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Chapter 36

"Too sparse for an archive."

"Ballocks," Jane Mayhew retorted. She shook her head vigorously—more so than was wise, actually, in a spacesuit. This was only the third time Mayhew had done an EVA outside of training, and she was still awkward at it. "Richard, we have no idea how many things they preferred to put on hard display, or their preferences in seating arrangements for groups or meeting places. We know those little pyramid things in the table were their equivalent of network connections, so accessing archives would be trivial."

Rich Skibow glanced around the room, studying the layout again. His more economical movements were partly a reflection of his personality, and partly due to his greater experience with working in spacesuits.

The wide, very long room had large, solid plaques on the walls— plaques which A.J. thought were bigger equivalents of the noteplaques found in the control room. A number of alien noteplaques were scattered about, with various diagrams and writing still preserved on their surfaces. Many of them rested on a very elongated table or desk, which had a number of the scalloped indentations they suspected were the equivalent of seating areas.

"A.J., would you quit grinning like a hyena?"

A.J. couldn't help it. The two linguists squabbled as though they'd been married for twenty years, and somehow after the one argument he associated the heated debates between them with good luck.

"Sorry, Rich." He tried to replace the smile with a serious look. "I agree with you, actually. Sorry, Jane."

"And why precisely, A.J.?"

"Well, if you look at things we've found so far, the Bemmies actually do seem to do things a lot like we do, allowing for the fact that they're three-handed, giant semi-land squids/giant crabs from hell. Their control room looks a lot like a control room, their shooting range looks a lot like a shooting range—and, to be honest, this looks a lot like a conference or briefing room. With the solid-display panels on the wall being for presentations."

He stared at what would be the head of the "table," if his guess was correct. The globe shape positioned there, etched with outlines and symbols, was mysteriously unrecognizable, quite unlike the others they'd seen.

Mayhew frowned. "I admit that would make sense with respect to these images"—she indicated the outlines on other wall displays which were clearly those of Mars' two hemispheres—"but what about that one?" She pointed to the same globe A.J. was wondering about.

"Their homeworld, maybe?" Rich proposed, after a moment. "Maybe like a flag or something?"

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle in their earphones startled all three.

"Not their homeworld," Helen's amused voice said. "Our home-world. That's a globe of the Earth."

"But it doesn't look anything like—"

A.J. broke off, as did the two linguists, who had started similar protests. A.J. was pretty sure his own face had the same shade of red on it as theirs did.

How embarrassing.

"Oh. Right. Sixty-five million years of continental drift."

"Very good, Mr. Baker." Dammit, that was a giggle!

More seriously, she continued: "That's Cretaceous-period Earth.

I know that map almost as well as I know the modern one, given that we've never been able to map it completely." After a pause, she said quietly, "A.J, could you give me a close-up of that map?”

“Sure thing. Here you go."

"What is it, Helen?" Jane Mayhew asked.

"Just a minute, please. . . Jane, Rich, would you take a look at the area to the middle right of center? There's a marking and some symbols there."

The two linguists squinted. Then Skibow nodded. "Yes, I see it. Those are the same symbols we've seen many times before—the ones we think mean 'crater' or something related to it."

There was a long silence. "I think I can tell you the subject of their last briefing."

The two scientists stared at each other. Captain Hathaway's voice broke in. "Now, hold on here. How could you possibly even guess that, Helen?"

"As near as I can tell, that symbol lies precisely on the Chicxulub site. Where it was sixty-five million years ago, I should say."

For a moment, no one got it. Then A.J. breathed, "Oh, Lord."

"Of course!" Jane Mayhew said suddenly. "He died exactly on the boundary, didn't he? You've told us how that coincidence always bothered you, Helen. But it wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

She looked around what they were now almost sure had been an alien conference room. "That's what they would have been discussing—the consequences of such an immense impact on the biology of the most interesting world in the solar system. And they would have sent some of their people down there to witness the events firsthand. As far away as you found the fossil, they'd have been in no immediate danger of being struck by the bolide and its fragments. But they hadn't figured on the danger posed by the local wildlife."

"Or maybe Bemmie just happened to be stuck down there by accident," A.J. tossed in. "Engine malfunction, whatever. That would still be enough to eliminate the coincidence aspect that bothers Helen so much. I think it's reasonable to assume they would have sent someone down to make recordings before the impact—but couldn't get away in time. And then the raptors got him."

He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, the way he did sometimes when he was thinking. Banging his hand into the helmet didn't seem as effective. "It's funny, though . . ."

"What is?"

