Resurgence

“We are at the extreme edge of the region where the stars have ceased to shine. The Marglotta, who came to us and sought our assistance, may be presumed to be just beyond that edge since their home system is currently in danger. And since we were directed here, it is logical to assume that the Marglotta home world is at no great distance from us. I therefore propose that we travel to and explore the nearest stellar system. It will be, with high probability, the Marglot system.”

Hans Rebka had listened carefully to every word. He decided that he understood the problem: although E.C. Tally was totally logical, the embodied robot was also totally crazy. Unless you got lucky, and found either another Bose node or a Builder transport vortex, a subluminal trip to the nearest stellar system was a multi-year proposition.

But maybe you didn’t have to be crazy—just have an indefinitely long life-span, like an embodied computer.

Julian Graves said, “You leave one important point unspecified. Who would undertake such a journey?”

“Why, I would. Who else?”

“Who else, indeed? I need time to consider your suggestion, and also Professor Lang’s. Does anyone have other ideas to offer?”

Graves was already on his feet, ready to end the meeting, when Louis Nenda coughed and said, “Yeah. Well, maybe. Though the last thing I offered got shot to hell. Thing is, At and me figure the rest of you are missing a big piece of all this. What about the Polypheme?”

“Mr. Nenda, you are the one who pointed out that Chism Polyphemes are the most crooked, unreliable, deceitful species in the galaxy.”

“Absolutely. Did I mention they’re also totally self-serving? If I didn’t, I should have. But you had a Polypheme piloting the ship with the Marglotta on board. More than that, by the time it reached Miranda it was a dead Polypheme, something nobody I know ever saw or heard of. Polyphemes may not live forever, but they do their best to. So At an’ me, we asked ourselves, why would a Polypheme get mixed up in tryin’ to help the Marglotta? We can come up with only one answer: the Polyphemes are involved because they’re scared light green. An’ why? ’Cause their home world is next on the list, or maybe next but one. Otherwise, they wouldn’t give a damn what happened to the Marglot system. So if anyone can tell us what’s goin’ on, the Polyphemes can.”

“Mr. Nenda, what you say may well be true. There is, however, a fatal flaw in your argument: we have no idea where the Polypheme home world might be, and we know they will do everything they can to conceal that knowledge from us.”

“The hell with their home world. We don’t need it. Polyphemes gossip and gabble like nobody’s business. You can bet your ass and hat that if the whole species is in trouble, any Polypheme you run into is likely to know about it. I don’t want all the Chism Polyphemes. I just want one, and a chance to pull information out of it.”

“How would you do that?”

“Don’t you worry your head. I got my methods.”

“I would be concerned by that statement, but for one thing: you have no Polypheme.”

“Not yet. But I think I know a way to snag me one. Only thing is, it’s going to take a few more hours of work before we know what we got.”

“Indeed? Then a few more hours is what you will have. Not, I should add, for your benefit but for my own.” Julian Graves surveyed the group. “I am sure it is hardly necessary to point out that we have gone from a paucity of ideas as to where we are or what we should do next, to a superabundance of theories. It is perhaps also unnecessary to remark that when three suggestions appear equally plausible, there is a better than fifty-fifty chance that any given one of them is wrong. I will inform you tomorrow of the result of my deliberations.”

Julian Graves stood up and left the chamber. It was obvious that he was in no mood for further discussion, but Hans Rebka hurried out after him.

“Councilor, I know you have not yet made a decision but I want to point something out to you. It would be absolutely criminal to permit Darya Lang to head down to the surface of Iceworld unless someone who knows what he is doing goes with her.”

“It certainly would, Captain Rebka.” Graves turned in the doorway. “Your concerns are noted. They are, however, premature. I request that you, like everyone else, wait until tomorrow before you jump to conclusions. Please do not pursue me further.”

A wave of his arm, and the door closed.

Hans Rebka was left alone in the corridor with another mystery to ponder: How could somebody with so little idea of danger be placed in charge of an expedition so far beyond the boundaries of known space?

CHAPTER NINE The parting of the ways

Louis Nenda was out of the meeting chamber almost as quickly as Hans Rebka. He, however, had no thought of pursuing Julian Graves. His interest was in returning to the Have-It-All as fast as possible.