Mission to Minerva g-5

by James P. Hogan

  What this meant was that the mutations were not random, as biological doctrine had steadfastly maintained for over a century, but triggered by cues in the environment. And that in turn meant that the genetic "programs" for responding to those cues must already have been there, in the bacterial genome to begin with. They hadn't arisen over millions of years of trial-and-error selection from random mutations. The process by which it was achieved had been uncovered in the form of messenger proteins encoding externally acquired information that was written into the genome by special-purpose enzymes-misinterpreted as components of antibodies to viruses that turned out never to have existed, and a cause of a huge medical scandal and a spate of class-action suits in years gone by. One of the central dogmas of evolutionary theory was thus shown to be violated. That the whole business was a far more complex affair than had been confidently supposed was, to put it mildly, the least troubling interpretation that could be put on it.

  Danchekker still wasn't sure if a senior directorship in the UNSA hierarchy, with all the attendant bureaucratic chores and deference to academic convention, really suited him. In his quieter moments, when he relaxed in his apartment to the music of Mahler or Berlioz, or sat contemplating the trees by some secluded tributary of the Potomac, his mind still soared with the Jupiter mission ships to the icy wastes of Ganymede and saw again the pale green, orange-streaked skies of Jevlen above the towering alien cityscapes. Across the vast tract of worlds that the Thuriens had spread to, there dwelt more strange and wondrous forms of life than could be so much as glimpsed in the remainder of a lifetime. On Crayses there was a creature that was both animal and plant, rooting itself in the ground when conditions were agreeable, moving on when they changed. Yaborian Two had somehow produced a reversed planetwide chemistry in which oxy-carbon based life flourished in a reducing atmosphere of methane.

  He realized that he had drifted away into musings again when Sandy Holmes, his technical assistant, stuck her head in from the lab area outside the office. Divisional director or not, Danchekker wouldn't let administrative matters prevent him from keeping his practical hand in. Taking care of them was what staff were for. He refused to accept calls while he was working.

  "Excuse me, Professor?"

  "Hm? What?… Oh." Danchekker returned reluctantly to planet Earth. He sighed and gestured at the papers lying in front of him. "It appears that much of what we considered to be unquestionable may have to be rethought from basics, Sandy. The development of organisms is much more closely coupled with the environment than existing theory can account for. You need to read this… Anyway, what is it?"

  "Mildred is downstairs in reception. You're due to have lunch with her, remember?"

  "Ah, yes." Normally, Danchekker blanched at the mention of the name. His cousin from Austria had been camped in the Washington, DC, area for a couple of months while researching her latest book, which was on Thurien culture and sociology. She had latched onto Danchekker as her prime reference and research source. But today he was actually looking forward to seeing her. "Can you organize an aircab to the front door for us, Sandy?"

  "It's on its way. I told them, the Olive Tree. Is that okay?"

  "That will do splendidly."

  "And Ms. Mulling asked me to remind you that you're meeting Vic Hunt and Gregg Caldwell at the Carnarvon at six-thirty tonight." Ms. Mulling was Danchekker's personal secretary, whom he thankfully left to take command of administrative and fiscal matters from her domain on the far side of the top floor, from whence she ruled the building. She had come with his appointment as director in the UNSA reorganizational shuffle and was the main reason for his refusing to take calls when immersed in the things that interested him. Her name was usually sufficient to evoke a reflex grimace too, but on this occasion Danchekker merely nodded matter-of-factly as he slipped off his lab coat and draped it on the stand inside the door. "You seem in great spirits today, Professor," Sandy remarked as she walked with him back across the lab area to where she had been working with a technician preparing microscope slides.

  "It looks as if our devious scheme is about to pay off," Danchekker replied breezily. "A week from now, our persistent and pestering authoress will be on her way to distant reaches of the Galaxy, and peace will return to the realm."

  "You've heard back from Frenua?"

  "Earlier this morning. It's as good as arranged. You know how informal the Thuriens are. I shall convey the joyous tidings forthwith, over lunch, and I have no doubt that cousin Mildred will be suitably thrilled."

  "I'm glad it worked out. Enjoy your lunch."

  "Oh, indubitably."

  Danchekker hummed to himself in the elevator all the way down, oblivious of the clerk carrying a sheaf of papers who got in at the eighth floor and left at the fifth. When the doors opened on the ground level, he sailed out with a broad, toothy smile to greet his cousin, waiting in the lobby area beyond. Mildred was momentarily taken aback but recovered quickly.

  "Christian, you're exactly on time! You look quite on top of the world today."

  "And why not? I might ask. We should not let the chores of our humdrum lives mar the splendor of such a heaven-sent day. I can see more shades of green from my window on the top floor than would grace a legion of leprechauns." Danchekker held the main door aside graciously to usher Mildred through. She looked at him uncertainly.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Never better. And you look radiant too-a fitting tribute to spring."

  In fact, Danchekker thought she looked mildly ridiculous in one of those floppy, wide-brimmed hats with flowers that even he knew had been out of style for years, a floral dress that was doubtless practical but seemed grannyish, and a pair of equally practical lightweight boots that might have done service on the Appalachian Trail. But beyond that, she talked.