"I dunno, exactly. Just something nagging at me. I think I'll go talk to Harry later and see if I can make sense out of this little voice that's telling me I'm missing something."

"Well, let me know if you do," Helen said.

"You win, Rich," Jane said. "I agree that it's a briefing room. Now, let's get these little plates gathered up and see what we can get out of them!"

"Certainly, Dr. Mayhew." Rich grinned at her through his helmet and turned to assist in carefully collecting the many noteplaques.

Madeline sped down Nike's central passageway as fast as she dared. Unlike in the one-third gravity in the ring, she was now effectively weightless. Fortunately, after months of experience, she was moving pretty damn fast. Also fortunately, it was all happening here. If and when major analysis operations started being done on Phobos itself, she'd have a devil of a time monitoring it all.

Reaching the door to the bridge, she came to a halt with the help of the handholds and then entered.

No one looked around immediately. All of them were focused on the consoles in front of them.

"Goddam it," A.J. muttered, completely absorbed in the images his VRD was showing him. "Something is completely screwy in the code. I don't know what, but it's cycling back on itself. That's why we're getting no transmissions out."

"We could try going to another transmission system," Jackie suggested.

"They're all using the same basic control system, though," A.J. said absently. "Which means that the same fault might show up. What'd you do to trigger this, Barbara?"

"Nothing!" protested Barbara Meyers, the chemical engineering analyst for the mission. "I've transmitted my reports a dozen times before; I do one every week. I've never had any problem."

"Well, something was different this time," Joe said impatiently.

Madeline sighed. This was about as bad a setup as she could have imagined. But there wasn't any choice.

"It was the content, not the procedure," she stated quietly.

All five heads in the bridge—belonging to Barbara Meyers, A.J.,

Joe, Jackie, and Captain Hathaway—whipped around. "What do you mean?" A.J. asked.

"Until now," Madeline said, keeping them all carefully in her view, "nothing of a really sensitive nature had been discovered or, at least, analyzed to the point that anyone intercepting the transmissions might be able to get anything useful from them of a military nature. However, Dr. Meyers was in the process of sending out a report containing a considerable amount of data on the chemical and structural analysis of the material found in the gauss weapons which she—and several others—believe is a room-temperature superconductor. Such a material would have a great number of military applications as well as civilian ones, and is therefore classified."

"Then—" Barbara Meyer's face hardened. "Then you've disabled communications? You've been spying on what I send, when I send it?"

"You were told that official communications had to go through channels, and you have been blatantly ignoring the policy."

"Then I'm sincerely glad I have." Meyers' green eyes narrowed. "If I'd been a good little girl, you'd have just quietly censored my reports and I'd be none the wiser, at least for a while."

"Yes, I would, if I'd thought it necessary. This is my responsibility and duty: maintain security."

Captain Hathaway seemed more puzzled than anything else. "A.J., I thought—"

"So did I." A.J. had a chagrined look on his face. "Obviously that was a ruse, a sort of decoy for me to find so that I wouldn't poke any deeper. But I don't think she's that much better than I am at this sort of thing, so it's something her agency rigged."

"You are quite correct, A.J." Madeline said, trying not to look at Joe. "I'm sorry. But it was a sort of lose-lose proposition here. The only way I wouldn't end up having to do this would be if we didn't find anything of great import."

"Well," Barbara said, "I happen to be a citizen of Australia, mate, not the bloody United States, so you can just sit on your security and twirl. I'm sendin' out my report one way or another."

"I'm afraid not. Captain Hathaway, I trust you will support your country's interests in this matter?"

Hathaway's face was grim. But his reply came with no hesitation. "Yes, of course. You have authority in this situation."

"Madeline, don't do this," Joe said quietly. She had to look at him, and it hurt. He was regarding her with a steady, sad gaze.

"Don't worry about it, Joe," A.J. said, getting up and walking toward the door. "There's nothing she can do to stop us in the long run. Hell, Doc,"—speaking to Meyers—"I can put together a transmitter that'll get through directly, if I have to. So she's compromised the relay, that won't stop—"

"Do not go there, A.J.!" Madeline said sharply. "I'm quite capable of keeping you under observation. And while I'm not as good as you are at your specialty, I'm more than good enough to make sure I'll know if you try something like that. And if you insist, I'll have you arrested and confined. And sent back, as soon as shuttle service starts."

A.J. stared at her incredulously. "You wouldn't dare!"

"That's not a bluff, A.J. Ask the captain."

"She's got the authority, A.J. And if you go ahead, she can probably charge you with some kind of federal crime that'll land you in prison for a while."

