by Set Wagner
He shook his head as if overcome momentarily with grief and then settled more comfortably into his chair before beginning his pitch. “This is what happened on Eyrena, Terence. A scientific competitiveness gradually grew between Fowler and Stein, two talented and ambitious scientists. At first they tried to hide it, even from themselves. Their noble characters resisted such an assault on their dignity, such a contradiction of scientific ethics, but—”
Zung raised his finger enthusiastically, as if he were coming to the moral of his story.
“But the antagonism grew stronger, penetrating deep into their hearts. It was poisoning them! The desire to dominate, to conquer this new, virgin world, turned out to be stronger than their moral scruples.
“Still, their quarrel would probably never have led to murder if the young and strikingly beautiful Linda Ridgeway had not been working at the base. Fowler and Stein were scientists, but they were also men, and both men fell madly in love with this charming colleague. First rivals in work and then rivals in love. As the saying goes, ‘the stronger the passion, the sadder its end.’ Unfortunately! That’s the story.” Zung spread out his short hands, sadly smiling.
“Aha! I see,” I said with barefaced irony. “It is rather poetic.”
“Isn’t it!”
“But if this is so obviously the situation, Mr. Zung, why must I even make the journey to Eyrena?”
“Well, dear Terence”—he sighed—“all of us are slaves to formalities. When the colonization, including the deaths of Fowler and Stein, is revealed to the public, we will need to be able to refer to an official investigation.”
“And you think the public will believe this science/love triangle as the motive for two murders?”
My words inspired hilarious laughter. “Fortunately, ordinary people are not as suspicious as those in your profession, Terence. And your bureau has a good reputation.”
“Well, yes, as does the Center for Space Exploration. The difference is that we would not agree to serve the initiatives of others, especially such an initiative as the colonization of Eyrena, nor would we allow our investigations to be influenced by others. The IBI wouldn’t risk being discredited, Mr. Zung.”
He skillfully ignored my comments about the center and responded only to my final phrase. “To be discredited? What a strange notion! Do you find something unconvincing about our incident? Similar incidents occur on Earth every day. Why shouldn’t they happen on Eyrena? A man is a man, no matter where you send him. It’s naive to suppose that Fowler and Stein left their flaws behind them, right?”
I finished my coffee and added bluntly, “I imagine that others at the base will offer different versions of what happened there.”
“Of course. It’s their right to believe what they will.”
“Yes, but when they return to Earth—”
“They won’t return, Terence.”
“Why!”
Zung crossed his legs and admired his diminutive, highly polished shoes before replying. “Because they will be the first of the colonists. Our goal is to send people to Eyrena, not to bring them back to Earth, right?”
“But when they arouse suspicions among the new arrivals, then—”
Again he cut me off. “That shouldn’t concern you, Terence. You have enough worries.”
“My biggest concern has always been to work in the light, Mr. Zung.”
“But I’m not the sun, my friend!” he exclaimed, playfully pressing his palms together as if he were praying.
I began to understand why my boss always raves for days after visiting the venerable Mr. Zung. Still, I decided to forge ahead. “Do you suppose the Yusians had anything to do with the deaths of Fowler and Stein?”
His face grew sphinxlike. “So far, none of us has entered the world of their thoughts, Terence.”
“But if they did have something to do with this,” I persisted, “wouldn’t your version about fatal passions surprise them, to say the least?”
“No, Terence. Just the opposite! It will convince them of our loyalty.”
“‘Loyalty’! What are you talking about?” I mumbled, confused.
“Yes, yes.” Zung closed his eyes. “Loyalty. Exactly! At present, we have no other choice. We must be loyal.”
I listened with shock and consternation. Have we sunk so low?
“It’s possible that Fowler and Stein are accidental victims of some Yusian reactionary group,” he posited in a monotone, “or that they had become—unsuitable—for some reason. Anything is possible. But whatever happened is their own business. We aren’t foolish enough to try to pull someone else’s chestnuts out of the fire!”