  The cab was waiting in the forecourt of the building when they emerged. As soon as it lifted off, Mildred was back to the subject of Thurien political society. "I know they don't bother very much about labels and formal organizations and that kind of thing, but when you get down to analyzing the way their system works, it really is a model of the socialist ideal, Christian. And you could hardly ask for better vindication than a culture that travels between stars as a matter of routine and didn't have a word for 'war' until they met us, could you? I know we've made a lot of progress since all the mess at the end of the last century, but you have to agree that too much of the world's thinking is still shaped by insecurity and the compulsion to pointless antagonism. I mean, it's all such an adolescently arrested mind-set: the striving for wealth and power-which is just another way of saying fixation on possessions and getting one's own way regardless of the consequences to others. That's hardly what we'd normally perceive as the sign of individual maturity, is it? All this emphasis on competition. We're far more cooperative by nature as a species. It makes the Thuriens seems so adult by contrast; more… more spiritual. You know what I mean? They're so far past the stage where material gratification means anything. They can think of the longer term. What collapsed in Russia back at the end of the eighties wasn't socialism. What Lenin and Stalin created had about as much to do with socialism as the Inquisition and the witch burnings had to do with Christianity. What collapsed was coercion and the attempt to impose a system by force. But then it always will in the end. People don't like seeing being afraid to express an opinion and seeing their neighbors dragged away to prison camps. You'd think that would be obvious enough, wouldn't you? But governments-here, anyway-have always seemed unable grasp it. That's what happens when you can't see further than short-term expediency. Don't you think so?"

  "You could be right," Danchekker agreed.

  By the time she was squinting at the menu, after rummaging in her purse for a pair of oval spectacles with purple butterfly frames, she had switched to news of the European branch of the family. "Emma-you remember her? You wouldn't recognize her if you saw her today-tall and raven haired like her grandmother was. She took up with a Ukrain
ian artist of some kind, and they're living like Bohemians in a converted barn in Croatia. Martha-that's her mother-is so put out about it. Stefan says he's going to disinherit her if she doesn't come to her senses. He's doing well, by the way. You really could try and stay in touch a bit more, you know, Christian. His firm has just opened a new office in Vienna. They've got a new line on some kind of self-repairing material for spacecraft and things that there was a lot of interest in. But he's worried now that the Thuriens might start importing something superior that would upset everything. I don't think they would, though, do you? I know they don't have an economic system as we know it, or very much in the way of restrictions. But they're just not the kind who would go barging in thoughtlessly and destabilize another culture like that… Seafood Alfredo sounds good. What are you having?"

  "Oh, just something light today. I have to attend one of those wretched black tie dinners tonight. In honor of someone who's retiring. Some UNSA people are over from Geneva for it."

  "Poor Christian. You never were one for that kind of thing, were you?"

  "The primary object appears to be getting seats at the right tables and to be seen, rather than appreciating a good meal. Quite frankly, I'd rather they brought him here."

  "The Thuriens would never go for that kind of nonsense, would they?" Mildred said, resurrecting that topic through to the end of the salad course. "From all the things I've read, they just don't have any concept of rivalry or putting the other person down. If you persuade them they're wrong about something, they just admit it. Why can't we be more like that? And it's so idiotic! I mean, how often have you watched someone at a cocktail party who won't back down?… because he's afraid of losing face! But he couldn't lose more face than by doing what he's doing, could he?… when everyone in the room thinks he's being a dolt. But just once in a while you see one who can stop, and look at you, and say, 'You may have a point. I never thought about it that way.' In my eyes, someone like that is suddenly ten feet tall. You think, my God, how wonderful! So why is it so difficult? But all the Thuriens are like that, aren't they? Does it really go back to their ancient ancestors on Minerva, where there were no land carnivores and predators? I've read the things you've written about all that. It explains so much of their social structure today. I really need to learn more."

  Danchekker decided that his moment had come. Mildred must have seen him swell in anticipation or caught a glint in his eye through his spectacles, for she paused just as she was about to resume, and looked at him curiously.

  "How would you like to learn everything you want to know, firsthand, from the best source you could possibly wish for?" he asked her. Mildred frowned, not knowing what to make of this. Danchekker dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and tossed out his other hand expansively. "From the Thurien psychologists, biologists, and social visionaries themselves! All of them-anyone you care to approach, with all their records and theories, plans and history available and accessible. You said yourself how informal they are."

  Mildred shook her head, thrown off track and flummoxed. "Christian, I don't think I quite follow… What, exactly, are you talking about?"

  Danchekker beamed in the way of someone finally divulging a secret he could contain no longer. "I have managed to arrange precisely such an opportunity for you: to go there personally, to Thurien, and meet some of their most prominent scientific figures and social leaders. They will be more than happy to help with everything you need to know. A writer's chance of a lifetime!"

  Mildred stared at him incredulously. "Me? Go to Thurien?… Are you serious? I… I don't think I quite know what to say."

