at least. And I'm still hoping...' Poole's voice trailed off into silence. 'Hoping what?' 'That I can make some sort of contact with Dave, or whatever it is, before I attempt to land.' 'Yes, it's always rude to drop in uninvited -- even with people you know, let alone perfect strangers like the Europs. Perhaps you should take some gifts -- what did the old-time explorers use? I believe mirrors and beads were once popular.' Chandler's facetious tone did not disguise his real concern, both for Poole and for the valuable piece of equipment he proposed to borrow -- and for which the skipper of Goliath was ultimately responsible. 'I'm still trying to decide how we work this. If you come back a hero, I want to bask in your reflected glory. But if you lose Falcon as well as yourself, what shall I say? That you stole the shuttle while we weren't looking? I'm afraid no one would buy that story. Ganymede Traffic Control's very efficient -- has to be! If you left without advance notice, they'd be on to you in a microsec -- well, a millisecond. No way you could leave unless I file your flight-plan ahead of time.' 'So this is what I propose to do, unless I think of something better.' 'You're taking Falcon out for a final qualification test -- everyone knows you've already soloed. You'll go into a two-thousand-kilometre-high orbit above Europa -- nothing unusual about that -- people do it all the time, and the local authorities don't seem to object.' 'Estimated total flight time five hours plus or minus ten minutes. If you suddenly change your mind about coming home, no one can do anything about it -- at least, no one on Ganymede. Of course, I'll make some indignant noises, and say how astonished I am by such gross navigational errors, etc., etc. Whatever will look best in the subsequent Court of Enquiry.' 'Would it come to that? I don't want to do anything that will get you into trouble.' 'Don't worry -- it's time there was a little excitement round here. But only you and I know about this plot; try not to mention it to the crew -- I want them to have -- what was that other useful expression you taught me? -- "plausible deniability".' 'Thanks, Dim -- I really appreciate what you're doing. And I hope you'll never have to regret hauling me aboard Goliath, out round Neptune.' Poole found it hard to avoid arousing suspicion, by the way he behaved towards his new crewmates as they prepared Falcon for what was supposed to be a short, routine flight. Only he and Chandler knew that it might be nothing of the kind. Yet he was not heading into the totally unknown, as he and Dave Bowman had done a thousand years ago. Stored in the shuttle's memory were high-resolution maps of Europa showing details down to a few metres across. He knew exactly where he wished to go; it only remained to see if he would be allowed to break the centuries-long quarantine. 24 Escape 'Manual control, please.' 'Are you sure, Frank?' 'Quite sure, Falcon... Thank you.' Illogical though it seemed, most of the human race had found it impossible not to be polite to its artificial children, however simple-minded they might be. Whole volumes of psychology, as well as popular guides (How Not to Hurt Your Computer's Feelings; Artificial Intelligence -- Real irritation were two of the best-known titles) had been written on the subject of Man-Machine etiquette. Long ago it had been decided that, however inconsequential rudeness to robots might appear to be, it should be discouraged. All too easily, it could spread to human relationships as well. Falcon was now in orbit, just as her flight-plan had promised, at a safe two thousand kilometres above Europa. The giant moon's crescent dominated the sky ahead, and even the area not illuminated by Lucifer was so brilliantly lit by the much more distant Sun that every detail was clearly visible. Poole needed no optical aid to see his planned destination, on the still-icy shore of the Sea of Galilee, not far from the skeleton of the first spacecraft to land on this world. Though the Europans had long ago removed all its metal components, the ill-fated Chinese ship still served as a memorial to its crew; and it was appropriate that the only 'town' -- even if an alien one -- on this whole world should have been named 'Tsienville'. Poole had decided to come down over the Sea, and then fly very slowly towards Tsienville -- hoping that this approach would appear friendly, or at least non-aggressive. Though he admitted to himself that this was very naïve, he could think of no better alternative. Then, suddenly, just as he was dropping below the thousand-kilometre level, there was an interruption -- not of the kind he had hoped for, but one which he had been expecting. 'This is Ganymede Control calling Falcon. You have departed from your flight-plan. Please advise immediately what is happening.' It was hard to ignore such an urgent request, but in the circumstances it seemed the best thing to do. Exactly thirty seconds later, and a hundred kilometres closer to Europa, Ganymede repeated its message. Once again Poole ignored it -- but Falcon did not. 'Are you quite sure you want to do this, Frank?' asked the shuttle. Though Poole knew perfectly well that he was imagining it, he would have sworn there was a note of anxiety in its voice. 'Quite sure, Falcon. I know exactly what I'm doing.' That was certainly untrue, and any moment now further lying might be necessary, to a more sophisticated audience. Seldom-activated indicator lights started to flash near the edge of the control board. Poole smiled with satisfaction: everything was going according to plan. 'This is Ganymede Control! Do you receive me, Falcon? You are operating on manual override, so I am unable to assist you. What is happening? You are still descending towards Europa. Please acknowledge immediately.' Poole began to experience mild twinges of conscience. He thought he recognized the Controller's voice, and was almost certain that it was a charming lady he had met at a reception given by the Mayor, soon after his arrival at Anubis. She sounded genuinely alarmed. Suddenly, he knew how to relieve her anxiety -- as well as to attempt something which he had previously dismissed as altogether too absurd. Perhaps, after all, it was worth a try: it certainly wouldn't do any harm -- and it might even work. 'This is Frank Poole, calling from Falcon. I am perfectly OK -- but something seems to have taken over the controls, and is bringing the shuttle down towards Europa. I hope you are receiving this -- I will continue to report as long as possible.' Well, he hadn't actually lied to the worried Controller, and one day he hoped he would be able to face her with a clear conscience. He continued to talk, trying to sound as if he was completely sincere, instead of skirting the edge of truth. 'This is Frank Poole aboard the shuttle Falcon, descending towards Europa. I assume that some outside force has taken charge of my spacecraft, and will be landing it safely.' 'Dave -- this is your old shipmate Frank. Are you the entity that is controlling me? I have reason to think that you are on Europa. 'If so -- I look forward to meeting you -- wherever or whatever you are.' Not for a moment did he imagine there would be any reply: even Ganymede Control appeared to be shocked into silence. And yet, in a way, he had an answer. Falcon was still being permitted to descend towards the Sea of Galilee. Europa was only fifty kilometres below; with his naked eyes Poole could now see the narrow black bar where the greatest of the Monoliths stood guard -- if indeed it was doing that -- on the outskirts of Tsienville. No human being had been allowed to come so close for a thousand years. 25 Fire in the Deep For millions of years it had been an ocean world, its hidden waters protected from the vacuum of space by a crust of ice. In most places the ice was kilometres thick, but there were lines of weakness where it had cracked open and torn apart. Then there had been a brief battle between two implacably hostile elements that came into direct contact on no other world in the Solar System, The war between Sea and Space always ended in the same stalemate; the exposed water simultaneously boiled and froze, repairing the armour of ice. The seas of Europa would have frozen completely solid long ago without the influence of nearby Jupiter. Its gravity continually kneaded the core of the little world; the forces that convulsed Io were also working there, though with much less ferocity. Everywhere in the deep was evidence of that tug-of-war between planet and satellite, in the continual roar and thunder of submarine earthquakes, the shriek of gases escaping from the interior, the infrasonic pressure waves of avalanches sweeping over the abyssal plains. By comparison with the tumultuous ocean that covered Europa, even the noisy seas of Earth were muted. Here and there, scattered over the deserts of the deep, were oases that would have amazed and delighted any terrestrial biologist. They extended for several kilometres around tangled masses of pipes and chimneys deposited by mineral brines gushing from the interior. Often they created natural parodies of Gothic castles, from which black, scalding liquids pulsed in a slow rhythm, as if driven by the beating of some mighty heart. And like blood, they were the authentic sign of life itself. The boiling fluids drove back the deadly cold leaking down from above, and formed islands of warmth on the sea-bed. Equally important, they brought from Europa's interior all the chemicals of life. Such fertile oases, offering food and energy in abundance, had been discovered by the twentieth-century explorers of Earth's oceans. Here they were present on an immensely larger scale, and in far greater variety. Delicate, spidery structures that seemed to be the analogue of plants flourished in the 'tropical' zones closest to the sources of heat. Crawling among these were bizarre slugs and worms, some feeding on the plants, others obtaining their food directly from the mineral-laden waters around them. At greater distances from the submarine fires around which all these creatures warmed themselves lived sturdier, more robust organisms, not unlike crabs or spiders. Armies of biologists could have spent lifetimes studying one small oasis. Unlike the Palaeozoic terrestrial seas, the Europan abyss was not a stable environment, so evolution had progressed with astonishing speed, producing multitudes of fantastic forms. And all were under the same indefinite stay of execution; sooner or later, each fountain of life would weaken and die, as the forces that powered it moved their focus elsewhere. All across the Europan sea-bed was evidence of such tragedies; countless circular areas were littered with the skeletons and mineral-encrusted remains of dead creatures, where entire chapters of evolution had been deleted from the book of life. Some