Dark as Day (37 page)

The others looked at Jack Beston, waiting for more direction. When he offered none, Pat Tankard said hesitantly, “We already know that the total sequence length has a moderate number of factors—it’s certainly not prime, and it’s not highly composite. I was thinking of taking a look at partition theory and prime factorization of parts of the array. See if any of the two-dimensional arrays look anything like a picture.”

Jack nodded. “That’s very good, Pat, but maybe we shouldn’t stick with two-D. For all we know, our unknown signaller comes from avian stock, and thinks naturally in three dimensions. Or one dimension.”

After another brief silence, Simon Bitters, who had been wandering around the room in his usual restless way, returned to the rest of the group, put his index finger on the end of his nose, and said, “The whole signal repeats with twenty-one billion periodicity, but I was thinking that maybe not all of it is information. There may be marker sub-sequences, things like stop-start codons that indicate where something with meaning begins and ends. We need to look for short repeat sequences, patterns that don’t actually mean anything but that repeat over and over. I thought I would go through and examine local entropy, then see if that leads me to repeat markers.”

“Very logical.” Beston stared again at the maze of digits on the screen, and shook his head. “Good luck. But all of you, I wouldn’t start on any of this until you’ve had some rest. Chance favors the prepared mind, but discovery favors the rested one. And remember, we’re in this for the long haul. We may get lucky in a few months, but chances are we’re years away from knowing what you’ve got there.” He turned to Milly. “Anything else, before we let these hard-working people get some sleep? They’ve been up all night.”

Milly shook her head and allowed Beston to lead her outside. Once the door to the room was closed, he stopped right in front of Milly.

“There, see that? Nice as pie, not a harsh word from me to anybody. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Milly hesitated. “You were polite, and agreeable. But I’m not sure that
they
are all right. I mean, I know they’re short of sleep, but their behavior seemed kind of odd. They’ve just finished something important. You’d never know it from their attitudes. They acted
flat
.”

“As if something was wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Very perceptive. Something
was
wrong.”

“But I couldn’t tell what it was.”

“I know absolutely what it was.”

“Was it me? Do they resent me, and the fact that I was the one who first found the anomaly?”

Jack laughed. “No, it wasn’t you, Milly. You are very smart, probably the smartest person who has ever worked at Argus Station, but they don’t resent that. Also, you have lots of dedication and drive to go with your brains. But there are still things you don’t know.”

He leaned against the wall of the corridor, stared down at Milly’s puzzled face, and went on, “You said it very clearly before we went in there. I’m an Ogre, and a monster, and I insult my staff and bully my staff and drive my staff. Now let me tell you a story. Back in the days when humans were just moving into space, there was a race between two countries to see who could be first to get human beings to the Moon.”

“I know about that. I’ve read a lot of history about America and Russia.”

“I’ll bet you don’t know what I’m going to tell you, because it was never in the official history books—just passed down by word-of-mouth. In the beginning, the Russians seemed to be well ahead. They had the first satellite, and the first man in space, and the first woman in space. Then the man who was running the American space program at the time made a decision. He chose a foreigner—a German, who had fought against the Americans in a recent war—and gave him the main responsibility for getting men to the Moon and back. He was asked, privately, ‘My God, why did you pick him? If he fails, you will be criticized by everyone in the country.’ The administrator said, “Do you think I don’t know that? But he won’t fail—he’s too arrogant to let himself fail.’ You see, Milly, the job we have here is a bit like the job they had. It’s difficult, it needs technology that’s right at the edge, and we’re in a hurry. Most people at Argus Station don’t have your self-confidence, or so much confidence in the project itself. They need somebody who shows in everything he says or does that we
can’t
fail—and in this game, coming in second
is
failing.

“Now I want to ask you a question, Milly. You heard Pat Tankard’s suggestion of examining two-D representations of the signal. What do you think of it?”

“To be honest, not very much. You can send information as images, but it’s terribly inefficient. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a high-resolution one costs you a million. Mostly you send messages as words and numbers, or their equivalent. And they are both one-dimensional data strings.”

