WE (16 page)

They were deep into the tail. On his screen the impossible readings reeled away. He watched them with loathing.

The tail receded. The star hid itself beyond the canyon lip. The narrow crescent of the planet began to widen again, into a huge but ordinary half-moon. Paul completed coding the historical readings and sent them to the laser in the window that he would normally have used to transmit the passage data. At the same time he sent a dummy message over the radio, purporting to be the passage data but actually repeating readings that had been taken some days before on the Sun side. Then he slept, woke, slipped out of his room to pick up a meal from the kitchen and slipped back again before anyone saw him. He ate, waited, and then began to prepare the passage data for transmission. There was no hurry.

In a break he checked the Knowledge Store again. There were new entries.

WS1: 07:04:0556 Van, have you seen Paul's 03:04:1134?

WS2: 07:04:0617 I don't believe it! The We can't do that, can it? Reverse the arrow of time?

WS1: 07:04:0620 Why not? In time the We – or its successor – might be capable of anything.

WS2: 07:04:0622 But that would mean everything was just one huge paradox. Everything that has ever been just goes back on itself.

WS1: 07:04:0624 Strikingly egocentric, I agree. A symptom of loneliness, perhaps?

Again Vandamme had broken off the exchange.

Paul looked at the entries. He supposed they were contact of a sort. He saw that he could reply to them and let the others reply in turn. And at some point they might be able to talk to each other again – warily at first, perhaps, but then as if the argument had never happened.

It was what he had wanted. But now he could see that contact was possible, he did not want it. Not yet. First he must solve the interference with the transmissions. He must know who was doing it and why. When he knew, and they knew that he knew, he would speak with them again.

He waited.

At 08:04:0000 there was a watch-change. He checked the new schedules. Lewis and May were off. Vandamme was now on with him.

He waited a further hour and then sent the latest data from the tail out over the radio. He sent it with no preface, to minimize the possibility of anyone recognizing it for what it was.

Towards the end of his watch his monitor alerted him to an incoming message. It was a response to the signals he had sent out the previous day.

Your 07:04:1234 and 07:04:1238 received. No evident corruptions. But no apparent correlation. Query Observation DTGs. Also reference your 07:04:1234 query the following groups …

Earth was confused. It had received his two earlier messages clearly, including in the laser message the first unadulterated observations from the tail that the station had ever produced. But it did not understand what they related to, because he had not explained what he was doing. And it did not believe some of what it was reading.

Suddenly Paul grinned. It did not matter that Earth was confused. Earth was not the master here. He was. The nine-billion-celled brain was, for the moment, nothing more than his assistant. A servant, whose duty was to do just what it was told and whose questions did not matter. Is it corrupted, Earth, or is it not? You tell me it is not. Good. So I proceed …

It was a moment of sheer power, sweet in his mind.

Nevertheless he checked the groups Earth was querying and he did indeed find a few errors which had crept in despite his best attention. He signalled back his corrections, adding the dates and times at which the readings were taken so that Earth would at least know what it was he had sent, even if it did not yet know why. Then he went off watch.

He lay on his couch but did not sleep. Thoughts chased inside his head. It was good that the laser message had not been corrupted. He had smuggled out of the station information that was not meant to go to Earth. The theory that the laser was immune to interference was looking stronger. So he could simply send to Earth for a translation program, and tail data could be transmitted to Earth by laser for ever more.

But that was not what was important. If Earth had really wanted the tail data, the station would have had a translation program long ago. No program had been sent. To Earth, what was important was the corruption of the radio data. That was why Earth had sent him here – to have the best chance of finding out why it was happening. It was important to Paul too. The thought of a secret enemy was poison in his mind. Why had his radio message not been corrupted? Whatever the source of the interference, it was not triggered simply by the timing of the signal. Could
it be capable of reading the message itself and seeing whether the content related to the tail? Would it detect the tail data that he had now sent out over the radio? Would it react to that? He needed it to react. Like a hunter crouched in the bush, he needed the beast to show itself.

The message was waiting for him when he woke.

Your 08:04:0102: Message corrupted. The following groups unreadable …
… Investigate and report.

‘Got you!' he said.

T
he heavy figure of the ape-man filled his screen. In one hand the creature held its pointed stick – a pale wand of sharpened wood. It was so slender in the hairy hand that Paul wondered how it could possibly be lethal. And yet it would have been.

Behind the Hunter the grasses waved silently.

‘Search all routines that were running at zero eight: zero four: zero one zero two,' said Paul. ‘Report anything that might have corrupted radio transmission to Earth.'

The Hunter looked at him, unblinking.

‘
There was nothing
,' it said.

‘Nothing? You are sure?'

‘
I have searched three million one thousand six hundred and eighty-two routines. All were benign
.'

‘A radio message containing data on the tail was sent to Earth at zero eight: zero four: zero one zero two,' Paul insisted. ‘It was corrupted, like all radio transmissions
concerning the tail before it. Was this an accident, was it natural, or was it deliberate?'

‘
It is highly likely that it was deliberate
.'

Paul let out his breath.

‘I agree. But it was not done by an automatic routine?'

‘
No
.'

‘You are saying it was manual?'

‘
It is highly likely
.'

Manual! So they – whoever it was – had done it by the oldest and most primitive way possible. They had watched or listened to what he was doing themselves. And then they had jammed his signal.

They were watching him. Whoever it was, they were watching him and acting when he acted. Incredible! And how primitive, how prone to error! But it was not vulnerable to detection by Hunter.

Or so they might think.

‘We will replicate the transmission. Monitor all active workstations in the station and be ready to display what you find.'

He began to prepare a repeat of his signal. His fingers knew the commands and performed them automatically. His mind was alive with suspicions.