had left as their only memorial huge, empty shells like convoluted trumpets, larger than a man. And there were clams of many shapes -- bivalves, and even trivalves, as well as spiral stone patterns, many metres across -- exactly like the beautiful ammonites that disappeared so mysteriously from Earth's oceans at the end of the Cretaceous Period. Among the greatest wonders of the Europan abyss were rivers of incandescent lava, pouring from the calderas of submarine volcanoes. The pressure at these depths was so great that the water in contact with the red-hot magma could not flash into steam, so the two liquids co-existed in an uneasy truce. There, on another world and with alien actors, something like the story of Egypt had been played out long before the coming of Man. As the Nile had brought life to a narrow ribbon of desert, so this river of warmth had vivified the Europan deep. Along its banks, in a band never more than a few kilometres wide, species after species had evolved and flourished and passed away. And some had left permanent monuments. Often, they were not easy to distinguish from the natural formations around the thermal vents, and even when they were clearly not due to pure chemistry, one would be hard put to decide whether they were the product of instinct or intelligence. On Earth, the termites reared condominiums almost as impressive as any found in the single vast ocean that enveloped this frozen world. Along the narrow band of fertility in the deserts of the deep, whole cultures and even civilizations might have risen and fallen, armies might have marched -- or swum -- under the command of Europan Tamberlanes or Napoleons. And the rest of their world would never have known, for all their oases were as isolated from one another as the planets themselves, The creatures who basked in the glow of the lava rivers, and fed around the hot vents, could not cross the hostile wilderness between their lonely islands. If they had ever produced historians and philosophers, each culture would have been convinced that it was alone in the Universe. Yet even the space between the oases was not altogether empty of life; there were hardier creatures who had dared its rigours. Some were the Europan analogues of fish -- streamlined torpedoes, propelled by vertical tails, steered by fins along their bodies. The resemblance to the most successful dwellers in Earth's oceans was inevitable; given the same engineering problems, evolution must produce very similar answers. Witness the dolphin and the shark -- superficially almost identical, yet from far distant branches of the tree of life. There was, however, one very obvious difference between the fish of the Europan seas and those in terrestrial oceans; they had no gills, for there was hardly a trace of oxygen to be extracted from the waters in which they swam. Like the creatures around Earth's own geothermal vents, their metabolism was based on sulphur compounds, present in abundance in this volcanic environment. And very few had eyes. Apart from the flickering glow of lava outpourings, and occasional bursts of bioluminescence from creatures seeking mates, or hunters questing prey, it was a lightless world. It was also a doomed one. Not only were its energy sources sporadic and constantly shifting, but the tidal forces that drove them were steadily weakening. Even if they developed true intelligence, the Europans were trapped between fire and ice. Barring a miracle, they would perish with the final freezing of their little world. Lucifer had wrought that miracle. 26 Tsienville In the final moments, as he came in over the coast at a sedate hundred kilometres an hour, Poole wondered if there might be some last-minute intervention. But nothing untoward happened, even when he moved slowly along the black, forbidding face of the Great Wall. It was the inevitable name for the Europa Monolith as, unlike its little brothers on Earth and Moon, it was lying horizontally, and was more than twenty kilometres long. Although it was literally billions of times greater in volume than TMA ZERO and TMA ONE, its proportions were exactly the same -- that intriguing ratio 1:4:9, inspirer of so much numerological nonsense over the centuries. As the vertical face was almost ten kilometres high, one plausible theory maintained that among its other functions the Great Wall served as a wind-break, protecting Tsienville from the ferocious gales that occasionally roared in from the Sea of Galilee. They were much less frequent now that the climate had stabilized, but a thousand years earlier they would have been a severe discouragement to any life-forms emerging from the ocean. Though he had fully intended to do so, Poole had never found time to visit the Tycho Monolith -- still Top Secret when he had left for Jupiter -- and Earth's gravity made its twin at Olduvai inaccessible to him. But he had seen their images so often that they were much more familiar than the proverbial back of the hand (and how many people, he had often wondered, would recognize the backs of their hands?). Apart from the enormous difference in scale, there was absolutely no way of distinguishing the Great Wall from TMA ONE and TMA ZERO -- or, for that matter, the 'Big Brother' Monolith that Discovery and the Leonov had encountered orbiting Jupiter. According to some theories, perhaps crazy enough to be true, there was only one archetypal Monolith, and all the others -- whatever their size -- were merely projections or images of it. Poole recalled these ideas when he noticed the spotless, unsullied smoothness of the Great Wall's towering ebon face. Surely, after so many centuries in such a hostile environment, it should have collected a few patches of grime! Yet it looked as immaculate as if an army of window-cleaners had just polished every square centimetre. Then he recalled that although everyone who had ever come to view TMA ONE and TMA ZERO felt an irresistible urge to touch their apparently pristine surfaces, no one had ever succeeded. Fingers -- diamond drills -- laser knives -- all skittered across the Monoliths as if they were coated by an impenetrable film. Or as if -- and this was another popular theory -- they were not quite in this universe, but somehow separated from it by an utterly impassable fraction of a millimetre. He made one complete, leisurely circuit of the Great Wall, which remained totally indifferent to his progress. Then he brought the shuttle -- still on manual, in case Ganymede Control made any further attempts to 'rescue' him -- to the outer limits of Tsienville, and hovered there looking for the best place to land. The scene through Falcon's small panoramic window was wholly familiar to him; he had examined it so often in Ganymede recordings, never imagining that one day he would be observing it in reality. The Europs, it seemed, had no idea of town planning; hundreds of hemispherical structures were scattered apparently at random over an area about a kilometre across. Some were so small that even human children would feel cramped in them; though others were big enough to hold a large family, none was more than five metres high. And they were all made from the same material, which gleamed a ghostly white in the double daylight. On Earth, the Esquimaux had found the identical answer to the challenge of their own frigid, materials-poor environment; Tsienville's igloos were also made of ice. In lieu of streets, there were canals -- as best suited creatures who were still amphibious, and apparently returned to the water to sleep. Also, it was believed, to feed and to mate, though neither hypothesis had been proved. Tsienville had been called 'Venice, made of ice', and Poole had to agree that it was an apt description. However, there were no Venetians in sight; the place looked as if it had been deserted for years. And here was another mystery; despite the fact that Lucifer was fifty times brighter than the distant Sun, and was a permanent fixture in the sky, the Europs still seemed locked to an ancient rhythm of night and day. They returned to the ocean at sunset, and emerged with the rising of the Sun -- despite the fact that the level of illumination had changed by only a few per cent. Perhaps there was a parallel on Earth, where the life cycles of many creatures were controlled as much by the feeble Moon as the far more brilliant Sun. It would be sunrise in another hour, and then the inhabitants of Tsienville would return to land and go about their leisurely affairs -- as by human standards, they certainly were. The sulphur-based biochemistry that powered the Europs was not as efficient as the oxygen-driven one that energized the vast majority of terrestrial animals. Even a sloth could outrun a Europ, so it was difficult to regard them as potentially dangerous. That was the Good News; the Bad News was that even with the best intentions on both sides, attempts at communication would be extremely slow -- perhaps intolerably tedious. It was about time, Poole decided, that he reported back to Ganymede Control. They must be getting very anxious, and he wondered how his co-conspirator, Captain Chandler, was dealing with the situation. 'Falcon calling Ganymede. As you can doubtless see, I have -- er -- been brought to rest just above Tsienville. There is no sign of hostility, and as it's still solar night here all the Europs are underwater. Will call you again as soon as I'm on the ground.' Dim would have been proud of him, Poole thought, as he brought Falcon down gently as a snowflake on a smooth patch of ice. He was taking no chances with its stability, and set the inertial drive to cancel all but a fraction of the shuttle's weight -- just enough, he hoped, to prevent it being blown away by any wind. He was on Europa -- the first human in a thousand years. Had Armstrong and Aldrin felt this sense of elation, when Eagle touched down on the Moon? Probably they were too busy checking their Lunar Module's primitive and totally unintelligent systems. Falcon, of course, was doing all this automatically. The little cabin was now very quiet, apart from the inevitable -- and reassuring -- murmur of well-tempered electronics. It gave Poole a considerable shock when Chandler's voice, obviously pre-recorded, interrupted his thoughts. 'So you made it! Congratulations! As you know, we're scheduled to return to the Belt week after next, but that should give you plenty of time.' 