“Nor would you pull me out if I were in danger of being burned,” I added.
Zung shook his finger at me. “Look how suspicious you are! You clearly graduated from Franklin’s training. But anyway, that’s not so bad. ‘Distrust is half wisdom,’ as the Romans said.” He smiled, winked at me and then became stern. “Let’s be serious, Terence! If there is any danger for you, it could hardly be from the Yusians. It’s most likely they had nothing to do with the incident. But even if they are connected, so what? As long as you are in their starship, or on Eyrena, naturally they won’t touch you, because that would amount to a clear confession that they were involved in the other two deaths! And most importantly, if Yusians are involved, no doubt they have already protected themselves from any danger of disclosure.”
Even if he were talking about humans, his words made no sense, but in reference to Yusians they were absurd, as he understood perfectly. Meanwhile, the damn flight suit was becoming more and more uncomfortable—my ear was burning, and my face was much the worse for wear after being hit by his man. On top of that, I had to listen to his nonsense.
“We can be sure of two facts, Terence!” he abruptly changed the subject. “First, the Yusians insist on this colonization. And second, we are in no position to challenge them at the moment. But we can snoop around a little, right?”
“Perhaps,” I replied, “but why are you telling me this? My specialty is investigating crimes, and snooping into Yusian business has always been your area of competence, as you have often insisted.”
“True, but the situation has changed. There is no point in lying to you, Terence, Franklin has never paid attention to those parameters.” Narrowing his eyes, he asserted, “The secret archives of the IBI are probably full of materials about Yusians.”
“That may be,” I offered, narrowing my eyes as well, “but I’m not familiar with any such materials. They weren’t relevant to my investigations. And now, when I do need information, you have obstructed me. Is your main goal to prevent me from contacting Franklin?”
“Whatever my goal is, it’s for your own good,” Zung announced impudently. “You have to go to Eyrena—unprejudiced.”
“So far we have exchanged only nonsense,” I complained. “Now I want you to give me the full information you have on the Yusians.”
“But, in fact, I don’t have any information.” His continued impudence shocked me. “I have gathered this and that, but it’s only been heard, seen, described, and not understood. Can what is not understood be called information?”
“Don’t exaggerate!” I said angrily. “Ever since the Yusians came, you have engaged our most authoritative academies and institutions, our most talented scientists, to analyze those facts you gathered, haven’t you?”
“And what do you think they’ve offered me so far? Only some vague guesses and dubious hypotheses. So, in this regard, Terence, what I have has already been given to you.”
Zung pointed to the briefcase at my side.
“But I’m leaving this afternoon. When am I going to study? Should I take aboard the Yusian starship—what I was given!”
“Of course. Why not?”
“Listen, Mr. Zung, let’s be rational.”
“We really don’t have any information, Terence,” he murmured, his voice suddenly weary. “So tell me, how can we ‘be rational�
� in this case?”
Then he shrugged his shoulders and sighed with suppressed reproach. I realized my objections would have to wait: the special chairman of the Security Council was about to perform his next pantomime. He seemed to shrink before me—his arms, searching for support, helplessly flopped on the armrests of the chair. With a new sigh of suffering, he dropped his head and wearily closed his eyelids. Before my eyes emerged a man wrongfully tortured and subdued by terrible worries. At first I was annoyed by such a performance, until a thought gradually entered my mind: after ten years in his position, how else could he really feel?