Lewis? He might know how to clean the transmitter records afterwards, so that no sign of the jamming signal
remained. Or Vandamme? She would be able to identify tail data at a glance. She would have the patience, the machinelike focus to watch for the signal and act on it when it came – whenever it came.

Or was it May?

Was it all of them, all working together?

Shit!

Where was the signal coming from, anyway?

He got up and began to pace the room. He paced aimlessly. He muttered aloud. He went and fidgeted with his monitor. He left it again.

Shit!

He sat down. He checked the watch schedules. Vandamme and May were on. But if they were all in it, it didn't matter who was on. Hunter would have to watch for all of them.

‘Show me all present workstation activity.'

‘
There is a prohibition
…'

‘Circumvent it.'

His screen changed immediately. It showed him a view of the hangar. A suited figure was bending over a partly disassembled crawler. That was what his human eyes saw. But it was not what Hunter would have seen. Hunter was relaying to him what another workstation was doing.

‘Which workstation is that?'

‘
Workstation Two
.' Vandamme's.

As if to confirm the thought, Vandamme's voice spoke. ‘You're over your three hours. Do you want to come in?' And Lewis's voice answered, ‘I'll get it finished. It shouldn't take much longer now.'

So Vandamme was supervising Lewis out in the hangar. Lewis was working past the three-hour advisory limit for his pressure suit, to finish the repair he was working on.

That only left May.

‘Workstation Three?'

‘
Inactive
.'

An inactive monitor might mean that May was asleep. But she should be on watch now. Where was she?

‘It's showing some wear on the rear drive, there,' came Lewis's voice from the hangar. ‘Maybe the wheel's out of kilter.'

Paul reverted to his own controls, called up the 08:04:0102 message and pressed
Dispatch
. Then he said, ‘Hunter, display all workstation activity.' The screen flicked back to the hangar again.

‘… the weak point in this design,' Lewis was saying. ‘Irritating, when you think how much we depend on it.'

‘Workstation Three, Hunter?' said Paul.

‘
Inactive
.'

‘What about Workstation One?' barked Paul. (Because
May could be in Lewis's room! Of course she could. He could be hiding there, watching Paul's signal at this moment …)

‘
Workstation One is inactive
.'

‘Good,' said Paul hoarsely. And he felt the prickle of sweat as his body reacted to the thought that he might have been outwitted. But he hadn't been. The monitors were inactive.

But he must think these thoughts. He must check everything. He must keep checking, obsessively. There was an enemy. A very, very clever enemy. He had to trap them. Are you ant or human, Paul? An ant goes insane.

‘Workstation One?'

‘
Inactive
,' said the patient Hunter.

‘Workstation Three?'

‘
Inactive
.'

He reviewed the progress of the message. It was still going out over the main transmitter. He checked the two auxiliary transmitters. They were silent.

He could not stand still.

‘Continue to monitor all workstations,' he said. He rose to his feet, left his chamber and glided through the common room and the airlock beyond. He stopped at a door.

‘Vandamme?'

There was no answer. He entered at once.

She had changed the wall displays. The desolation of the moon's surface was gone. The predominant colour was a rich blue, grading from darker colours to light. But at one point on the wall a small shape in luminous gold stood out like a flame, brightening all the blues around it into whites and golds. It had a very calm, almost sleepy effect. Faint music was coming from somewhere. Paul was reminded of the lights of stained-glass windows and the interiors of those once-holy places on Earth where almost no one went any more.

The door to her sleeping chamber was open. The chamber itself was empty, with all the personal clutter stowed away.

Vandamme was at her workstation, craning round at him. Her screen showed a view of the hangar with the suited figure of Lewis still poring over the dismantled harvester.

‘What is he doing?' asked Paul.

‘Just maintenance,' said Vandamme. ‘It shouldn't take long.' She eyed him warily. ‘What do you want?'

‘Nothing,' said Paul curtly. ‘May I watch?'

She was uneasy. That might be because he had marched in on her. It might be because they had parted so badly last time they had spoken.

But it might be for another reason.

‘Do you want me to tell Lewis you're out?'

‘Not yet. I may change my mind again.'

She did not turn back to the monitor. She was keeping her eyes on him. He stood there, balancing on his toes, and said nothing.

Suddenly she said, ‘Would you like me to make you coffee?'

‘Yes, if you want,' he answered, surprised.

‘Just watch him for me, would you? You don't have to tell him it's you.'

She rose. Glancing at him once more, she left the chamber.

Immediately Paul took her place at the console. He said, ‘Hunter.'

The face of the ape-man appeared.

‘Report activity on all workstations.'

‘
Workstations One and Three are inactive. Workstation Two is Hunter. Workstation Four, repeat of message zero eight: zero four: zer—
'

‘Thank you. Kitchens?'

‘
Increase of energy consumption by three kilowatts in the Bravo unit kitchen
.'

That would be Vandamme making the coffee. But she did not need to stand over it while it was brewing. She could have slipped into another chamber, even into his own. What was she doing?

He knew it was unreasonable. If she had been going to sabotage his transmission she would have done it here, before he turned up. And in the time it took to make coffee, what could she do? One burst at best. But he was in the realm of the unreasonable now. Any move by anyone must be suspected. Paranoia must be the worst of all madnesses – the ultimate loneliness. And he must act as if the madness were his. ‘Main radio transmitter?'

‘
Responding to Workstation Four – repeat of message zero eight: zero—
'

‘Auxiliary transmitters?'

‘
Inactive
.'

Vandamme was in the kitchen. Lewis was in the outer layers, and May … Where was May?

Vandamme was in the
Bravo
unit kitchen! She was in the living-quarter suite that Paul and May and Lewis inhabited. Why had she gone there, when there was an identical kitchen just opposite her own chamber in the Alfa suite?