again!
Despite himself, he shuddered. All the ancient fears of the human race come alive. It was too much to be believed. Too much not to believe.
His desk phone buzzed. Almost happy to have his morbid train of thought interrupted, Umber glanced at the screen.
Evan Waxman was calling.
* * *
“… and he wants me to be his assistant,” Raven was saying, smiling with excitement, “to work with him and learn how to help him run the whole community.”
Tómas Gomez grinned at her. “You’re coming up in the world.”
The two of them were sitting across from one another at the tiny fold-out table in Raven’s kitchen. They had hardly touched the dinner plates set before them. They were both too excited to eat.
Her happy grin fading just a little, Raven continued, “I don’t know if I can do it, though. It’s an awful lot to learn and—”
“You can do it,” Tómas assured her. “You’re a smart woman, Raven. You can do anything you set your mind to.”
She glowed. “Do you really think so?”
“I’m positive.”
“I’ll have to find somebody to run the boutique,” she mused. “It’s doing too well to shut it down now.”
Tómas nodded and leaned across the table toward her. “You’re going to be an important person, Raven. Reverend Umber’s personal assistant.”
“And you, Tómas,” she said. “You’ll probably have to go back to Earth, at least for a while.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’ll stay here. If anybody on Earth wants to talk to me, he’ll do it by video conferencing. Or they can come out here.”
“But suppose—”
Reaching out to clasp her hand, Tómas whispered, “It’s taken me all my life to find you. I’m not going to be separated from you. Ever. Not by anyone or anything.”
Raven put her free hand atop his.
Then Tómas straightened and said, “We should talk to Reverend Umber about marrying us.”
Raven gulped with surprise, but agreed, “I suppose we should.”
* * *
This is going to be uncomfortable, Reverend Umber said to himself. But it’s got to be done.
He was sitting alone amid the greenery and fancy furniture of his ornate office, frowning at the lavish ostentatiousness of it all. It’s too much, he told himself. You’re a man of God, not some oriental potentate.
His desktop phone buzzed.
Startled out of his self-incrimination, Umber said, “Phone answer.”
The phone’s screen lit up and announced, “Evan Waxman is here, Reverend.”
Umber drew in a deep reluctant breath, but answered, “Send him in, please.”
His office door slid open and Waxman stepped in, slowly, almost hesitantly. His eyes cast downward, he walked to Umber’s desk and stopped in front of it, hands folded in front of him, still staring at the floor.
Umber got to his feet, yet Waxman did not look up at him.
“Have a seat, Evan,” Umber said softly, gently, as he sat down again in his capacious desk chair.
Waxman sat, still avoiding Umber’s eyes.
“I suppose this isn’t going to be easy for either one of us,” Umber said.
“No,” Waxman replied, in a near whisper. “I suppose it’s not.”
WAXMAN AND UMBER
Sitting tensely in his desk chair, Umber said, “The Chemlab Building is a total wreck.”
Waxman nodded mutely.
“But there was nothing illegal about its operation,” Waxman protested, in a soft, almost whining voice.
“Legalities aside, it was immoral.”
“I suppose so,” Waxman admitted.
A cold silence descended upon the two men.
At last Umber stated, “Tomorrow I’m going to ask the Interplanetary Council’s executive director to admit Haven as a Council member.”
Waxman nodded.
“Once we are admitted we’ll have to obey the laws that all the other member worlds obey. Including the law prohibiting the manufacture and sale of narcotics.”
Waxman’s expression shifted slightly. “Kyle, you know that I decided to manufacture and sell narcotics as a means of supporting this habitat.”
“It was an unacceptable means.”
“But you took no steps to stop it.”
Pointing to the scar running down his cheek, Umber said, “Until last week.”
“Yes. Until last week. At the cost of thirty-eight lives.”
Umber’s sudden intake of breath told Waxman he had hit home.
“No one blames you for that,” Waxman quickly added, meaning just the opposite.
“I feel the guilt,” the minister said, his voice low, miserable.
“So do I,” said Waxman, in an equally low voice.
Reverend Umber studied Waxman’s downcast face. It was a picture of defeat, humiliation.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Umber said.
Waxman nodded silently.
“Are you returning to Earth?”
“I suppose I’ll have to.”
“Will it be safe for you?”
Waxman smiled slightly and shook his head. “No. It will be the death of me.”
“You really believe that they’ll try to kill you?”
Locking his eyes with the minister’s, Waxman replied, “They will try, Kyle. And they’ll succeed. It’s people like Dacco and his ilk that led you to build this habitat, to get away from them and their evil.”
For a long moment Umber did not reply. At last he murmured, “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
Suddenly Waxman burst, “Give me another chance, Kyle! Please, please, I beg of you! Don’t send me off to my death. They’ll kill me! At least here on Haven I have a chance to survive. Your colonizers are screened, scanned. You reject the violent ones, the dangerous ones.”
Umber nodded slowly. “I’ve tried to make this habitat a true haven for the downtrodden people of Earth. I dreamed of bringing millions of them here, to this new world, where they could live in decency, where they could build new lives for themselves, a new world.”
“And you can still do that, Kyle! Your dream isn’t dead. You can go ahead with it. Build more habitats. Take in Earth’s weary, poor, downcast people.”
“Yes, I can still do that,” Umber replied. “But what about you? What am I to do with you, Evan?”
“Let me help you! Let me continue as your strong right hand. Let me live!”
Umber leaned back in his chair, as if driven by the force of Waxman’s plea.
“You told me that Haven will be bankrupt within a year,” he said.