  Danchekker brushed an imaginary crumb from his lapel with a thumb. "The least I could do as a modest contribution, considering the acquaintances I have been fortunate enough to make there," he told her. "Frenua Showm, an inner member of their highest policy-making organization, will take care of you personally and arrange the right introductions."

  "My God, this is…" Mildred put a hand up to her mouth and shook her head again. "Quite a shock, you understand."

  "I am sure you will rise to it admirably."

  Mildred emitted a long, shaky breath and gulped from her water glass. "When is this supposed to happen?"

  "A Thurien vessel called the Ishtar is in orbit above Earth currently, in connection with a technical and cultural exchange mission visiting eastern Asia. It will be returning seven days from now. I took the liberty of reserving you a place on it."

  "Seven days! My word…" Mildred put a hand to her chest weakly.

  Danchekker waved a hand carelessly. "I know the Thuriens are obliging, and one only has to ask. But it means that places on their ships tend to be filled quickly. And the Ishtar is only a small craft, apparently. I didn't want to risk your being disappointed."

  "Christian, was this your idea?" A suspicious note had crept into Mildred's voice.

  Danchekker spread his palms with the expression of bewildered innocence of a boy insisting he had no idea how the frog had gotten into his sister's bed. "I talk to Frenua all the time, and happened to mention your project and its research needs. The offer was entirely theirs." A mild feeling of discomfort flickered for a moment as he said this, but lightning didn't strike.

  Finally, Mildred absorbed what he was saying. She sat back in her chair and looked at him disbelievingly. "Well… what do I say? I knew I'd come to the right person."

  "Does that mean you're agreeable?"

  "It'll be a bit of a rush getting organized at this kind of notice… But of course. As you said, a writer's chance of a lifetime."

  "Splendid. It calls for a bottle of wine, don't you think?" Danchekker turned his head from side to side, searching for a waiter.

  "I thought you didn't drink," Mildred said.

  Danchekker pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged. "There are moments in life when a rare exception might be permitted," he replied.

  He was still cackling to himself an hour later, when he paid the cabbie off at Goddard, having dropped Mildred at her hotel on the way back to begin making her arrangements.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A friend of Hunt's named Rita, who was widowed, attractive, sophisticated, and, remarkably, unattached, ran a Turkish-cuisine restaurant that he visited from time to time in Silver Spring. A couple of months previously, she had prevailed upon him to escort her to a wedding she had been invited to of an old friend from college days. It had all gone very pleasantly, and he in turn enlisted her as his dinner companion for Owen's retirement dinner at the Carnarvon. She appeared promptly when he collected her shortly after six o'clock, tall and shapely, her honey-blond hair worn high, and wearing a white stole over a sparkling orange gown, high-necked and sleeveless, Oriental style. "Susie Wong tonight, are we?" Hunt quipped as she took his arm to walk to the airmobile that he had arrived in-rented.

  "It goes with the tuxedo image of this James Bondish-looking Englishman. Are you packing a gun, too?"

  "I knew I'd forgotten something." Hunt saw her in to the passenger seat, closed the door, and walked around to the driver's side.

  "Is it going to be stuffy and horribly technical with all those scientists and UNSA people?" Rita asked as he climbed in.

  Hunt okayed the destination for the flight computer and started the turbine, taking an unnaturally long time to reply. The announcement he was due to make was going to be public knowledge soon enough anyway, he started to tell himself. But on the other hand, there was such a thing as professional decorum. He would be left in an awkward situation if he started going into it now, and Owen had second thoughts. "Oh, I think you'll find it interesting enough," was all he said finally.

  They were among the early arrivals at the reception, but the room filled quickly. Caldwell arrived with his wife, Maeve, and had also brought Mitzi, his secretary, and her husband. Danchekker showed up on his own, looking about as at home in black-tie attire as an ostrich in ballet tights. Hunt and Rita did the requisite social round, swapping shop and small talk, me
eting the two visitors from Geneva, and paying their respects to Owen. Rita carried it all through with poise, fitting in easily and naturally in a way that warmed everyone they talked to. Hunt found himself wondering, not for the first time, if he should be thinking seriously about settling into a more conventional role and finding himself a permanent companion in life. By all the criteria that were supposed to matter, he wouldn't do any better than this person clinging to his arm and captivating his colleagues right now-even Danchekker. And yet… He couldn't put a finger on just what it was that didn't feel right. Deciding there was an empty slot in life and looking around for someone to fill it didn't seem to be the way. The right person would make their own slot. Or was it that for someone of his restless, loner disposition, compulsively changing his life whenever it threatened to close in by becoming too secure and predictable, there couldn't be a "right" person?

  They were seated at the table presided over by Caldwell, which also included Danchekker, Owen, and the two Europeans. The conversation came around to what Owen planned to do with his time now. Owen said he was going to write an autobiography, giving his account of the extraordinary events that UNSA had been involved in during his time of office. Caldwell agreed that an insider's story was needed. Did Owen know that Danchekker had a cousin who wrote books? No, Owen didn't. Caldwell looked across at Danchekker. "In fact, isn't she visiting here right now, Chris?"