Code Of The Lifemaker

by Hogan, James

  lights, voices, and special effects, and disembark a specially rehearsed

  celestial troupe consisting of Lord Nelson and a supporting act of Druids. The

  result would be instant conversions of Paduans by the drove, Zambendorf had

  predicted confidently; Henry would be deposed; Genoa would be saved; the

  Taloids' future would be assured; and the war against unscrupulous Terran

  business tycoons and politicians would be won. It was one of Zambendorf's

  strengths as a leader—and a source of some of the biggest problems that came

  from working with him—that he always made everything sound too easy.

  The most recent developments, however, were causing Abaquaan misgivings. First,

  twenty-four hours or so before, Massey had called from the Orion to advise that

  Caspar Lang would probably use a ruse to warn Zambendorf off from any intention

  he might have of reproducing his desert spectacular over Padua city.

  Sure enough Lang had come through a couple of hours later and issued a solemnly

  worded warning containing all the points that Massey had predicted. Zambendorf

  had put on an impressive act of trying desperately but not quite successfully to

  hide his dismay as he listened, and mumbled about needing time to rethink the

  whole situation. Then, roaring with laughter after Lang was off the line, he had

  told the team jubilantly, "This has to mean we're over the last hurdle! Thanks

  to Massey we've bluffed the bluffers with their own bluff. Lang and the rest of

  them will just be sitting up there in the Orion, waiting for us to call back

  while we're going in over the city. They won't expect a thing!"

  Zambendorf's enthusiasm had infected the lander's NASO crew, who were gradually

  being won over by a combination of his magnetism and his explanations about the

  Orion mission and its real purpose. The team had effectively acquired another

  four members and was all set to launch the final phase of the operation that

  would make its task complete. The situation could hardly have been more

  favorable. In fact it was too favorable. Everything was going too well, Abaquaan

  felt. Buried somewhere deep down in the whole intricate pattern was something

  that didn't quite fit—something still too subtle for him to raise to the level

  of conscious awareness, but his instincts had detected it. Twenty years earlier

  Abaquaan had learned the dangers ofoverconfidence; a premonition kept telling

  him that at long last Zambendorf's turn had arrived to learn the same lesson.

  An annunciator on the instrument panel bleeped suddenly, and a symbol on a

  display screen began to flash on and off. In the seat next to him, Clarissa

  glanced down, flipped a switch to reset the audio warning, punched commands into

  the pilot's touchpanel, and took in the data that appeared on another display.

  "We've just triggered the outer approach marker," she murmured as she throttled

  back on power and banked the flyer round to line up for landing. "Open up a

  channel to ground, and let's have a profile check."

  Abaquaan selected an infrared view of the terrain ahead and used another screen

  to conjure up images of a series of flight instruments. "Steepen to

  one-eight-zero, rate five-four, reduce speed to four-twenty, and come round onto

  two-five-nine," he instructed. "Autoland lock-on programed at ten seconds into

  phase three of glidepath."

  "Descent monitor and systems?" Clarissa queried.

  "Green one, green two, and ah ... all positive function."

  The flyer came round an invisible mountaintop and straightened out onto its

  final approach and descent into the narrow, sheer-sided valley where the surface

  lander was hidden. The valley floor was a sprawling mess of alien industrial

  constructions, tangled machinery, and derelict plants, and would blur any radar

  echos to overflying reconnaissance satellites sufficiently to conceal the

  outline of the lander, which as an extra precaution had been copiously draped

  with aluminum foil and metalized plastic. The site was showing no lights, and

  electronic transmissions were being restricted to low-power local communications

  and ground beams aimed at satlink relays. Abaquaan pressed a button and spoke

  into the microphone projecting from his headset. "Hornet to Big Bird. Do you

  read? Over."

  The voice of Hank Frazer, the lander's Communications Officer, replied a few

  seconds later: "Reading you okay, Hornet. The landing area is clear here. How'd

  it all go?"

  "Hi, Hank. Mission accomplished," Abaquaan replied. "Moses is on his way. No

  hitches. How have things been back there?"

  The flyer slowed to hover in the darkness, and Clarissa quickly scanned graphics

  displays presented by the flight computers. Moments later the vehicle began

  sinking vertically. "I think we may have problems," Frazer's voice answered.

  "Dave Crookes called down from the ship. It seems like he overheard a couple of

  army officers up there talking about infantry missiles being issued to the

  Paduans specifically for use against the lander if Zambendorf tried any more

  tricks with it. Crookes didn't know what to make of the conversation, but it

  sounded serious and he figured we ought to know. In other words it looks as if

  Henry may really have those weapons after all."

  In the semidarkness of the flyer's cockpit, Clarissa and Abaquaan exchanged

  ominous glances. "Have they talked to Massey about it?" Clarissa murmured,

  tight-lipped. Outside, the tops of fractionating towers and steel pylons,

  indistinct and ghostly in Titan's feeble light, were drifting slowly into view

  from below. The flyer's engine note rose as the computers increased thrust to

  absorb the last remaining momentum of its descent.