'After five days, Falcon knows what to do. She'll find her way home, with or without you. So good luck!' MISS PRINGLE ACTIVATE CRYPTO PROGRAM STORE Hello, Dim -- thanks for that cheerful message! I feel rather silly using this program -- as if I'm a secret agent in one of the spy melodramas that used to be so popular before I was born. Still, it will allow some privacy, which may be useful. Hope Miss Pringle has downloaded it properly... of course, Miss P, I'm only joking! By the way, I'm getting a barrage of requests from all the news media in the Solar System. Please try to hold them off -- or divert them to Dr Ted. He'll enjoy handling them... Since Ganymede has me on camera all the time, I won't waste breath telling you what I'm seeing. If all goes well, we should have some action in a few minutes -- and we'll know if it really was a good idea to let the Europs find me already sitting here peacefully, waiting to greet them when they come to the surface... Whatever happens, it won't be as big a surprise to me as it was to Dr Chang and his colleagues, when they landed here a thousand years ago! I played his famous last message again, just before leaving Ganymede. I must confess it gave me an eerie feeling -- couldn't help wondering if something like that could possibly happen again... wouldn't like to immortalize myself the way poor Chang did... Of course, I can always lift off if something starts going wrong... and here's an interesting thought that's just occurred to me... I wonder if the Europs have any history -- any kind of records... any memory of what happened just a few kilometres from here, a thousand years ago? 27 Ice and Vacuum ...This is Dr Chang, calling from Europa. I hope you cart hear me, especially Dr Floyd -- I know you're aboard Leonov... I may not have much time... aiming my suit antenna where I think you are... please relay this information to Earth. Tsien was destroyed three hours ago. I'm the only survivor. Using my suit radio -- no idea if it has enough range, but it's the only chance. Please listen carefully... THERE IS LIFE ON EUROPA. I repeat: THERE IS LIFE ON EUROPA... We landed safely, checked all the systems, and ran out the hoses so we could start pumping water into our propellant tanks immediately... just in case we had to leave in a hurry. Everything was going according to plan... it seemed almost too good to be true. The tanks were half full when Dr Lee and I went out to check the pipe insulation. Tsien stands -- stood -- about thirty metres from the edge of the Grand Canal. Pipes went directly from it and down through the ice. Very thin -- not safe to walk on. Jupiter was quarter full, and we had five kilowatts of lighting strung up on the ship. She looked like a Christmas tree -- beautiful, reflected on the ice... Lee saw it first -- a huge dark mass rising up from the depths. At first we thought it was a school of fish -- too large for a single organism -- then it started to break through the ice, and began moving towards us. It looked rather like huge strands of wet seaweed, crawling along the ground. Lee ran back to the ship to get a camera -- I stayed to watch, reporting over the radio. The thing moved so slowly I could easily outrun it. I was much more excited than alarmed. Thought I knew what kind of creature it was -- I've seen pictures of the kelp forests off California -- but I was quite wrong. I could tell it was in trouble. It couldn't possibly survive at a temperature a hundred and fifty below its normal environment. It was freezing solid as it moved forward --bits were breaking off like glass -- but it was still advancing towards the ship, a black tidal wave, slowing down all the time. I was still so surprised that I couldn't think straight and I couldn't imagine what it was trying to do. Even though it was heading towards Tsien it still seemed completely harmless, like -- well, a small forest on the move. I remember smiling -- it reminded me of Macbeth's Birnam Wood... Then I suddenly realized the danger. Even if it was completely inoffensive -- it was heavy -- with all the ice it was carrying, it must have weighed several tons, even in this low gravity. And it was slowly, painfully climbing up our landing gear... the legs were beginning to buckle, all in slow motion, like something in a dream -- or a nightmare... Not until the ship started to topple did I realize what the thing was trying to do -- and then it was far too late. We could have saved ourselves -- if we'd only switched off our lights! Perhaps it's a phototrope, its biological cycle triggered by the sunlight that filters down through the ice. Or it could have been attracted like a moth to a candle. Our floodlights must have been more brilliant than anything that Europa has ever known, even the Sun itself... Then the ship crashed. I saw the hull split, a cloud of snowflakes form as moisture condensed. All the lights went out, except for one, swinging back and forth on a cable a couple of metres above the ground. I don't know what happened immediately after that. The next thing I remember, I was standing under the light, beside the wreck of the ship, with a fine powdering of fresh snow all around me. I could see my footsteps in it very clearly. I must have run there; perhaps only a minute or two had elapsed... The plant -- I still thought of it as a plant -- was motionless. I wondered if it had been damaged by the impact; large sections -- as thick as a man's arms -- had splintered off, like broken twigs. Then the main trunk started to move again. It pulled away from the hull, and began to crawl towards me. That was when I knew for certain that the thing was light-sensitive: I was standing immediately under the thousand-watt lamp, which had stopped swinging now. Imagine an oak tree -- better still, a banyan with its multiple trunks and roots -- flattened out by gravity and trying to creep along the ground. It got to within five metres of the light, then started to spread out until it had made a perfect circle around me. Presumably that was the limit of its tolerance -- the point at which photo-attraction turned to repulsion. After that, nothing happened for several minutes, I wondered if it was dead -- frozen solid at last. Then I saw that large buds were forming on many of the branches. It was like watching a time-lapse film of flowers opening. In fact I thought they were flowers -- each about as big as a man's head. Delicate, beautifully coloured membranes started to unfold. Even then, it occurred to me that no one -- no thing -- could ever have seen these colours properly, until we brought our lights -- our fatal lights -- to this world. Tendrils, stamens, waving feebly... I walked over to the living wall that surrounded me, so that I could see exactly what was happening. Neither then, or at any other time, had I felt the slightest fear of the creature. I was certain that it was not malevolent -- if indeed it was conscious at all. There were scores of the big flowers, in various stages of unfolding. Now they reminded me of butterflies, just emerging from the chrysalis -- wings crumpled, still feeble -- I was getting closer and closer to the truth. But they were freezing -- dying as quickly as they formed. Then, one after another, they dropped off from the parent buds. For a few moments they flopped around like fish stranded on dry land -- and at last I realized exactly what they were. Those membranes weren't petals -- they were fins, or their equivalent. This was the free-swimming larval stage of the creature. Probably it spends much of its life rooted on the sea-bed, then sends these mobile offspring in search of new territory. Just like the corals of Earth's oceans. I knelt down to get a closer look at one of the little creatures. The beautiful colours were fading now, to a drab brown. Some of the petal-fins had snapped off, becoming brittle shards as they froze. But it was still moving feebly, and as I approached it tried to avoid me. I wondered how it sensed my presence. Then I noticed that the stamens -- as I'd called them --all carried bright blue dots at their tips. They looked like tiny star sapphires -- or the blue eyes along the mantle of a scallop -- aware of light, but unable to form true images. As I watched, the vivid blue faded, the gems became dull, ordinary stones... Dr Floyd -- or anyone else who is listening -- I haven't much more time; my life-support system alarm has just sounded. But I've almost finished. I knew then what I had to do. The cable to that thousand-watt lamp was hanging almost to the ground. I gave it a few tugs, and the light went out in a shower of sparks. I wondered whether it was too late. For a few minutes nothing happened. So I walked over to the wall of tangled branches around me -- and kicked it. Slowly, the creature started to unweave itself, and to retreat back to the Canal. I followed it all the way back to the water, encouraging it with more kicks when it slowed down, feeling the fragments of ice crunching all the time beneath my boots... As it neared the Canal, it seemed to gain strength and energy, as if it knew it was approaching its natural home. I wondered if it would survive, to bud again. It disappeared through the surface, leaving a few last dead larvae on the alien land. The exposed free water bubbled for a few minutes until a scab of protective ice sealed it from the vacuum above. Then I walked back to the ship to see if there was anything to salvage -- I don't want to talk about that. I've only two requests to make, Doctor. When the taxonomists classify this creature , I hope they'll name it after me. And -- when the next ship comes home -- ask them to take our bones back to China. I'll lose power in a few minutes -- wish I knew whether anyone was receiving me. Anyway, I'll repeat this message as long as I can... This is Professor Chang on Europa, reporting the destruction of the spaceship Tsien. We landed beside the Grand Canal and set up our pumps at the edge of the ice -- 28 The Little Dawn MISS PRINGLE RECORD Here comes the Sun! Strange -- how quickly it seems to rise, on this slowly turning world! Of course, of course -- the disc's so small that the whole of it pops above the horizon in no time... Not that it makes much difference to the light -- if you weren't looking in that direction, you'd never notice that there was another sun in the sky. But I hope the Europs have noticed. Usually it takes them less than five minutes to start coming ashore after the Little Dawn. Wonder if they already know I'm here, and are scared... No -- could be the other way round. Perhaps they're inquisitive -- even anxious to see what strange visitor has come to Tsienville... I rather hope so... Here they come! Hope your spysats are watching -- Falcon's cameras recording... How slowly they move! I'm afraid it's going to be very boring trying to communicate with them... even if they want to talk to me... Rather like the thing that overturned Tsien, but much smaller... They remind me of little trees, walking on half a dozen slender trunks. And with hundreds of branches, dividing into twigs, which divide again... and again. Just like many of our general-purpose robots... what a long time it took us to realize that imitation humanoids were ridiculously clumsy, and the proper way to go was with myriad of small manipulators! Whenever we invent something clever, we find