“Exactly. So one of us—you or me—ought to have pointed out that fact to Pat. We didn’t, did we? Do you think that was doing her a service?”

“It wasn’t. But she just
might
be onto something.”

“Just might. In this game, though, you play the odds. For Pat Tankard’s sake, I ought to have cut her down or at the very least warned her. A bit later I probably will, but now I have another question for you. You’ve heard me rant and rave, you’ve heard me cuss out my people, you’ve heard me be an absolute tyrant. So here’s my question: when I’m not around, have you ever heard anyone on the staff say anything negative about me?”

Milly thought. The odd thing was, she hadn’t. She could hardly count Hannah Krauss’s warning that Jack Beston had a lot of sexual interest in the female staff members. And even there, Hannah had made it clear that she’d had her own experience with Jack Beston, and still held him in high regard.

“No one has ever said anything bad about you. Not to me, at any rate.”

“But if I go on being wishy-washy, the way I was back in there, they’ll soon start to. They’ll begin to wonder if I’m losing it. Milly, in private with you I will be as nice as you want—as nice as you will let me be. But in our staff meetings, I have to be the same rip-roaring Ogre that people are used to. I’m going to push, and hassle, and never let anybody imagine for one moment that we won’t come out of this as the team who found and cracked the first message from the stars.” He nodded to Milly. “That’s all I have to say. Contact your friends in the Puzzle Network, see if you can finagle your way onto that team. If you do, remember I want to go with you. And yes, if I have to I’ll carry your bags.”

He headed away along the corridor, quickly, so that Milly had no chance to reply. She stood for awhile, thinking. She was not even sure what her reply would have been. Half an hour ago she had felt in full command of the situation. She was the one with the contacts, the one with the clout, the one in control. Jack Beston had no choice. He would treat her in
her
way, as she wanted to be treated, or she would quit and leave Argus Station.

Now she was not sure what she would do. She was sure of only one thing: Jack Beston—still an Ogre, but apparently Ogre-by-choice—was a more complex person than she had ever suspected. And because of that, all Milly’s own decisions had become more difficult.

24

On the trip from Pandora to Ganymede, Alex sent one short message and then turned off his communications unit. Only a general System emergency would be able to get through to him.

He had two reasons for taking that step, and in a sense Bat was responsible for both. At their second meal together, Alex had described the sequence of events leading to his trip to Pandora. Bat listened in silence, and at the end said, “It would seem that all the major actions in your life are entirely dictated by women.”

That rankled. Alex was all set to disagree until he gave it a moment’s thought. Kate, his mother, Magrit Knudsen, Lucy-Maria Mobarak: they had all pushed him around. He loved to be with Kate, but the rest he could do very well without. He knew that once his mother realized he had concluded his meeting with Bat and was on the way home, she would be all over him with a million questions.

There was only one way to avoid being pestered. He posted his ship’s arrival time at Ganymede and stated when he would be present at the Ligon Corporate offices. Then he turned off the communication system. He knew his family. They would all be there at the meeting, eager to hear what he had done and tell him why it was stupid.

This time he would surprise them. Not only had he met with Bat, but despite Hector’s mad and ill-timed assault Alex had half-persuaded Bat to give Ligon Industries the access to Pandora that they needed. And Bat had agreed to a future meeting—on Ganymede. Alex had accomplished far more than anyone could have expected. True, he had nothing to do with Bat’s new activities with the Puzzle Network—that was just a piece of luck. But why not take credit for it? Some family credit was long overdue.

Bat’s second remark had been made during their review of Alex’s predictive model, as they turned the basic assumptions inside out in search of a reason why results should be different on computers run inside the Keep, versus using the Seine’s capabilities. Alex said, of one suggestion, “Well, we can be certain
that
isn’t causing the problem.” Bat had replied, with great solemnity, “I have learned that there is no such thing as certainty. There are merely different degrees of uncertainty.”

On the flight home, Alex had taken every one of the “certainties” that underpinned his model and subjected them to intense scrutiny. He discovered no great revelations, but he did find himself agreeing more and more with Bat. The Seine, the very tool which permitted the predictive models to run with a sufficient degree of detail, might be introducing variations that Alex had never intended. The thousand—or million—new databases now on-line could contain wrong facts or unreasonable assumptions. Alex needed to modify the predictive models to screen all data provided by the Seine, using new programs that he himself would have to develop. It was out of the question for any human to perform all the necessary checks.