  "Has Karl talked to Massey about it?" Abaquaan asked.

  "He couldn't locate him, but he's trying again right now," Frazer answered.

  "Does Karl still think Lang was bluffing?"

  "He doesn't know what to think."

  The flyer gave a final lurch on its shock absorbers, and something deep down in

  Abaquaan's stomach lurched with it. The engines fell to idling speed, and the

  computer displays switched to a series of postflight test routines. "We're

  down," Abaquaan said. "We'll be over in a few minutes. Talk to you then. Out."

  Clarissa leaned forward to scan the ground ahead of the nose, and a few seconds

  later a light appeared from among the shadows. The figure of Joe Fellburg, clad

  in an EV suit and carrying a flashlamp, an M37 automatic infantry assault cannon

  slung across his shoulder, moved forward and guided the vehicle out of the open

  and into its parking area beneath the girder-lattice roof supports of what had

  once been a building of some kind. More forms took shape in the gloom behind him

  as some of Moses' followers from the Taloid encampment nearby came closer to

  watch.

  "What do you think?" Abaquaan asked, reaching for his helmet as Clarissa cut the

  engine.

  "I don't know what to think either," she said as she proceeded quickly through

  the systems shutdown sequence. "It doesn't sound too good."

  Abaquaan unbuckled his harness, hoisted himself from his seat, and moved into

  the forward cabin to put on his helmet. Clarissa followed, and they exited

  through the main lo
ck. Fellburg was waiting for them outside. "Good night?"

  "It went fine," Abaquaan said. "Moses is on his way into the city."

  "It's a pity we can't bring him back. There might be problems."

  "Yeah—you mean about what Dave Crookes heard. Hank told us."

  "Drew thinks we'll have to call off the whole operation."

  "What about Moses?" Clarissa's voice asked, sounding clipped. Fellburg threw out

  a heavily gauntleted hand. "It's tough, but what can you do?"

  Just then, something scurried furtively in the shadows below one of the flyer's

  wings. Fellburg snapped on the flashlamp, and the beam caught a silvery,

  insectlike machine, about the size of a kitchen chair, with an elongated,

  tapering head, a body covered by sliding, overlapping plates, and six slender,

  segmented legs, in the act of stretching one of its sensory appendages to

  investigate the flyer's extended landing pad. A piece of metal hurtled from the

  darkness and bounced off the creature's flank, and a moment later two Taloids

  rushed forward waving their arms wildly to chase it away; the creature had fled

  before Fellburg's gun was even half unslung. As they resumed walking toward the

  black silhouette of the lander, Fellburg swung the lamp from side to side to

  pick out the bullet-riddled remains of a half dozen or so similar machines.

  Another flashlamp shone briefly some distance ahead of them where Clancy Baker

  was patrolling on the far side of the lander. "Looks like some of these

  overgrown tin bugs are partial to NASO-specification alloy," Fellburg grunted.

  "But they're learning pretty quick that getting too close ain't all that

  healthy."

  Inside the lander, Zambendorf and Drew West were standing in front of one of the

  screen consoles on the flight deck, with Andy Schwartz sitting to one side.

  Across the aisle, Mike Glautzen sat in the flight engineer's seat, which was

  reversed to face them. Hank Frazer and Vernon were watching from in front of the

  doorway leading aft into the main cabin. "We managed to get hold of Massey a few

  minutes ago," Frazer murmured as Clarissa and Abaquaan arrived from the midships

  lock.

  "I'm not sure what to believe, Gerry," Zambendorf was saying to the screen. "Do

  you think that what Dave Crookes overheard could have been deliberate—a plant

  intended to scare us off?"

  "Who knows? It's possible," Massey replied.

  "But how could Lang have known that Crookes would pass the information on?"

  Glautzen queried from behind.

  "Easily," Zambendorf said over his shoulder. "He was one of the few among the

  scientists who were solidly behind Gerry in protesting the mission's policies.

  Also Dave is a communications specialist."

  "The other possibility is that it could have been you who was fed wrong

  information," Drew West said to Massey. "Perhaps the Paduans have been given

  smart missiles. The story that it's a bluff might really be a double bluff aimed

  at persuading us to persuade ourselves that there isn't any risk."

  "Yes, that's also possible," Massey admitted. He sounded far from happy.

  Andy Schwartz shook his head and tossed his hands up helplessly. "I'm confused,"

  he protested. "What is all this? The management doesn't want us doing the same

  thing at Padua that we did to Henry's army—right? If that's so, they'd want us

  to believe what Lang said, wouldn't they—whether the Paduans really possess any

  missiles or not. So why would they set Gerry up to tell us Lang was bluffing?

  Either way it makes no sense."