that Mother Nature's already thought of it... Aren't the little ones cute -- like tiny bushes on the move. Wonder how they reproduce -- budding? I hadn't realized how beautiful they are. Almost as colourful as coral reef fish -- maybe for the same reasons... to attract mates, or fool predators by pretending to be something else... Did I say they looked like bushes? Make that rose-bushes -- they've actually got thorns! Must have a good reason for them... I'm disappointed. They don't seem to have noticed me. They'll all heading into town, as if a visiting spacecraft was an everyday occurrence... only a few left... maybe this will work... I suppose they can detect sound vibrations -- most marine creatures can -- though this atmosphere may be too thin to carry my voice very far... FALCON -- EXTERNAL SPEAKER... HELLO, CAN YOU HEAR ME? MY NAME IS FRANK POOLE... AHEM... I COME IN PEACE FOR ALL MANKIND... Makes me feel rather stupid, but can you suggest anything better? And it will be good for the record... Nobody's taking the slightest notice. Big ones and little ones, they re all creeping towards their igloos Wonder what they actually do when they get there -- perhaps I should follow. I'm sure it would be perfectly safe -- I can move so much faster -- I've just had an amusing flashback. All these creatures going in the same direction -- they look like the commuters who used to surge back and forth twice a day between home and office, before electronics made it unnecessary. Let's try again, before they all disappear. HELLO THERE THIS IS FRANK POOLE, A VISITOR FROM PLANET EARTH. CAN YOU HEAR ME? I HEAR YOU, FRANK. THIS IS DAVE. 29 The Ghosts in the Machine Frank Poole's immediate reaction was one of utter astonishment, followed by overwhelming joy. He had never really believed that he would make any kind of contact, either with the Europs or the Monolith. Indeed, he had even had fantasies of kicking in frustration against that towering ebon wall and shouting angrily, 'Is there anybody home?' Yet he should not have been so amazed: some intelligence must have monitored his approach from Ganymede, and permitted him to land. He should have taken Ted Khan more seriously. 'Dave,' he said slowly, 'is that really you?' Who else could it be? a part of his mind asked. Yet it was not a foolish question. There was something curiously mechanical -- impersonal about the voice that came from the small speaker on Falcon's control board. YES, FRANK. I AM DAVE. There was a very brief pause: then the same voice continued, without any change of intonation: HELLO FRANK. THIS IS HAL. MISS PRINGLE RECORD Well -- Indra, Dim -- I'm glad I recorded all that, otherwise you'd never believe me... I guess I'm still in a state of shock. First of all, how should I feel about someone who tried to -- who did -- kill me -- even if it was a thousand years ago! But I understand now that Hal wasn't to blame; nobody was. There's a very good piece of advice I've often found useful 'Never attribute to malevolence what is merely due to incompetence' I can't feel any anger towards a bunch of programmers I never knew, who've been dead for centuries. I'm glad this is encrypted, as I don't know how it should be handled, and a lot that I tell you may turn out to be complete nonsense. I'm already suffering from information overload, and had to ask Dave to leave me for a while -- after all the trouble I've gone through to meet him! But I don't think I hurt his feelings: I m not sure yet if he has any feelings... What is he -- good question! Well, he really is Dave Bowman, but with most of the humanity stripped away -- like -- ah -- like the synopsis of a book or a technical paper. You know how an abstract can give all the basic information but no hint of the author's personality? Yet there were moments when I felt that something of the old Dave was still there. I wouldn't go so far as to say he's pleased to meet me again -- moderately satisfied might be more like it... For myself, I'm still very confused. Like meeting an old friend after a long separation, and finding that they're now a different person. Well, it has been a thousand years -- and I can't imagine what experiences he's known, though as I'll show you presently, he's tried to share some of them with me. And Hal -- he's here too, without question. Most of the time, there's no way I can tell which of them is speaking to me. Aren't there examples of multiple personalities in the medical records? Maybe it's something like that. I asked him how this had happened to them both, and he -- they -- dammit, Halman! -- tried to explain. Let me repeat -- I may have got it partly wrong, but it's the only working hypothesis I have. Of course, the Monolith -- in its various manifestations -- is the key -- no, that's the wrong word -- didn't someone once say it was a kind of cosmic Swiss Army knife? You still have them, I've noticed, though both Switzerland and its army disappeared centuries ago. It's a general-purpose device that can do anything it wants to. Or was programmed to do... Back in Africa, four million years ago, it gave us that evolutionary kick in the pants, for better or for worse. Then its sibling on the Moon waited for us to climb out of the cradle. That we've already guessed, and Dave's confirmed it. I said that he doesn't have many human feelings, but he still has curiosity -- he wants to learn. And what an opportunity he's had! When the Jupiter Monolith absorbed him -- can't think of a better word -- it got more than it bargained for. Though it used him -- apparently as a captured specimen, and a probe to investigate Earth -- he's also been using it. With Hal's assistance -- and who should understand a super-computer better than another one? -- he's been exploring its memory, and trying to find its purpose. Now, this is something that's very hard to believe. The Monolith is a fantastically powerful machine -- look what it did to Jupiter! -- but it's no more than that. It's running on automatic -- it has no consciousness. I remember once thinking that I might have to kick the Great Wall and shout 'Is there anyone there?' And the correct answer would have to be -- no one, except Dave and Hal... Worse still, some of its systems may have started to fail; Dave even suggests that, in a fundamental way, it's become stupid! Perhaps it's been left on its own for too long -- it's time for a service check. And he believes the Monolith has made at least one misjudgement. Perhaps that's not the right word -- it may have been deliberate, carefully considered... In any event, it's -- well, truly awesome, and terrifying in its implications. Luckily, I can show it to you, so you can decide for yourselves. Yes, even though it happened a thousand years ago, when Leonov flew the second mission to Jupiter! And all this time, no one has ever guessed... I'm certainly glad you got me fitted with the Braincap. Of course it's been invaluable -- I can't imagine life without it -- but now it's doing a job it was never designed for. And doing it remarkably well. It took Halman about ten minutes to find how it worked, and to set up an interface. Now we have mind-to-mind contact -- which is quite a strain on me, I can tell you. I have to keep asking them to slow down, and use baby-talk. Or should I say baby-think... I'm not sure how well this will come through. It's a thousand-year-old recording of Dave's own experience, somehow stored in the Monolith's enormous memory, then retrieved by Dave and injected into my Braincap -- don't ask me exactly how -- and finally transferred and beamed to you by Ganymede Central. Phew. Hope you don't get a headache downloading it. Over to Dave Bowman at Jupiter, early twenty-first century... 30 Foamscape The million-kilometre-long tendrils of magnetic force, the sudden explosion of radio waves, the geysers of electrified plasma wider than the planet Earth -- they were as real and clearly visible to him as the clouds banding the planet in multi-hued glory. He could understand the complex pattern of their interactions, and realized that Jupiter was much more wonderful than anyone had ever guessed. Even as he fell through the roaring heart of the Great Red Spot, with the lightning of its continent-wide thunderstorms detonating under him, he knew why it had persisted for centuries though it was made of gases far less substantial than those that formed the hurricanes of Earth. The thin scream of hydrogen wind faded as he sank into the calmer depths, and a sheet of waxen snowflakes -- some already coalescing into barely palpable mountains of hydrocarbon foam -- descended from the heights above. It was already warm enough for liquid water to exist, but there were no oceans there; this purely gaseous environment was too tenuous to support them. He descended through layer after layer of cloud, until he entered a region of such clarity that even human vision could have scanned an area more than a thousand kilometres across. It was only a minor eddy in the vaster gyre of the Great Red Spot; and it held a secret that men had long guessed, but never proved. Skirting the foothills of the drifting foam mountains were myriad of small, sharply defined clouds, all about the same size and patterned with similar red and brown mottling. They were small only as compared with the inhuman scale of their surroundings; the very least would have covered a fair-sized city. They were clearly alive, for they were moving with slow deliberation along the flanks of the aerial mountains, browsing off their slopes like colossal sheep. And they were calling to each other in the metre band, their radio voices faint but clear against the cracklings and concussions of Jupiter itself. Nothing less than living gasbags, they floated in the narrow zone between freezing heights and scorching depths. Narrow, yes -- but a domain far larger than all the biosphere of Earth. They were not alone. Moving swiftly among them were other creatures so small that they could easily have been overlooked. Some of them bore an almost uncanny resemblance to terrestrial aircraft, and were of about the same size. But they too were alive -- perhaps predators, perhaps parasites, perhaps even herdsmen. A whole new chapter of evolution, as alien as that which he had glimpsed on Europa, was opening before him. There were jet-propelled torpedoes like the squids of the terrestrial oceans, hunting and devouring the huge gas-bags. But the balloons were not defenceless; some of them fought back with electric thunderbolts and with clawed tentacles like kilometre-long chainsaws. There were even stranger shapes, exploiting almost every possibility of geometry -- bizarre, translucent kites, tetrahedra, spheres, polyhedra, tangles of twisted ribbons... The gigantic plankton of the Jovian atmosphere, they were designed to float like gossamer in the uprising currents, until they had lived long enough to reproduce; then