Dark as Day (45 page)

“That would be good. I have to get back to the research facility.”

Jan listened to her own words, and she couldn’t believe she had spoken them. They confirmed all Paul’s worries and doubts. She wished they could ride out, just the two of them, and never come back.

Except that it wouldn’t work. Her ties to Sebastian were too strong. The hell of Io was nothing compared to the hell that was Ganymede.

* * *

Jan had been away for more than three hours. In that time Sebastian, so far as she could tell, had not moved a millimeter. He sat on his bed staring at the false-color display of Jupiter that covered one whole wall. The centuries-long hurricane that formed the Great Red Spot was muted to dull orange. Curling white vortices of ammonia, each one the size of Earth, spun away from its western edge.

“Sebastian?”

He did not respond. Jan went across to him and put her fingers to his forehead. Her own hands felt icy, but he was surely warmer than usual.

“Thirty-eight point two degrees,” said the disembodied voice of Valnia Bloom. “A little fever, but nothing to be concerned about. Don’t worry, I have his bedroom continuously monitored. Everything is going according to plan.”

“I’d like to stay for awhile.”

“There’s no problem with that. We can give you your own room, you can spend as much time in it as you like. I’ll make it so you can monitor the bedroom, too.”

“That would be perfect.” Jan moved to stand directly in front of Sebastian. “How do you feel?”

“Good.”

“Not too hot?”

“No.”

“Or hungry?”

“No.” The moon face was impassive. His eyes never left the display.

Jan recalled the way that he had been on Earth, with his talk of strato-cumulus and cumulo-nimbus cloud layers. Now it was hard work to wring a monosyllable out of him. She had to get him moving, make him think about something more than the damned clouds.

“Sebastian, do you know where I’ve been? I think you would love it.” She described her trip to the surface, the suited walk across icy rock beneath the unblinking stars, and the wild space-spin with Paul Marr. She gave lots of details and tried to make it sound as exciting as possible. Sebastian did not look at her, but he was certainly listening. Once or twice he nodded.

At the end Jan said, “Maybe you and I can take a ride together, as soon as the sluicing is finished? We could fly all the way in and swing by Io.”

That ought to grab him. Back on Earth, Sebastian had been a far better pilot than Jan—an absolute natural, according to the Global Minerals’ sky chief.

“Maybe.”

But his flat, neutral voice said,
I don’t think so
. In spite of anything that Valnia Bloom and Hal Launius might say, or even believe, Jan was profoundly worried.

A space ride together, to view Io or some other world of the Jovian system? Not unless he changed a lot from his present condition. As he was, Sebastian was not likely to be going anywhere. Ever.

30

Contrary to widespread opinion, Bat was not a misogynist. True, he did not enjoy the company of women, but neither did he care for that of men. He tolerated the presence of a select few humans; beyond that he saw no need to venture.

Nor was he unsympathetic to youth. His own adolescence had been a period of extreme trauma in which he felt at war with the rest of the universe, so he was sympathetic to anyone who had recently endured the same travail.

The glare with which he greeted the young woman who entered his cubicle therefore had nothing to do with gender or age. It was late at night, he was awaiting the arrival of Alex Ligon, and a closed door should be enough to guarantee privacy. In addition, he had been interrupted while pursuing a difficult and abstract line of thought on the SETI problem.

The intruder was saved from Bat’s righteous wrath not by anything she said, but by what she did. As she came in she stared at the brown crockpot. Her glance finally moved to the seated figure, but Bat had caught her expression long before that.

He recognized that look and sympathized with it. The newcomer was
hungry
, starved-wolf hungry. Such a need excused almost every form of improper behavior.

Moreover, its satisfaction must not be delayed by the conventional niceties of formal introduction. Bat waved a hand toward the food stand. “Bowls are on the lower rack. Help yourself. Eat, and enjoy.”

The woman nodded and grabbed the ladle, but she stared round-eyed at Bat as she filled a bowl with herb risotto. Thirty years of rude stares had accustomed him to such a reaction. He said, “When you have taken as much food as you want, I request that you leave. I am expecting a visitor, and you are greatly disturbing my work.”