He had the modifications half done when his ship docked on Ganymede. Normally he hated to interrupt his work before it was finished. Today was a bit different. Today he had something to tell the family—something that would impress them, and make it clear that his life was not “entirely dictated by women.”

Entry delays at Ganymede docking held him up for a few minutes, so he was hurrying when he descended to the Ligon Corporate offices and waited impatiently for recognition by the Fax on duty in the outer chamber. As soon as he was cleared he marched right on into the conference room—and skidded to a halt.

Prosper Ligon sat at the end of the long conference table. Alone.

Alex gestured to the empty seats. “Didn’t you get my message?”

“Indeed we did.” Prosper Ligon seemed far from happy. “Every relevant family member was notified. As to where they are …” His long donkey head showed his mortification. “On occasion, Alex, I wonder what has happened to the long tradition of family service. I would never have thought it, but perhaps you are the only person who can be counted on.”

That was a back-handed compliment, if ever Alex had heard one. But before he could reply there was a commotion in the outer office. Uncle Karolus came barging in, grinning widely.

“Did you catch it?” he said. “Isn’t it the greatest—worth a thousand price-fixing scandals.”

“Karolus, a family meeting is being conducted here—or was
supposed
to be.” Prosper Ligon waved to Uncle Karolus to sit down. “Please treat the occasion with the dignity it deserves.”

“You
didn’t
see it, did you?” Karolus dropped into his usual chair. “I’m telling you, Prosper, it’s a great day for the Ligons. We won’t be Number Nine anymore. If we’re not up to Number Eight by close of business today, I’ll give my ass and hat to charity.”

“Karolus!”

“Listen to me, Prosper. You should be standing on the table, cheering and dancing. Sylva Commensals is in deep shit. It happened live on the most popular news outlet—Lanara Pinchbeck’s morning edition. She was sitting there talking some half-assed talk about Callisto rough-style fashions, when all of a sudden she stopped. She coughed a bit, like there was a tickle in the back of her throat. Then she opened her mouth wide and just sat there. We had a view of her tongue and tonsils for at least twenty seconds of dead air-time—that has to be some sort of record. Then she choked, and this fat white maggoty thing, bigger than my thumb, came sliding out of her mouth and dropped onto the table in front of her. It was squirming around, and she started coughing up blood.”

“You mean that Lanara Pinchbeck is a Commensal?”

“Dear God, Prosper, are you
blind
? You can see she’s a Commensal from just one look at her. She’s older than sin, and nobody her age can stay that fresh and bright and blooming without help. She’s not blooming anymore, though. They dragged her away feet-first, all on live video. And the camera kept going back to the big fat maggoty thing, blind and white and wrinkled. It looked like a giant floppy dick, slithering around on the table.”

“A schistosome,” said Alex. “One of the big mature forms that live inside all Commensals. Maybe the one over the liver. Somehow it found its way into the lungs or intestines, then all the way out of her body.”

“I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t much care. It’s where it
went
that matters. Right splat on the table.” Karolus smacked his hand down hard. “I’m telling you, showing that fat wriggler on live video will knock the bottom out of Sylva. They always show the benefits, but never the risks or what goes on inside a Commensal. I’ll bet you a thousand that today they’ll get zero sign-ups for the service.”

Alex said, “My mother—” and Prosper added, “—and Agatha.”

“You bet. Juliana, too.” Karolus snorted with laughter, then said, “Oh, come on. You can stop the long face, Alex. I saw all three of them, right after they watched the show. You don’t need to worry—they were more scared white than they were yellow, and no monster dick-slugs were crawling out of any holes that I could see. What they were mainly was well and truly pissed. They were heading straight over to the Sylva offices. I mean, we’re not just talking money-back guarantees here. We’re talking major lawsuits. Lanara Pinchbeck alone will sue for public humiliation and private anguish and loss of audience market share, and fifty other things you can’t even imagine.”