they would be swept down into the depths to be carbonized and recycled in a new generation. He was searching a world more than a hundred times the area of Earth, and though he saw many wonders, nothing there hinted of intelligence. The radio voices of the great balloons carried only simple messages of warning or of fear. Even the hunters, who might have been expected to develop higher degrees of organization, were like the sharks in Earth's oceans -- mindless automata. And for all its breathtaking size and novelty, the biosphere of Jupiter was a fragile world, a place of mists and foam, of delicate silken threads and paper-thin tissues spun from the continual snowfall of petrochemicals formed by lightning in the upper atmosphere. Few of its constructs were more substantial than soap bubbles; its most awesome predators could be torn to shreds by even the feeblest of terrestrial carnivores. Like Europa, but on a vastly grander scale, Jupiter was an evolutionary cul-de-sac. Intelligence would never emerge here; even if it did, it would be doomed to a stunted existence. A purely aerial culture might develop, but in an environment where fire was impossible, and solids scarcely existed, it could never even reach the Stone Age. 31 Nursery MISS PRINGLE RECORD Well, Indra -- Dim -- I hope that came through in good shape -- I still find it hard to believe. All those fantastic creatures -- surely we should have detected their radio voices, even if we couldn't understand them! -- wiped out in a moment, so that Jupiter could be made into a sun. And now we can understand why. It was to give the Europs their chance. What pitiless logic: is intelligence the only thing that matters? I can see some long arguments with Ted Khan over this -- The next question is: will the Europs make the grade -- or will they remain forever stuck in the kindergarten -- not even that -- the nursery? Though a thousand years is a very short time, one would have expected some progress, but according to Dave they're exactly the same now as when they left the sea. Perhaps that's the trouble; they still have one foot -- or one twig! -- in the water. And here's another thing we got completely wrong. We thought they went back into the water to sleep. It's just the other way round -- they go back to eat, and sleep when they come on land! As we might have guessed from their structure -- that network of branches -- they're plankton feeders... I asked Dave about the igloos they've built. Aren't they a technological advance? And he said: not really -- they're only adaptations of structures they make on the sea-bed, to protect themselves from various predators -- especially something like a flying carpet, as big as a football field... There's one area, though, where they have shown initiative -- even creativity. They're fascinated by metals, presumably because they don't exist in pure form in the ocean. That's why Tsien was stripped -- the same thing's happened to the occasional probes that have come down in their territory. What do they do with the copper and beryllium and titanium they collect? Nothing useful, I'm afraid. They pile it all together in one place, in a fantastic heap that they keep reassembling. They could be developing an aesthetic sense -- I've seen worse in the Museum of Modem Art... But I've got another theory -- did you ever hear of cargo cults? During the twentieth century, some of the few primitive tribes that still existed made imitation aeroplanes out of bamboo, in the hope of attracting the big birds in the sky that occasionally brought them wonderful gifts. Perhaps the Europs have the same idea. Now that question you keep asking me... What is Dave? And how did he -- and Hal -- become whatever it is they are now? The quick answer, of course, is that they're both emulations -- simulations -- in the Monolith's gigantic memory. Most of the time they're inactivated; when I asked Dave about this, he said he'd been 'awake' -- his actual word --for only fifty years altogether, in the thousand since his -- er -- metamorphosis. When I asked if he resented this takeover of his life, he said, 'Why should I resent it? I am performing my functions perfectly.' Yes, that sounds exactly like Hal! But I believe it was Dave -- if there's any distinction now. Remember that Swiss Army knife analogy? Halman is one of this cosmic knife's myriad of components. But he's not a completely passive tool -- when he's awake, he has some autonomy, some independence -- presumably within limits set by the Monolith's overriding control. During the centuries, he's been used as a kind of intelligent probe to examine, Jupiter -- as you've just seen -- as well as Ganymede and the Earth. That confirms those mysterious events in Florida, reported by Dave's old girl-friend, and the nurse who was looking after his mother, just moments before her death... as well as the encounters in Anubis City. And it also explains another mystery. I asked Dave directly: why was I allowed to land on Europa, when everyone else has been turned away for centuries? I fully expected to be! The answer's ridiculously simple. The Monolith uses Dave -- Halman -- from time to time, to keep an eye on us. Dave knew all about my rescue -- even saw some of the media interviews I made, on Earth and on Ganymede. I must say I'm still a little hurt he made no attempt to contact me! But at least he put out the Welcome mat when I did arrive... Dim -- I still have forty-eight hours before Falcon leaves -- with or without me! I don't think I'll need them, now I've made contact with Halman; we can keep in touch just as easily from Anubis... if he wants to do so. And I'm anxious to get back to the Grannymede as quickly as possible. Falcon's a fine little spacecraft, but her plumbing could be improved -- it's beginning to smell in here, and I'm itching for a shower. Look forward to seeing you -- and especially Ted Khan. We have much to talk about, before I return to Earth. TRANSMIT STORE V TERMINATION The toil of all that be Heals not the primal fault; It rains into the sea, And still the sea is salt. -- A. E. Housman, More Poems 32 A Gentleman of Leisure On the whole, it had been an interesting but uneventful decades, punctuated by the joys and sorrows which Time and Fate bring to all mankind. The greatest of those had been wholly unexpected; in fact, before he left for Ganymede, Poole would have dismissed the very idea as preposterous. There is much truth in the saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder. When he and Indra Wallace met again, they discovered that, despite their bantering and occasional disagreements, they were closer than they had imagined. One thing led to another including, to their mutual joy, Dawn Wallace and Martin Poole. It was rather late in life to start a family -- quite apart from that little matter of a thousand years -- and Professor Anderson had warned them that it might be impossible. Or even worse... 'You were lucky in more ways than you realize,' he told Poole. 'Radiation damage was surprisingly low, and we were able to make all essential repairs from your intact DNA. But until we do some more tests, I can't promise genetic integrity. So enjoy yourselves -- but don't start a family until I give the OK.' The tests had been time-consuming, and as Anderson had feared, further repairs were necessary. There was one major set-back -- something that could never have lived, even if it had been allowed to go beyond the first few weeks after conception -- but Martin and Dawn were perfect, with just the right number of heads, arms and legs. They were also handsome and intelligent, and barely managed to escape being spoiled by their doting parents -- who continued to be the best of friends when, after fifteen years, each opted for independence again. Because of their Social Achievement Rating, they would have been permitted -- indeed, encouraged -- to have another child, but they decided not to put any more of a burden on their astonishingly good luck. One tragedy had shadowed Poole's personal life during this period -- and indeed had shocked the whole Solar community. Captain Chandler and his entire crew had been lost when the nucleus of a comet they were reconnoitring exploded suddenly, destroying Goliath so completely that only a few fragments were ever located. Such explosions -- caused by reactions among unstable molecules which existed at very low temperatures -- were a well-known danger to comet-collectors, and Chandler had encountered several during his career. No one would ever know the exact circumstances which caused so experienced a spaceman to be taken by surprise. Poole missed Chandler very badly: he had played a unique role in his life, and there was no one to replace him -- no one, except Dave Bowman, with whom he had shared so momentous an adventure. He and Chandler had often made plans to go into space together again, perhaps all the way out to the Oort Cloud with its unknown mysteries and its remote but inexhaustible wealth of ice. Yet some conflict of schedules had always upset their plans, so this was a wished-for future that would never exist. Another long-desired goal Poole had managed to achieve -- despite doctor's orders. He had been down to Earth: and once was quite enough. The vehicle in which he had travelled looked almost identical to the wheelchairs used by the luckier paraplegics of his own time. It was motorized, and had balloon tyres which allowed it to roll over reasonably smooth surfaces. However, it could also fly -- at an altitude of about twenty centimetres -- on an aircushion produced by a set of small but very powerful fans. Poole was surprised that so primitive a technology was still in use, but inertia-control devices were too bulky for such small-scale applications. Seated comfortably in his hoverchair, he was scarcely conscious of his increasing weight as he descended into the heart of Africa; though he did notice some difficulty in breathing, he had experienced far worse during his astronaut training. What he was not prepared for was the blast of furnace-heat that smote him as he rolled out of the gigantic, sky-piercing cylinder that formed the base of the Tower. Yet it was still morning: what would it be like at noon? He had barely accustomed himself to the heat when his sense of smell was assailed. A myriad odours -- none unpleasant, but all unfamiliar -- clamoured for his attention. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, in an attempt to avoid overloading his input circuits. Before he had decided to open them again, he felt some large, moist object palpating the back of his neck. 'Say hello to Elizabeth,' said his guide, a burly young man dressed in traditional Great White Hunter garb, much too smart to have seen any real use: 'she's our official greeter.' Poole twisted round in his chair, and found himself looking into the soulful eyes of a baby elephant. 