The woman mumbled something unintelligible through a mouthful of hot rice, but rather than leaving she swallowed and said, “I’m sorry I came in without asking. Are you
Megachirops
—the Great Bat?”

“That is my name within the Puzzle Network. This section is dedicated to Puzzle Network activities. Others are not supposed to be here.”

Still she did not move, except to continue gobbling the result of Bat’s culinary labors so fast that he knew she could not possibly savor the delicate balance of flavors. Finally she paused between mouthfuls to say, “This tastes wonderful. It’s saving my life. My name is Milly Wu.”

“Of the Wu-Beston anomaly?” Her presence in the analysis center at last made sense.

“That’s right.”

“Then you have a message waiting for you. It came in a few minutes ago from the Argus Station at Jovian L-4. It contains a privacy tag, which means that it can only be read using a cubicle code.” Bat saw no reason to add that privacy tags were no challenge, he had read the message, and the sender had cagily offered no details except to request a return call. He went on, “But there is no cubicle set aside for Milly Wu, and no cubicle code.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I gave you my name but not my Puzzle Network name. I go by Atropos, and I’m in Cubicle Twelve.”

Few things in the System impressed Bat. When one did he took care not to let it show. This was Milly Wu, discoverer of the Wu-Beston anomaly.
And
she was Atropos, a journeyman triple champion in the Network. Such talent could be expelled from the room, but not precipitately.

He asked a polite question, expecting a negative answer. “You must have arrived only recently. Are you making progress in deciphering elements of the SETI signal?”

Her response made Bat feel that he had made an awful mistake. She crashed the bowl down half-empty on the stand and exclaimed, “Yes! Yes!”

Now she was going to stay and spout rubbish at him when he should be working. He became convinced of that as she babbled on. “I believe I’ve found something, an interpretation that I’ve not seen in any other analysis. I started work in Section Fourteen—you know the twenty-seven section mapping of the whole anomaly? Of course you do, you probably created it. Anyway, it’s the same place where I first noticed the existence of a signal, out at the Argus Station. But today I had the advantage of the interpretive suggestions that you and the others have made, so I was able to start with a knowledge of the integers and arithmetic operations. It took me forever—that’s why I blundered in here looking for something to eat—but finally I began to put a few pieces together.” She advanced to stand by his console. “Mind if I use your displays?”

Bat had not invited Milly Wu to talk about her work, nor did he now give approval for her to use the equipment in his cubicle. That did not stop her. She continued to speak, rapidly and intensely, and threw images on the screen at such a dizzying speed that for the first minute Bat was constantly about to interrupt and eject her. Then he found himself concentrating, just to keep up with the stream of information. After that, intellectual interest took over.

By the time that she delineated the signal sections that provided formulas for simple chemical compounds, Bat was persuaded. He nodded and said, “Yes, that result is new. And it is elegant.”

Bat employed his own vocabulary for describing the work of others.
Interesting
meant
dull, fascinating
indicated that the result possessed some minor interest, while
remarkable
was equivalent to Wolfgang Pauli’s,
This theory is so bad it’s not even wrong
. The word
elegant
, which he had just used, was reserved for cases where Bat was impressed.

There was visible proof of that fact, had Milly known how to read it. Just before she came into the room, Bat had filled a large bowl with peel-less, seedless oranges. He had intended to eat his way through them as he worked. When Milly concluded, the bowl sat cradled on his belly, ignored and still full.

Bat now took an orange, popped it whole into his mouth, and placed the bowl on the desk in front of him. It was logical to continue the discussion, pointing out to Milly how her work dove-tailed with some of his own thoughts on deciphering other elements of the signal; but other matters were going to intrude. Alex Ligon was already late, and although his message had been terse and guarded, it implied final results from Bengt Suomi and the Ligon Industries’ team of scientists.

Milly knew nothing of any of this. She read Bat’s scowl differently. She said, “Thank you for the food and thank you for listening,” and started toward the door.