“Ye-es, dear Terence, yes, such great responsibilities weigh heavily on my shoulders,” he began. “Oh, what responsibilities! Decisions have to be made. Important decisions. Even crucial ones! And whether they are going to be the right ones will depend also on you. Don’t ever limit yourself only to the investigation. Other things are even more important. So many years we have been living as if we were blind. This can’t continue! It’s true that, so far, the Yusians have demonstrated goodwill, but for how long? Psychologically, their superiority has already crippled us with a sense of our own inferiority. They created complexes in us from the day they arrived. Do you remember?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? What ‘but’!” he interrupted me, nearly shouting. “Do you realize the state that the human race is in by now? The worldwide crisis? Stagnation, moral and psychological collapse! And do you know that the Yusians still refuse to explain to me what purposes those diabolic constructions around their embassy serve? Yet they want us to give them lands to use forever so they can build more structures like that! What if they are some kind of weapon? What then? Can you imagine how I feel when I see us moving closer and closer to our destruction but can do nothing—and just have to smile at those monsters, to be polite to them and wonder what compromises I should offer to keep our relationship with them at least at its current level? At least, because it could get worse. And it will, if we don’t finally take some measures. Drastic ones!”
Zung doubled his fists and pounded them on the table. He was breathing rapidly, his eyes burning with anger and hatred. “There is only one way out, Terence! The colonization! It will interrupt our relationship with them—will buy us time to recover, to make our own advances. Because among the colonists, besides criminals and the terminally ill, will be many talented and brave people. They will mingle with the Yusians, get to know them, and learn their vulnerabilities. And Eyrena will not be completely inaccessible for us. I, and after me my successors, will visit it every year.”
“How?”
“The Yusian starship will take us there and back, from our moon. Thank God, we can at least get there on our own! So the isolation of Earth itself will remain intact, while we’ll be able to watch over the interests of the colonists.”
“And also receive the reports of those talented people you mentioned,” I added. In fact, I was beginning to think his plan was very well designed.
“Exactly!” Zung confirmed passionately. “And one more huge benefit: according to the agreement, after the thirty years are over—when, I’m sure, we will also have our own flotilla of starships—Eyrena will be ours! Ours, can you imagine? A new Earth! With untouched resources and in a conveniently strategic position, close to Yus. Soon we’ll be able to act from a position of strength, Terence! It’s in our nature to succeed. We have the ambition, the readiness to fight, and the eagerness to win. And the Yusians?”
He threw back his head and laughed contemptuously. “They lack our human soul! Their only advantage is that they appeared a few millennia earlier. In spite of that, we will take the place we deserve. And that must be first place—nothing less would do!”
His optimism was contagious. I could imagine humanity starting to chant its triumphal hymns. Still, I had to ask, “Well, yes, but what if the causes for Fowler and Stein’s deaths turn out to lie in the planet itself?”
“I already explained to you what the causes for their deaths were!” Zung replied abruptly. “And remember, the project will be realized. In any case!”
“Even if we have to pay the price of other victims, maybe hundreds of them, among the colonists?”
“Yes! So that billions of other people can live.”
“But what is the sense of that? If Eyrena is unsuitable for us.”
“We’ll still have thirty years without Yusian interference. That’s something.”
I wearily disagreed. “No. I can’t accept this way of thinking.”
Zung exploded, “Listen, Terence, and understand! The Earth must have a different future; we cannot and will not go on this way. I intend to see to that, no matter the cost. No matter what! And as for you, it’s in your best interest—”
I interrupted him right away, “I’m not used to ultimatums, Mr. Zung. If you expect to find in me your next obedient pawn, you will be disappointed. And I may well have supporters.”
He crossed his arms and asked tauntingly, “Who? From whom will you gain this support, Terence? From the Yusians?”
“If they are benevolent, why not?”
“Because you’re human, that’s why! I know you will endure anything—everything!—rather than ask them for help. You know that too.”
When I remained silent, Zung nodded at me, satisfied and somewhat disdainful. “Your assignment is clear, isn’t it? Fulfill it, and you won’t be sorry. Vey A. Zung takes care of his people.”
He looked at his watch, and I, assuming that he wanted to finish the meeting, willingly rose from my armchair.
“Sit down, sit down!” His face was glowing with kindness. “We still have more time.”