'Hello, Elizabeth,' he answered, rather feebly. Elizabeth lifted her trunk in salute, and emitted a sound not usually heard in polite society, though Poole felt sure it was well-intentioned. Altogether, he spent less than an hour on Planet Earth, skirting the edge of a jungle whose stunted trees compared unfavourably with Skyland's, and encountering much of the local fauna. His guides apologized for the friendliness of the lions, who had been spoilt by tourists -- but the malevolent expressions of the crocodiles more than compensated; here was Nature raw and unchanged. Before he returned to the Tower, Poole risked taking a few steps away from his hoverchair. He realized that this would be the equivalent of carrying his own weight on his back, but that did not seem an impossible feat, and he would never forgive himself unless he attempted it. It was not a good idea; perhaps he should have tried it in a cooler climate. After no more than a dozen steps, he was glad to sink back into the luxurious clutches of the chair. 'That's enough,' he said wearily. 'Let's go back to the Tower.' As he rolled into the elevator lobby, he noticed a sign which he had somehow overlooked during the excitement of his arrival. It read: WELCOME TO AFRICA! 'In wildness is the preservation of the world.' HENRY DAVID THOREAU (1817-1862) Observing Poole's interest, the guide asked 'Did you know him?' It was the sort of question Poole heard all too often, and at the moment he did not feel equipped to deal with it. 'I don't think so,' he answered wearily, as the great doors closed behind them, shutting out the sights, scents and sounds of Mankind's earliest home. His vertical safari had satisfied his need to visit Earth, and he did his best to ignore the various aches and pains acquired there when he returned to his apartment at Level 10,000 -- a prestigious location, even in this democratic society. Indra, however, was mildly shocked by his appearance, and ordered him straight to bed. 'Just like Antaeus -- but in reverse!' she muttered darkly. 'Who?' asked Poole: there were times when his wife's erudition was a little overwhelming, but he had determined never to let it give him an inferiority complex. 'Son of the Earth Goddess, Gaea. Hercules wrestled with him -- but every time he was thrown to the ground, Antaeus renewed his strength.' 'Who won?' 'Hercules, of course -- by holding Antaeus in the air, so Ma couldn't recharge his batteries.' 'Well, I'm sure it won't take me long to recharge mine. And I've learned one lesson. If I don't get more exercise, I may have to move up to Lunar Gravity level.' Poole's good resolution lasted a full month: every morning he went for a brisk five-kilometre walk, choosing a different level of the Africa Tower each day. Some floors were still vast, echoing deserts of metal which would probably never be occupied, but others had been landscaped and developed over the centuries in a bewildering variety of architectural styles. Many were borrowings from past ages and cultures; others hinted at futures which Poole would not care to visit. At least there was no danger of boredom, and on many of his walks he was accompanied, at a respectful distance, by small groups of friendly children. They were seldom able to keep up with him for long. One day, as Poole was striding down a convincing -- though sparsely populated -- imitation of the Champs Elyse?es, he suddenly spotted a familiar face. 'Danil!' he called. The other man took not the slightest notice, even when Poole called again, more loudly. 'Don't you remember me?' Danil -- and now that he had caught up with him, Poole did not have the slightest doubt of his identity -- looked genuinely baffled. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'You're Commander Poole, of course. But I'm sure we've never met before.' Now it was Poole's turn to be embarrassed. 'Stupid of me,' he apologized. 'Must have mistaken you for someone else. Have a good day.' He was glad of the encounter, and was pleased to know that Danil was back in normal society. Whether his original crime had been axe-murders or overdue library books should no longer be the concern of his one-time employer; the account had been settled, the books closed. Although Poole sometimes missed the cops-and-robbers dramas he had often enjoyed in his youth, he had grown to accept the current wisdom: excessive interest in pathological behaviour was itself pathological. With the help of Miss Pringle, Mk III, Poole had been able to schedule his life so that there were even occasional blank moments when he could relax and set his Braincap on Random Search, scanning his areas of interest. Outside his immediate family, his chief concerns were still among the moons of Jupiter/Lucifer, not least because he was recognized as the leading expert on the subject, and a permanent member of the Europa Committee. This had been set up almost a thousand years ago, to consider what, if anything, could and should be done about the mysterious satellite. Over the centuries, it had accumulated a vast amount of information, going all the way back to the Voyager flybys of 1979 and the first detailed surveys from the orbiting Galileo spacecraft of 1996. Like most long-lived organizations, the Europa Committee had become slowly fossilized, and now met only when there was some new development. It had woken up with a start after Halman's reappearance, and appointed an energetic new chairperson whose first act had been to co-opt Poole. Though there was little that he could contribute that was not already recorded, Poole was very happy to be on the Committee. It was obviously his duty to make himself available, and it also gave him an official position he would otherwise have lacked. Previously his status was what had once been called a 'national treasure', which he found faintly embarrassing. Although he was glad to be supported in luxury by a world wealthier than all the dreams of war-ravaged earlier ages could have imagined, he felt the need to justify his existence. He also felt another need, which he seldom articulated even to himself. Halman had spoken to him, if only briefly, at their strange encounter two decades ago. Poole was certain that, if he wished, Halman could easily do so again. Were all human contacts no longer of interest to him? He hoped that was not the case; yet that might be one explanation of his silence. He was frequently in touch with Theodore Khan -- as active and acerbic as ever, and now the Europa Committee's representative on Ganymede. Ever since Poole had returned to Earth, Ted had been trying in vain to open a channel of communication with Bowman. He could not understand why long lists of important questions on subjects of vital philosophical and historic interest received not even brief acknowledgements. 'Does the Monolith keep your friend Halman so busy that he can't talk to me?' he complained to Poole. 'What does he do with his time, anyway?' It was a very reasonable question; and the answer came, like a thunderbolt out of a cloudless sky, from Bowman himself -- as a perfectly commonplace vidphone call. 33 Contact 'Hello, Frank. This is Dave. I have a very important message for you. I assume that you are now in your suite in Africa Tower. If you are there, please identify yourself by giving the name of our instructor in orbital mechanics. I will wait for sixty seconds, and if there is no reply will try again in exactly one hour.' That minute was hardly long enough for Poole to recover from the shock. He felt a brief surge of delight, as well as astonishment, before another emotion took over. Glad though he was to hear from Bowman again, that phrase 'a very important message' sounded distinctly ominous. At least it was fortunate, Poole told himself, that he's asked for one of the few names I can remember. Yet who could forget a Scot with a Glasgow accent so thick it had taken them a week to master it? But he had been a brilliant lecturer -- once you understood what he was saying. 'Dr Gregory McVitty.' 'Accepted. Now please switch on your Braincap receiver. It will take three minutes to download this message. Do not attempt to monitor: I am using ten-to-one compression. I will wait two minutes before starting.' How is he managing to do this? Poole wondered. Jupiter/Lucifer was now over fifty light-minutes away, so this message must have left almost an hour ago. It must have been sent with an intelligent agent in a properly addressed package on the Ganymede-Earth beam -- but that would have been a trivial feat to Halman, with the resources he had apparently been able to tap inside the Monolith. The indicator light on the Brainbox was flickering. The message was coming through. At the compression Halman was using, it would take half an hour for Poole to absorb the message in real-time. But he needed only ten minutes to know that his peaceful life-style had come to an abrupt end 34 Judgement In a world of universal and instantaneous communication, it was very difficult to keep secrets. This was a matter, Poole decided immediately, for face-to-face discussion. The Europa Committee had grumbled, but all its members had assembled in his apartment. There were seven of them -- the lucky number, doubtless suggested by the phases of the Moon, that had always fascinated Mankind. It was the first time Poole had met three of the Committee's members, though by now he knew them all more thoroughly than he could possibly have done in a pre-Braincapped lifetime. 'Chairperson Oconnor, members of the Committee -- I'd like to say a few words -- only a few, I promise! -- before you download the message I've received from Europa. And this is something I prefer to do verbally; that's more natural for me -- I'm afraid I'll never be quite at ease with direct mental transfer.' 'As you all know, Dave Bowman and Hal have been stored as emulations in the Monolith on Europa. Apparently it never discards a tool it once found useful, and from time to time it activates Halman, to monitor our affairs -- when they begin to concern it. As I suspect my arrival may have done -- though perhaps I flatter myself.' 'But Halman isn't just a passive tool. The Dave component still retains something of its human origins -- even emotions. And because we were trained together -- shared almost everything for years -- he apparently finds it much easier to communicate with me than with anyone else. I would like to think he enjoys doing it, but perhaps that's too strong a word.' 'He's also curious -- inquisitive -- and perhaps a little resentful of the way he's been collected, like a specimen of wildlife. Though that's probably what we are, from the viewpoint of the intelligence that created the Monolith.' 'And where is that intelligence now? Halman apparently knows the answer, and it's a chilling one.' 'As we always suspected, the Monolith is part of a galactic network of some kind. And the nearest node -- the Monolith's controller, or immediate superior -- is 450 light-years away.' 