To The Stars

Then came the realization that what Sara had told him on the submarine was true. The world was proving not to be the simple place he had always thought it to be.

It was snowing outside and the city of London had vanished behind a shifting curtain of white. What was to be done? He knew he was at a turning point, a branching in the road of his life. Perhaps the major branch, the one of most importance. There had been a number of shocks administered in the last weeks, more perhaps than he had experienced before in his entire lifetime. Fights in prep school, canings, exams in university, love affairs — all that had really been simple. Life had flowed toward him and he had taken it as it came. All of the decisions had been easy ones to make because they moved with the stream. Yes, this was different; this was the big one.

He could do nothing, of course, ignore everything he had heard and discovered and lead the life he had always led.

No, he couldn’t possibly do that. It had all changed. The world he had lived in was not the real one, his view of reality not a true one. Israel, smugglers, submarines, democracy, slaveocracy. They were there and he had not known about them. He had been as misled as the pre-Copernicans who thought that the sun rotated around the Earth. They had believed — no, they had known — that it did. And they had been wrong. He had known about his world — and had been just as wrong.

At that moment he had no idea where it would lead, and had the sudden depressing feeling that it might end in disaster. It might — but the chance had to be taken. He prided himself on the freedom of his thought, the ability for rational and unemotional thinking that led him to the truth, whatever it might be.

Well there was plenty of truth in the world he knew nothing about — and he was going to find it. And he knew just how to go about it. It would be simple, it might leave traces, but if he worked it right he would not be caught.

Smiling, he sat down with a pad and a pen and began to draw a flow chart of a computer program for theft.

Six

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you have decided to join our program,” Sonia Amarigho said. “Almost all of our microcircuits are antiques fit only for museums and I despair daily of ever having anything done about them.” She was gray-haired and plump, almost lost behind the big desk. And her Belgian French accent was still pronounced — her “them” sounded more like “zem” even after her years in London. She looked like a concierge or a tired housewife. She was considered to be the top communications engineer in the entire world.

“It is my pleasure to be here, Madame Amarigho. I must admit that my motives are very selfish for joining your program.”

“More selfishness of this order I do need!”

“No, it’s the truth. I’m working on a smaller version of the nautical navigator and I’m having problems. I realized, finally, that my biggest problem was I knew very little about the circuitry at the satellite end. When I heard that you were looking for a microcircuit engineer I jumped at the chance.”

“You are a most marvelous man and you are doubly welcome. We go to your laboratory now.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what my job is first?”

“Your job is everything,” she said, moving her hands outward in a quick, all-encompassing gesture. “I want you first to understand our circuitry, ask questions, learn about our satellites. We have difficulties enough that I won’t bother you with at the present. When you know your way around I will present you with a stack — so high! — of these problems. You will be sorry you ever came.

“Hardly. I really am looking forward to it.”

This was the truth. He needed to work in a very large lab, and the discovery of the opening in the satellite program had been fortuitous. He really could work on the development of his navigator. And he would be of value here if the microcircuitry was as dated as he had been led to understand.

It was worse. The first satellite he examined in any detail was a great two-ton geosynchronous machine that hung in the sky 35,924 kilometers over the Atlantic Ocean. It had been in trouble for years, less than half of its circuits were still in operation, and a replacement was being manufactured. Jan was scanning through the diagrams of the replacement, with an overall schematic displayed on one screen and detailed breakdowns being shown in color on the larger screen before him. Some of the circuitry looked familiar — too familiar. He touched the prod to the screen and signaled for information. A third VDU lit up with a display of specification numbers.

“I can’t believe it!” Jan said aloud.

“Did you call, your honor?” A lab assistant pushing an instrument-laden wagon stopped, turning toward him.

“No, nothing. Thank you. Just talking to myself.”