“We can survive! We can adopt an internal economic system, like the early colonies in the New World on Earth. We can grow our own food, manufacture all that we need—”
“Would that be possible?”
“I’ll make it possible! You’ll see, Kyle. We may drop down to a subsistence economy, but we can survive. And as newcomers arrive, our economy will grow! Just as the Americans and Australians and other colonists on Earth survived and prospered.”
“Could we create a self-sustaining economy here?” the minister wondered. “Without importing goods from Earth?”
“But if you’re accepted into the Interplanetary Council you could establish trade links with Earth and the other worlds. Haven could prosper, eventually.”
“You could make that happen?”
“I’ll work night and day to make it happen!”
Umber nodded. “That would be a magnificent undertaking.”
“We’ll make it happen, Kyle,” Waxman said. “You and I, working together.”
“Working together,” Umber repeated. He nodded again. But then his fleshy face settled into a hard frown.
Waxman saw the change in the minister’s expression.
“What is it, Kyle?”
“Quincy O’Donnell,” said Umber.
“Quincy…?”
“He was murdered.”
“By a robot,” Waxman claimed.
With a reluctant sigh, Umber replied, “By a robot that was programmed to tear off his space suit’s helmet.”
“Programmed?”
“Robots do not spontaneously attack people, Evan. We both know that.”
“But—”
“But that particular robot attacked O’Donnell and killed him. Who programmed the robot to do that?”
“Nobody! The damned machine went wild. That’s why we destroyed it.”
“You destroyed it so that no evidence of your programming remained for anyone to find.”
“Kyle, that incident is over and done with. I—”
“That incident was cold-blooded murder, Evan. You murdered O’Donnell.”
Waxman sat frozen in his chair, his face white with shock, his lips parted, as if trying desperately to breathe.
“I … but…”
“The Interplanetary Council’s penalty for murder is cryonic freezing,” said Umber, his voice low but implacably unyielding. “You’ll be frozen until medical science learns how to eliminate the violence in your brain.”
“No … please, Kyle. Forgive me.”
“Only God can truly forgive you. I’m merely His representative here on Haven.”
Waxman slid off his chair, crumpled to his knees. “Please, Kyle. Please!”
Umber had to get to his feet to lean over his desk to see Waxman’s kneeling form. “Evan, you’re going to have to stand trial for murder. I will recommend leniency to the judges. If they grant it, you can resume your duties as executive director—but with Raven Marchesi as your assistant. She will work side by side with you every moment of the day.”
Clawing his way clumsily back into his chair, Waxman said, “Yes, yes, that would work out. I could live with that.”
As he resumed his chair, Umber repressed an urge to smile at Waxman’s unintended pun.
“The mark of Cain is upon you, Evan. I don’t know if it can ever be expunged.”
“God is merciful! I’ve heard you say that a thousand times.”
“Let us hope so.”
THE BARGAIN
“He murdered Quincy?” Raven gasped.
Kyle Umber nodded solemnly from behind his desk. “He programmed the robot that killed the man.”
“And you’re recommending leniency?”
“Yes.”
Sitting in front of Umber’s desk, Raven stared at the minister’s stony features for several silent moments.
Then, “I can’t work with him.”
“You must, Raven. We must all help to redeem Evan’s soul.”
“Redeem his soul? I’d rather send him to hell!”
Umber shook his head sadly. “No, Raven. We’re not here to condemn or to punish. Waxman’s soul should be saved, if we have the strength and the grace to save it.”
Raven felt hot anger simmering within her. The bastard murdered Quincy, and the reverend expects me to work with him, to forgive him, to help him?
As if he could read her thoughts, Umber said, “I know it won’t be easy for you. Vengeance is a very deep emotion. But forgiveness is better, Raven, far better.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
With the slightest hint of a smile, Reverend Umber replied, “This will be a test for you, then. A test for all of us.”
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A test, Raven thought. We’re all being tested: Waxman, myself, even the reverend.
“Will you try to work with him? Please?”
Raven heard herself say, in a barely audible voice, “If that’s what you want.”
Umber responded, “I believe with all my heart that it’s what God wants.”
Raven suppressed an urge to shake her head in denial. Instead she said, “God doesn’t make it easy for us, does He?”
* * *
Glad to have the Waxman business behind him, Reverend Umber watched Raven leave his office, her face clouded with suspicion and doubt. He settled himself back in his desk chair and saw that his next visitor was to be Harvey Millard, from the Interplanetary Council.
Millard arrived precisely on time. Umber rose from his chair once again, as Millard—slim, elegant, wearing an ordinary suit of light brown jacket and darker slacks—entered his office and went straight to one of the chairs in front of the reverend’s desk.
Before the IC’s executive director could say anything, Umber asked, “What do you think of Gomez’s theory? Truly.”
Millard’s light brown eyes widened with surprise. “I’m not an astronomer—”
“Neither am I,” Umber interrupted. “But I would appreciate your honest opinion of the idea.”
“That Uranus was sterilized by an alien invader some two million years ago? It sounds fantastic to me.”
“But is it right?”
Shrugging his frail shoulders, Millard answered, “We don’t know. It could be. It fits the available evidence. But…”
“But?”
“It’s too big to be swallowed in one gulp. We need more evidence, more facts, before we can definitely decide if it’s right or wrong.”
Umber nodded unhappily. Scientists, he thought. They always want more evidence. Then he remembered that Millard was a civil servant, not a scientist.
“More facts,” the reverend muttered.
“Which is why I asked to speak with you, actually,” said Millard.
“Oh?”