'Much too close for comfort! This means that the report on us and our affairs that was transmitted early in the twenty-first century was received half a millennium ago. If the Monolith's -- let's say Supervisor -- replied at once, any further instructions should be arriving just about now.' 'And that's exactly what seems to be happening. During the last few days, the Monolith has been receiving a continuous string of messages, and has been setting up new programs, presumably in accordance with these.' 'Unfortunately, Halman can only make guesses about the nature of those instructions. As you'll gather when you've downloaded this tablet, he has some limited access to many of the Monolith's circuits and memory banks, and can even carry on a kind of dialogue with it. If that's the right word -- since you need two people for that! I still can't really grasp the idea that the Monolith, for all its powers, doesn't possess consciousness -- doesn't even know that it exists!' 'Halman's been brooding over the problem for a thousand years -- on and off -- and has come to the same answer that most of us have done. But his conclusion must surely carry far more weight, because of his inside knowledge.' 'Sorry! I wasn't intending to make a joke -- but what else could you call it?' 'Whatever went to the trouble of creating us -- or at least tinkering with our ancestors' minds and genes -- is deciding what to do next. And Halman is pessimistic. No -- that's an exaggeration. Let's say he doesn't think much of our chances, but is now too detached an observer to be unduly worried. The future -- the survival! -- of the human race isn't much more than an interesting problem to him, but he's willing to help.' Poole suddenly stopped talking, to the surprise of his intent audience. 'That's strange. I've just had an amazing flashback... I'm sure it explains what's happening. Please bear with me.' 'Dave and I were walking together one day, along the beach at the Cape, a few weeks before launch, when we noticed a large beetle lying on the sand. As often happens, it had fallen on its back and was waving its legs in the air, struggling to get right-way-up.' 'I ignored it -- we were engaged in some complicated technical discussion -- but not Dave. He stepped aside, and carefully flipped it over with his shoe. As it flew away I commented, "Are you sure that was a good idea? Now it will go off and chomp somebody's prize chrysanthemums." And he answered, "Maybe you're right. But I'd like to give it the benefit of the doubt." 'My apologies -- I'd promised to say only a few words! But I'm very glad I remembered that incident: I really believe it puts Halman's message in the right perspective. He's giving the human race the benefit of the doubt...' 'Now please check your Braincaps. This is a high-density recording -- top of the u.v. band, Channel 110. Make yourselves comfortable, but be sure you're free line of sight. Here we go...' 35 Council of War No one asked for a replay. Once was sufficient. There was a brief silence when the playback finished; then Chairperson Dr Oconnor removed her Braincap, massaged her shining scalp, and said slowly: 'You taught me a phrase from your period that seems very appropriate now. This is a can of worms.' 'But only Bowman -- Halman -- has opened it,' said one of the Committee members. 'Does he really understand the operation of something as complex as the Monolith? Or is this whole scenario a figment of his imagination?' 'I don't think he has much imagination,' Dr Oconnor answered. 'And everything checks perfectly. Especially the reference to Nova Scorpio. We assumed that was an accident; apparently it was a -- judgement.' 'First Jupiter -- now Scorpio,' said Dr Kraussman, the distinguished physicist who was popularly regarded as a reincarnation of the legendary Einstein. A little plastic surgery, it was rumoured, had also helped. 'Who will be next in line?' 'We always guessed,' said the Chair, 'that the TMAs were monitoring us.' She paused for a moment, then added ruefully: 'What bad -- what incredibly bad! -- luck that the fmal report went off, just after the very worst period in human history!' There was another silence. Everyone knew that the twentieth century had often been branded 'The Century of Torture' Poole listened without interrupting, while he waited for some consensus to emerge. Not for the first time, he was impressed by the quality of the Committee No one was trying to prove a pet theory, score debating points, or inflate an ego: he could not help drawing a contrast with the often bad-tempered arguments he had heard in own time, between Space Agency engineers and administrators, Congressional staffs, and industrial executives. Yes, the human race had undoubtedly improved. The Braincap had not only helped to weed out misfits, but had enormously increased the efficiency of education. Yet there had also been a loss; there were very few memorable characters in this society. Offhand he could think of only four -- Indra, Captain Chandler, Dr Khan and the Dragon Lady of wistful memory. The Chairperson let the discussion flow smoothly back and forth until everyone had had a say, then began her summing up. 'The obvious first question -- how seriously should we take this threat -- isn't worth wasting time on. Even if it's a false alarm, or a misunderstanding, it's potentially so grave that we must assume it's real, until we have absolute proof to the contrary. Agreed?' 'Good. And we don't know how much time we have. So we must assume that the danger is immediate. Perhaps Halman may be able to give us some further warning, but by then it may be too late.' 'So the only thing we have to decide is: how can we protect ourselves, against something as powerful as the Monolith? Look what happened to Jupiter! And, apparently, Nova Scorpio...' 'I'm sure that brute force would be useless, though perhaps we should explore that option. Dr Kraussman -- how long would it take to build a super-bomb?' 'Assuming that the designs still exist, so that no research is necessary -- oh, perhaps two weeks. Thermonuclear weapons are rather simple, and use common materials -- after all, they made them back in the Second Millennium! But if you wanted something sophisticated -- say an antimatter bomb, or a mini-black-hole -- well, that might take a few months.' 'Thank you: could you start looking into it? But as I've said, I don't believe it would work; surely something that can handle such powers must also be able to protect itself against them. So -- any other suggestions?' 'Can we negotiate?' one councillor asked, not very hopefully. 'With what... or whom?' Kraussman answered. 'As we've discovered, the Monolith is essentially a pure mechanism, doing just what it's been programmed to do. Perhaps that program is flexible enough to allow of changes, but there's no way we can tell. And we certainly can't appeal to Head Office -- that's half a thousand light-years away!' Poole listened without interrupting; there was nothing he could contribute to the discussion, and indeed much of it was completely over his head. He began to feel an insidious sense of depression, would it have been better, he wondered, not to pass on this information? Then, if it was a false alarm, no one would be any the worse. And if it was not -- well, humanity would still have peace of mind, before whatever inescapable doom awaited it. He was still mulling over these gloomy thoughts when he was suddenly alerted by a familiar phrase. A quiet little member of the Committee, with a name so long and difficult that Poole had never been able to remember, still less pronounce it, had abruptly dropped just two words into the discussion. 'Trojan Horse!' There was one of those silences generally described as 'pregnant', then a chorus of 'Why didn't I think of that!' 'Of course!' 'Very good idea!' until the Chairperson, for the first time in the session, had to call for order. 'Thank you, Professor Thirugnanasampanthamoorthy,' said Dr Oconnor, without missing a beat. 'Would you like to be more specific?' 'Certainly. If the Monolith is indeed, as everyone seems to think, essentially a machine without consciousness -- and hence with only limited self-monitoring ability -- we may already have the weapons that can defeat it. Locked up in the Vault.' 'And a delivery system -- Halman!' 'Precisely.' 'Just a minute, Dr T. We know nothing -- absolutely nothing -- about the Monolith's architecture. How can we be sure that anything our primitive species ever designed would be effective against it?' 'We can't -- but remember this. However sophisticated it is, the Monolith has to obey exactly the same universal laws of logic that Aristotle and Boole formulated, centuries ago. That's why it may -- no, should! -- be vulnerable to the things locked up in the Vault. We have to assemble them in such a way that at least one of them will work. It's our only hope -- unless anybody can suggest a better alternative.' 'Excuse me,' said Poole, finally losing patience. 'Will someone kindly tell me -- what and where is this famous Vault you're talking about?' 36 Chamber of Horrors History is full of nightmares, some natural, some manmade. By the end of the twenty-first century, most of the natural ones -- smallpox, the Black Death, AIDS, the hideous viruses lurking in the African jungle -- had been eliminated, or at least brought under control, by the advance of medicine. However, it was never wise to underestimate the ingenuity of Mother Nature, and no one doubted that the future would still have unpleasant biological surprises in store for Mankind. It seemed a sensible precaution, therefore, to keep a few specimens of all these horrors for scientific study -- carefully guarded, of course, so that there was no possibility of them escaping and again wreaking havoc on the human race. But how could one be absolutely sure that there was no danger of this happening? There had been -- understandably -- quite an outcry in the late twentieth century when it was proposed to keep the last known smallpox viruses at Disease Control Centres in the United States and Russia. However unlikely it might be, there was a finite possibility that they might be released by such accidents as earthquakes, equipment failures -- or even deliberate sabotage by terrorist groups. A solution that satisfied everyone (except a few 'Preserve the lunar wilderness!' extremists) was to ship them to the Moon, and to keep them in a laboratory at the end of a kilometre-long shaft drilled into the isolated mountain Pico, one of the most prominent features of the Mare Imbrium. And here, over the years, they were joined by some of the most outstanding examples of misplaced human ingenuity -- indeed, insanity. There were gases and mists that, even in microscopic doses, caused slow or instant death. Some