Soon the telephone rang, and Zung quickly picked up the receiver. I could guess what he was expecting. After listening to a monologue, he hung up and stared sadly for a long time at the opposite wall. Finally he purred, “Now, Terence, that we have agreed to work together, I can confide in you. It’s better that you didn’t read the note on the foil. It would only have confused you.”
Too bad! His people were quick. The old professor was in trouble, and for nothing.
“Why do you think I didn’t read it?” I tried to add a tone of irony.
Zung shrugged his shoulders condescendingly. “Genetti was a talented scientist,” he reminisced, lost in thought, “but as a person—now, remembering him, I understand: he was very suspicious too.”
The smile on his face belied the threat of murder haunting his eyes! Tilting his head, he looked at me with real curiosity while his finger casually pressed a button. Three people came in. When I rose, they surrounded me on three sides. Then Vey A. Zung approached and heartily shook my hand.
Chapter 4
I was not surprised to be taken to a secret airport near the “clinic.” A Mirage, ready for takeoff, awaited me there. Once Zung’s people made sure that I was safely aboard in the rear cabin, their car pulled away. Settling the briefcase on my lap, I then put on the communication helmet provided. Of course, nothing was being communicated to—or from—me. The pilot revved up the engines, and we took off.
Seized by the usual vertigo, I watched the ground recede until the plane sliced through the clouds and rose above them. As the world gave way to endless azure, reality expanded as well, acquiring a new, dual meaning. Not simply a measure, time was now eternity and a fiction, space not a road to elsewhere but infinity and an optical illusion, our movement not a direction but life itself—and its impossibility.
Gradually the passing scene shrank to invisibility, and the peace of resignation cradled me in its arms, until my nagging conscience quickly put an end to this relaxation. Never before had I flown without some control over where I was going and who was taking me there, without any orientation or even assurance of my final aim. What if we were not going to the Erdland launch site? Couldn’t it be that, if I had a backup and he had been better at negotiating, Zung would certainly replace me? Then my destiny would probably be similar to Genetti’s.
<
br /> Genetti—I won’t forget him. If I survive, whether here or on Eyrena, I will remember him often, Mr. Zung. And I will remind you of him as well, at the first opportunity!
My sense of time completely disrupted—first the flight seemed too long and then the landing much too soon. For a moment I couldn’t believe our journey was ending, but our velocity downward quickly convinced me—and also taught me the value of our training sessions at the military air base.
The ocean emerged from its misty shroud, noiselessly roaring against our intrusion. Its waves swelled larger and higher, like hundreds of trembling manes of light, glimmering and darkening, stretching endlessly away from us. Then the plane veered sharply toward the turbulent gulf in the distance. As we skimmed just above its surface, my heartbeat matched the surf beating against the rocks, my staring eyes misted with the white steam coating the rocks to the sand line, dark from the rain, and I realized that the pilot had given me, his unknown companion, a gift. Yes, this was a man capable of great generosity. Never has anything struck me as so unbelievably beautiful as this bubbling, barren gulf below us—probably the last I would see on Earth.
Either my eyes simply refused to focus on anything else or the runway really did appear abruptly out of nowhere. We hurled headlong over it, then banked sharply, and were soon taxiing into a huge hangar. As we stopped, my communication helmet regained its voice: “Please enter the robocar that is coming for you.”
I waited a few seconds for additional instructions. Receiving none, I picked up my briefcase and deplaned. I glanced through the window of the pilot’s cabin but could see only a bent shoulder.
I climbed into the waiting robocar, and it set out. Heavy, armor-plated barriers lifted in front, freezing at a few centimeters above and then lowering behind the car with a thud. The cement track meandered downward, probably toward the very heart of the vast, underground complex. Again I had no idea where I was being taken and hadn’t even noticed whether or not the complex was connected to the launch site. Such was the price of those sentimental moments I spent admiring the seascape at the end of the flight.