Hathaway's voice was cold, as were his eyes looking at Madeline. Then he turned his head and bestowed the same cold gaze on A.J., who was staring at him in disbelief. "A.J., you'll have to let her decide what gets sent and what doesn't."

"The hell I will!" The blond imaging expert whirled on her, reaching out. "You listen to me, you—"

Her body was already in motion. She had been practicing moves both in microgravity and in one-third gravity, using both the Nike's ring and hub, every day since the voyage began. Not that the outcome was ever in doubt, despite the fact that A.J. outmassed her almost two to one.

Arms met, one deflecting the other, catching, turning, pulling—

A.J. smashed hard against the wall. The grunt he gave was audible throughout the room. Then, to her surprise, A.J. chuckled, albeit with some rather pained overtones. "Jesus H. Particular Christ on a pogo stick. You've been playing the game that deep?"

"I'm sorry. Really, I didn't want to do that. Or any of this."

"Then why are you, Madeline?" Joe asked gently, as she released A.J., who was dabbing at a cut lip. She tentatively handed the information expert a tissue, which he accepted without comment. Then she looked at Joe.

"Because not everyone is an angel, Joe, or even a decent imitation of a saint."

"Except our blessed government, of course."

"It tries, at least!" she said, keeping a tight leash on her voice. "As technology advances, Joe, it becomes easier and easier for smaller and smaller groups to become threats. There are software/hardware packages out there now allowing people to prototype new gadgets in their home for a few thousand dollars. And there's not a damn way to control what they make, despite all the tricks people have tried to build into the hardware and software. No matter how smart your security people are, the hackers and crackers are always just a little smarter. Hand them the blueprints and they make it. Do you think psychopaths and terrorists won't use anything they can get their hands on? Do you think every government out there is happy with ours? Have you studied history, or are you ready to repeat it? Create a new weapon, someone will use it eventually. Create a new technology, and one of the first things someone will do is figure out how it can be used to kill people. Of course our government isn't perfect, but your choice is to just let information run free. Well, information is a weapon. Perhaps the most powerful weapon of mass destruction ever invented. And I'm trying to keep those weapons out of the wrong hands for as long as I can. Because I know all about the 'wrong hands,' Joe."

Silently, she cursed herself. The last line showed her just how very personally involved she had gotten, how precariously weak her objectivity had become. She hadn't meant to refer to that at all, not even in private, let alone here. Only Joe would understand the reference, in the first place. It wasn't the sort of thing a professional should ever let slip. She hadn't made mistakes like that for years.

"You know this is going to break down the very minute shuttle service starts, right?" A.J. said finally, after a long silence.

She nodded. "Yes, I know. But a year or so lead will be much better than nothing."

A.J. glanced at Joe. She suddenly realized that A.J. trusted Joe's instincts more than his own—which meant he was in some ways a lot wiser than she'd given him credit for.

Joe looked over at Captain Hathaway, who was grimly silent, then tilted his head in a reluctant half-nod.

A.J. turned to Barbara. "Barb, we're going to all have to get together on this." Madeline tensed. "The situation sucks—and you can bet we'll all have something to say about it when we get home. But we can't afford to turn Phobos and Nike into war zones, and that's about what we'd have to do in order to stop her."

The glance he gave Madeline was half-angry and half-admiring. "She's good. I didn't realize until just now how very good she is. I guess we should feel kinda flattered, seeing as how they sent the female equivalent of James Bond out to watch us. She's been hiding a lot of what she can do, just to make sure she had a lot of reserves. What are we gonna do, shove her out the airlock? If she was crazy or something, well, we could lock her up, but she's just doing her job. If we fight her, yeah, we'll win. Here. But we've got to go home someday, and while you might just walk away, we won't."

Barbara stared at him for a few moments. "Bloody hell." She glared daggers at Madeline, then turned to the door. "I'll arrange the meeting."

She headed out, obviously to walk off her anger, stomping so hard that she bounced higher than intended and nearly hit her head on the doorframe.

Madeline let out her breath. Then she looked sharply at A.J., who was now leaning casually against the wall, still dabbing at his lip. "You're not going to try to play an end run against me, are you?"

"Naah. I thought about it, sure. But even though I'm better at some things than you are, I don't think I could pull it off. Technically, maybe, but not personally. And like I said to Barb, I'd have to live with it when I got home."

Madeline now looked at Jackie. The young engineer's gaze was certainly not friendly, but she didn't seem angry, either. More . . . intrigued, Madeline thought, than anything else.

"I could make something to send a message back. Between me and Dr. Gupta, we could make one that wouldn't even need the relay satellite, and you couldn't stop us, either."