  Drew West bit his lip for a moment, then said, "Unless they wanted us to get

  shot down." The cabin became very still as everyone tried to tell himself West

  hadn't meant what they knew he'd meant. After a pause West went on, "It would

  get rid of their number-one problem permanently. No Terrans need be directly

  involved since the Paduans would have done everything necessary through a

  contrived accident . . . And Leaherney's people would have gone on record as

  having tried to do the civilized thing and warn us, even after we hijacked their

  lander." He shrugged. "So how would it look to an investigating committee

  afterward? A bunch of hotheads insisted on flying an illegally acquired vessel

  into the home territory of heavily armed aliens of known warlike disposition

  despite attempts to warn them, and got themselves killed—a clear verdict of

  death by misadventure. All parties in authority get exonerated. Some

  recommendations would be filed for tightening up security precautions against

  similar seizures in future. And that would be it. Case closed." West turned from

  the screen and moved away to stand staring moodily down at the empty captain's

  couch.

  Hank Frazer was shaking his head and looking appalled. "You're kidding!" he

  gasped. "Are you saying they'd deliberately set us up to be shot down? But

  they're our own people! . . . All over some lousy robot religion? I don't

  believe it. The whole thing's insane."

  "This operation might be worth millions to them—billions, probably," West said

  without turning his head. "And on top of that it could be curtains for the

  Soviets. With stakes like that, who knows what they might do?"

  "I have to agree with Drew," Abaquaan told Zambendorf from the cabin doorway. He

  knew now what had been bothering him: After Massey's attempt at organizing a

  formal protest, Lang wouldn't have confided in him over something like this. The

  leak had been planned.

  "They wouldn't think twice about it," Clarissa declared flatly. "I've seen 'em

  waste more people over peanuts. It just depends on how much somebody decides he

  wants the peanuts."

  "They're right," Andy Schwartz agreed morosely.

  A heavy silence descended once again. Zambendorf brought a hand up to his brow,

  emitted a long, weary sigh, and moved a couple of paces toward the door. There

  was nothing more that any of the others could add. Zambendorf was going through

  the motions of tussling with a difficult decision, but Abaquaan, West, and

  Clarissa, who had worked with him for a long time, knew already that there was

  no decision for him to make; as bitter as it would be for him to have to concede

  defeat —and to cap it all, defeat in the final round after winning every round

  that had gone before—he would never ask them to risk their lives for any cause,

  and wouldn't for a moment consider risking the crew, even if they were to

  volunteer. It had been a good fight, but it was over. All that Zambendorf was

  really looking for now was a way to climb down gracefully. The lander's crew

  could sense it too, and while they sympathized with his predicament, none of

  them was particularly disposed to help make it any easier. After all, being

  hijacked to help a worthy cause was one thing; going on suicide missions was

  something else. They remained silent and avoided one another's eyes

  uncomfortably.

  Then Massey turned his head suddenly to look somewhere offscreen. "There's

  somebody at the door here," he said. "Just a second while I see who it is." He

  leaned away and vanished from sight for a few seconds, then reappeared once more

  and announced, "It's Thelma. I've let her in. She said something about having

  important new
s."

  Zambendorf frowned and moved up to the screen. Drew West came back from the

  forward end of the flight deck to stand next to him. In front of them, Massey

  moved to one side to make room for Thelma. She looked worried. "Have you sent

  Moses into Padua yet?" she asked without preliminaries.

  Zambendorf nodded. "Yes—as scheduled. Why? What's happened?"

  Thelma groaned. "You can't go through with it. Larry Campbell got me a copy of

  the cargo manifest for the latest arms shipment down to Henry. Those missiles

  are there, Karl. The list includes twenty-four Banshee Mark Fours, half with

  training warheads and the rest of them live. They could blow you out of the sky

  from up to eleven kilometers away. There's no chance that going in there could

  achieve anything now except get everyone down there killed. You have to call the

  whole thing off."

  For a long time nobody moved and nobody spoke. Schwartz and Glautzen stared down

  at the floor, while on the screen Thelma waited pale-faced and Massey kept his

  eyes averted woodenly. At last, Zambendorf gave a single curt nod, turned away,

  and stumbled unsteadily forward between the pilots' stations. He sank down

  heavily into the captain's seat and sat staring out through the windshield with

  unseeing eyes, his frame hunched and his shoulders sagging as if he had just

  aged twenty years.

  Drew West moved round to bring himself full-face to the image of Massey and

  Thelma. "I think Karl sees the way it is," he told them quietly. "Look, you've

  done all you can for now. It'd probably be best if you left things with us for a

  while. We'll talk to you later, okay?"

  Thelma was about to say something more, but Massey checked her with a warning

  touch on the shoulder and shook his head. "Okay, Drew," he murmured. "I guess it

  was a good try, huh?" The screen went blank.

  Abaquaan looked from one to another of the subdued faces around him. "What about

  Nelson and the Druids outside?" he asked in a low voice. "They're all ready for

  the grand entry into Padua. What do we tell them?"

  Nobody had any answers, or seemed to care all that much. At length West said,

  "Well, perhaps that's something we ought to talk about." As the others looked at

  him, he motioned with his head to indicate the direction of the door. Andy

  Schwartz got the message and nodded silently; he got up from his seat, waved a