“One moment.” Bat held up a pudgy hand. “I would like to pursue your ideas further, but in the near-term I am otherwise engaged. If you would be free to return …”

“Tomorrow?” Milly’s face showed mixed feelings of pleasure and disappointment. She
had
done something new—even elegant. Food and drink had restored her, so that she was in no mood for sleep. And she had a chance that might never be repeated, an opportunity to work one-on-one with a leading Master of the Puzzle Network.

But Bat was frowning and shaking his close-cropped round head. “I was not thinking of tomorrow. I had in mind, say, one hour from now. If you were to return then, my other meeting should be concluded.”

Milly nodded. “One hour. If you become free before then I will be in Cubicle Twelve.”

And she was gone.

Bat nodded approval. It was nice to deal with someone who knew how to make up her mind. Milly Wu’s results were indeed elegant. However, they added to a strange suspicion that had been stirring for days in the base of his brain.

Bat settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. He sensed that the world-lines were converging, and each one might require hard thought. It was one of those rare occasions when he envied Mord’s capability for parallel processing.

* * *

The waiting message was, as Milly had expected, from Jack Beston. She made sure that the cubicle door was closed, invoked her own code, and was met by Jack’s green-eyed glare. His excited tone matched his expression. “Milly, I’m delayed at L-4. I have no idea how long I must stay here. Call on a tight security circuit and insist on talking to me. I’ll explain.”

Problems at Argus Station? But Jack sounded more pleased than alarmed. Milly asked for a secure line and waited impatiently as it was established. When the connection was completed, to her annoyance the face that appeared on the display was not Jack. It was Zetter, looking, as usual, ready to cook and eat her own grandmother. Except that now her thin face wore an expression of ill-disguised triumph.

“Yes?”

“I’m returning a call. I need to speak with the Ogre.”

“He is unavailable.”

“Station security can reach him at any time. You know that better than anyone. That’s you. I don’t think Jack Beston would like to hear that I tried to reach him, and you blocked my call.”

It was a power struggle, pure and simple, the kind of thing that Milly loathed. Zetter glared hatred out of the display, then vanished.

Milly watched the clock. In less than thirty seconds Jack’s face appeared.

He greeted her with, “Anyone with you?”

“I’m alone, in a secure environment.”

“Good. Let’s hope that the Bastard can’t tap into a secure line. I believe that this time he’s made a big mistake.”

“How?”

“He made a deal with the Puzzle Network when he didn’t need to. Milly, I have good news.” Jack glanced from side to side, as though even in his own station he worried about being overheard. “We’re starting to crack the signal. Not all the signal, of course, and only partial results where we have them at all. But Pat Tankard and Simon Bitters are making progress. The whole job will still take years, but we’re beating the Bastard. We’re moving ahead of him.”

“Are you sure? Do you have an information pipeline into Odin Station?”

“Not a reliable one. Zetter still has hopes, though.” Jack was frowning. “What’s your problem, Milly? I thought the news would make you ecstatic. We’ve always agreed that detection is good and verification is better, but until you have interpretation you’re not even halfway up the mountain.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. But Jack”—when had she started to call him Jack, rather than
sir
or
Mr. Beston
, or even the Ogre?—“it’s not happening only on Argus Station. The Puzzle Network group here is making progress, too. My guess is that your brother’s team is moving along just as quickly. All of us overestimated the difficulty of making some initial sense out of part of the signal.”

Jack’s scowl turned him back into his usual Ogre self. “Don’t kid yourself, Milly. The Bastard’s team are idiots, nothing but trained monkeys. If they have any results, it’s because they are taking them from the Puzzle Network. What has your group found so far?”

That was a tricky question. Milly was working for Jack Beston and the Argus Station, but she felt honor-bound to abide by the rules posted at the Puzzle Network:
Nothing that we receive from Odin Station should be sent anywhere else. It may be shared internally, but must be treated as privileged information
.

She could not be sure what information, other than the raw signal, the Puzzle Network had received from Philip Beston. Perhaps the fundamentals of signal partitions and the mathematical basics had originated at Odin Station. Milly didn’t share Jack’s wishful thinking that his brother had assembled a team of incompetents.