"No, I couldn't."

Jackie cocked her head a bit. "Not even going to try?"

"What's the point? You and Gupta are the engineers here, not me. I suppose if I was the security heavy some people find it comfortable to think I am, I could do something with blackmail, but that's not the way I work. I can't afford to damage the overall mission, either, don't forget. We need all the engineers and scientists we have to be working cooperatively. It's not like we'll get replacements any time soon."

The smile she gave Jackie was probably a little sad. "So I'll just have to rely on you not doing it because it wouldn't be very smart, in the long run."

Jackie nodded. "I can live with that." She headed for the exit. "Don't expect me at the meeting. I've got work to do."

After Jackie was gone, Madeline took a long, slow breath. Secord's attitude was a relief, from a professional standpoint. Trying to keep an engineer that skilled from circumventing her would have been almost impossible. And, unlike the voluble and undisciplined Baker, Secord was quite capable of carrying out a secret project and keeping it actually secret.

"Anyone else wish to vent their anger, or shall I expect it only at the meeting?"

"No," Ken Hathaway said in a tired voice that showed more than the usual trace of Southern drawl. "There won't be any more venting. And that's your captain speaking. If I have to, I'll impose military discipline on the ship. The truth is, if you hadn't turned A.J. into a damn good wallpaper imitation, I'd have had him tossed in the brig for laying a hand on you." He smiled wryly. "However . . . given the end result, it seems unnecessary. Not to mention that we're too damn busy to take time out to set up a brig in the first place. Somehow, the engineers forgot to include one in the design of the ship."

"Thank you, Captain. I do appreciate that."

He shrugged. "We'll get through this."

Joe headed for the door. She tried not to look like she wanted to say something to him, but he stopped anyway. "I understand," he said quietly, not looking at her. "But don't talk to me for a while."

"I disapprove of this very strongly, Miss Fathom," Gupta's voice rolled out. "The free exchange of information is absolutely critical to research of this nature. We have been chosen well, yes, but we are merely fifty, while on Earth there are billions. We are here to study the greatest mystery ever presented to mankind, and you want to hamper us at every turn."

"What I want, Dr. Gupta, is not at issue here. I have no choice or latitude in the matter. My directives are very clear. Discoveries of a potentially revolutionary military nature will be restricted in transmission to certain agencies, and to no others."

"You are being vague, Madeline—not like you at all," said Dr. Sakai. "To be precise, the 'certain agencies' you refer to are all agencies of the United States. I would remind you that a large percentage of the crew is not American and this is supposed to be an international expedition. Your country placed us here to give us access to these discoveries along with your own people."

"And you have no idea what a headache that gave us," Madeline said honestly. "Sometimes people outside the United States—and inside it, for that matter—make the mistake of thinking that there is a single, monolithic thing called the 'United States Government.' There is no such animal, beyond the formalities. It's an agglomeration of sometimes-allied, sometimes-opposed interests of all sorts and varieties with differing goals, ambitions, aims, and assigned responsibilities. The military and security groups wanted to keep Nike a purely American effort. The political groups had a very different set of priorities, and for those purposes decided to bring in some foreign nationals. They did not, however, see fit to change the security requirements. Squaring the circle being probably Washington's favorite pastime."

That brought a few chuckles. "The President sat firmly in the middle, as Presidents often do, and told both sides to follow their contradictory purposes. So here I am with a job I don't want to do, and that you don't want me to do, but that has to be done, and that is going to be done, and Captain Hathaway is backing me up on it."

"But this is idiotic!" Jane Mayhew's prim voice spoke up. "The political damage from not letting us talk will be potentially much worse than any temporary gain you'd make from this asinine so-called 'security.' We have no idea—neither do you—if our findings even indicate a room-temperature superconductor, much less how practical it would be to apply to military purposes. Whereas you can be assured that muzzling non-citizens of the U.S. will have definite repercussions." For a moment, her plump face looked startled. "Unless you're planning to arrange accidents for each of us, which I presume isn't in your agenda."

"God, no. This isn't a spy novel, it's a just typical political cluster-fu—ah, snafu. About as conspiratorial as kudzu, and just about as brainless."

Madeline drew a breath. "My job isn't to worry about the politics. My job is to control the flow of information, and I think it's an important job in this case. Don't underestimate yourselves—or play the hapless bumblers. The likelihood is that we are looking at such a superconductor, and given the track record of this group of scientists I'd say it's quite likely you'll discover at least enough about it to revolutionize that branch of science and technology. But leave all that aside. I'm not going to try to argue you into agreeing with me. Even if I could, it would take weeks."

"So," A. J. said from the front row, "what do you want us to do?"

"Not turn this into an all-out war," she said bluntly. "You'll be free to lodge all the complaints you want when we get back. I'm not going to stop you from doing research. I'm not going to try to prevent you from exchanging information with each other. I know that would be impossible and would destroy the effectiveness of the mission, even if it weren't. You send me the information you want to send out. Don't try to evade me or make new ways around it. I decide if and how to send it.

"In the meantime," she held up her hand to forestall the rising mutters, "I will try to persuade my superiors—not General Deiderichs, but those who give me my orders—into reconsidering their position. But I will have absolutely no chance of doing that if you people don't cooperate to begin with. I know this business, people. It is what I have been doing for . . . well, a lot longer than I think most of you would believe. And one thing I know about the people I answer to is that if you push them hard, they push right back. If I can show them that you are cooperating but that there is a good and justifiable reason that continuing with my original mission will do more harm than good, they may be amenable to redefining my mission parameters. But if while I'm trying to negotiate they find that Nike has sprung major leaks, they'll tell me to crack down hard, and we'll be in a much worse position than we are now."

She was putting every bit of persuasion she could into her tone. "Please, all of you. I don't like this any more than you do, and I know how much it grates on your ingrained habits and customs. But I need your cooperation, if not direct help, in finding the best possible compromise."

She fell silent. Saying anything more would be counterproductive.

Finally, Dr. Gupta rose. "As you say, Miss Fathom, this is a most unpleasant situation. Yet I am not entirely unfamiliar with the demands of politics. You have tried to be helpful in other areas. Though some here may doubt it, I believe you are trying to be honest with us now. For my part, then, I am willing to cooperate. In the end it will all come out, and so it is in your best interest to try to convince your superiors of the terribly grave mistake they are making."

There was a murmur at that. Madeline relaxed, though she didn't show it outwardly. Everyone respected Captain Hathaway, and there wasn't any doubt that A.J. and Helen, due to their unique connections with the mission, carried considerable weight also. But, in her estimate, the charismatic Dr. Gupta was now, politically speaking, the most important person on board. Although he was a nationalized

U.S. citizen, his Indian origins made him something of a spokesman for the members of the crew who were from other countries.

"K'so," Dr. Sakai muttered. "Saa, let us all agree, then. I, too, shall cooperate with you, Miss Fathom. It is not a pleasure, but I also see worse consequences from the continued argument."

"I don't believe this!" Barbara Meyer hissed. "We're going to let this fascist little—”

“Enough, Barb," Ken Hathaway said firmly. "Ms. Fathom hasn't been calling anyone names, so don't you start either." That was enough to forestall Meyer's gathering temper tantrum.

The Australian woman was still agitated, but she was also clearly a little embarrassed by her outburst.

A.J. stood. "You all know me, and you all know that I believe in censorship about as much as I believe in the Tooth Fairy. But I'm going to be working with Ms. Fathom on this one. Or, at least, not trying to work against her. Sure, I'm pissed. But we've still got a job to do here, and we're not going to get it done if we start playing 'Spy versus Spy.' I don't know about you people, but I came here to study Phobos and the resident aliens."

Helen nodded. Barbara looked like her face would crack from tension, then suddenly she shrugged. "Okay, fine. I'm in. Might as well all sink together. And you're right, A.J., I've got a lot to work on."

With that an invisible dam broke, and the murmurs were accepting, resigned, but no longer threatening and ugly. Madeline did relax visibly then, letting herself look smaller and more vulnerable. The group would be predisposed for the moment to look upon her as at least partially a fellow victim. It was even true, as far as it went.

"Thank you all," she said softly. "I will try to intrude upon you as little as possible."

She leaned back and let Hathaway take center stage, giving the directions he had in mind to ensure proper information flow without violating Madeline's requirements.

Once, during the rest of the meeting, she looked at Joe. His eyes met hers, but only briefly. The expression on his face was as unreadable as a Bemmie noteplaque.

She'd won a victory, but it tasted like ashes in her mouth. A month had passed since she'd opened up her personal history to Joe. In the time that followed, they'd seen each other every day and spent many hours in conversation. No further physical contact had occurred. Madeline hadn't felt ready for it, and Joe had carefully respected her feelings. But, under the surface, she'd felt the attraction just growing and growing—and knew that it was reciprocated.

Just two days ago, she'd finally accepted that it had been the happiest month of her life. And now . . . It was over. For the first time since she was ten years old, Madeline Fathom wished she had a different profession.

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