had been created by religious cultists who, though mentally deranged, had managed to acquire considerable scientific knowledge. Many of them believed that the end of the world was at hand (when, of course, only their followers would be saved). In case God was absent-minded enough not to perform as scheduled, they wanted to make sure that they could rectify His unfortunate oversight. The first assaults of these lethal cultists were made on such vulnerable targets as crowded subways, World Fairs, sports stadiums, pop concerts... tens of thousands were killed, and many more injured before the madness was brought under control in the early twenty-first century. As often happens, some good came out of evil, because it forced the world's law-enforcement agencies to co-operate as never before; even rogue states which had promoted political terrorism were unable to tolerate this random and wholly unpredictable variety. The chemical and biological agents used in these attacks -- as well as in earlier forms of warfare -- joined the deadly collection in Pico. Their antidotes, when they existed, were also stored with them. It was hoped that none of this material would ever concern humanity again -- but it was still available, under heavy guard, if it was needed in some desperate emergency. The third category of items stored in the Pico vault, although they could be classified as plagues, had never killed or injured anyone -- directly. They had not even existed before the late twentieth century, but in a few decades they had done billions of dollars' worth of damage, and often wrecked lives as effectively as any bodily illness could have done. They were the diseases which attacked Mankind's newest and most versatile servant, the computer. Taking names from the medical dictionaries -- viruses, prions, tapeworms -- they were programs that often mimicked, with uncanny accuracy, the behaviour of their organic relatives. Some were harmless -- little more than playful jokes, contrived to surprise or amuse Computer operators by unexpected messages and images on their visual displays. Others were far more malicious -- deliberately designed agents of catastrophe. In most cases their purpose was entirely mercenary; they were the weapons that sophisticated criminals used to blackmail the banks and commercial organizations that now depended utterly upon the efficient operation of their computer systems. On being warned that their data banks would be erased automatically at a certain time, unless they transferred a few megadollars to some anonymous offshore number, most victims decided not to risk possibly irreparable disaster. They paid up quietly, often -- to avoid public or even private embarrassment -- without notifying the police. This understandable desire for privacy made it easy for the network highwaymen to conduct their electronic holdups: even when they were caught, they were treated gently by legal systems which did not know how to handle such novel crimes -- and, after all, they had not really hurt anyone, had they? Indeed, after they had served their brief sentences, many of the perpetrators were quietly hired by their victims, on the old principle that poachers make the best game-keepers. These computer criminals were driven purely by greed, and certainly did not wish to destroy the organizations they preyed upon: no sensible parasite kills its host. But there were other, and much more dangerous, enemies of society at work... Usually, they were maladjusted individuals -- typically adolescent males -- working entirely alone, and of course in complete secrecy. Their aim was to create programs which would simply create havoc and confusion, when they had been spread over the planet by the world-wide cable and radio networks, or on physical carriers such as diskettes and CD ROMS. Then they would enjoy the resulting chaos, basking in the sense of power it gave their pitiful psyches. Sometimes, these perverted geniuses were discovered and adopted by national intelligence agencies for their own secretive purposes -- usually, to break into the data banks of their rivals. This was a fairly harmless line of employment, as the organizations concerned did at least have some sense of civic responsibility. Not so the apocalyptic sects, who were delighted to discover this new armoury, holding weapons far more effective, and more easily disseminated, than gas or germs. And much more difficult to counter, since they could be broadcast instantaneously to millions of offices and homes. The collapse of the New York-Havana Bank in 2005, the launching of Indian nuclear missiles in 2007 (luckily with their warheads unactivated), the shutdown of Pan-European Air Traffic Control in 2008, the paralysis of the North American telephone network in that same year -- all these were cult-inspired rehearsals for Doomsday. Thanks to brilliant feats of counterintelligence by normally uncooperative, and even warring, national agencies, this menace was slowly brought under control. At least, so it was generally believed: there had been no serious attacks at the very foundations of society for several hundred years. One of the chief weapons of victory had been the Braincap -- though there were some who believed that this achievement had been bought at too great a cost. Though arguments over the freedom of the Individual versus the duties of the State were old when Plato and Aristotle attempted to codify them, and would probably continue until the end of time, some consensus had been reached in the Third Millennium. It was generally agreed that Communism was the most perfect form of government; unfortunately it had been demonstrated -- at the cost of some hundreds of millions of lives -- that it was only applicable to social insects, Robots Class II, and similar restricted categories. For imperfect human beings, the least-worst answer was Demosocracy, frequently defined as 'individual greed, moderated by an efficient but not too zealous government'. Soon after the Braincap came into general use, some highly intelligent -- and maximally zealous -- bureaucrats realized that it had a unique potential as an early-warning system. During the setting-up process, when the new wearer was being mentally 'calibrated' it was possible to detect many forms of psychosis before they had a chance of becoming dangerous. Often this suggested the best therapy, but when no cure appeared possible the subject could be electronically tagged -- or, in extreme cases, segregated from society. Of course, this mental monitoring could test only those who were fitted with a Braincap -- but by the end of the Third Millennium this was as essential for everyday life as the personal telephone had been at its beginning. In fact, anyone who did not join the vast majority was automatically suspect, and checked as a potential deviant. Needless to say, when 'mind-probing', as its critics called it, started coming into general use, there were cries of outrage from civil-rights organizations; one of their most effective slogans was 'Braincap or Braincop?' Slowly -- even reluctantly -- it was accepted that this form of monitoring was a necessary precaution against far worse evils; and it was no coincidence that with the general improvement in mental health, religious fanaticism also started its rapid decline- When the long-drawn-out war against the cybernet criminals ended, the victors found themselves owning an embarrassing collection of spoils, all of them utterly incomprehensible to any past conqueror. There were, of course, hundreds of computer viruses, most of them very difficult to detect and kill. And there were some entities -- for want of a better name -- that were much more terrifying. They were brilliantly invented diseases for which there was no cure -- in some cases not even the possibility of a cure Many of them had been linked to great mathematicians who would have been horrified by this corruption of their discoveries. As it is a human characteristic to belittle a real danger by giving it an absurd name, the designations were often facetious: the Godel Gremlin, the Mandelbrot Maze, the Combinatorial Catastrophe, the Transfinite Trap, the Conway Conundrum, the Turing Torpedo, the Lorentz Labyrinth, the Boolean Bomb, the Shannon Snare, the Cantor Cataclysm... If any generalization was possible, all these mathematical horrors operated on the same principle. They did not depend for their effectiveness on anything as naïve as memory-erasure or code corruption -- on the contrary. Their approach was more subtle; they persuaded their host machine to initiate a program which could not be completed before the end of the universe, or which -- the Mandelbrot Maze was the deadliest example -- involved a literally infinite series of steps. A trivial example would be the calculation of Pi, or any other irrational number. However, even the most stupid electro-optic computer would not fall into such a simple trap: the day had long since passed when mechanical morons would wear out their gears, grinding them to powder as they tried to divide by zero... The challenge to the demon programmers was to convince their targets that the task set them had a definite conclusion that could be reached in a finite time. In the battle of wits between man (seldom woman, despite such role-models as Lady Ada Lovelace, Admiral Grace Hopper and Dr Susan Calvin) and machine, the machine almost invariably lost. It would have been possible -- though in some cases difficult and even risky -- to destroy the captured obscenities by ERASE/OVERWRITE commands, but they represented an enormous investment in time and ingenuity which, however misguided, seemed a pity to waste. And, more important, perhaps they should be kept for study, in some secure location, as a safeguard against the time when some evil genius might reinvent and deploy them. The solution was obvious. The digital demons should be sealed with their chemical and biological counterparts, it was hoped for ever, in the Pico Vault. 37 Operation Damocles Poole never had much contact with the team who assembled the weapon everyone hoped would never have to be used. The operation -- ominously, but aptly, named Damocles -- was so highly specialized that he could contribute nothing directly, and he saw enough of the task force to realize that some of them might almost belong to an alien species. Indeed, one key member was apparently in a lunatic asylum -- Poole had been surprised to find that such places still existed -- and Chairperson Oconnor sometimes suggested that at least two others should join him. 'Have you ever heard of the Enigma Project?' she remarked to Poole, after a particularly frustrating session. When he shook his head, she continued: 'I'm surprised -- it was only a few decades before you were born: I came across it while when I was researching material for Damocles. Very similar problem -- in one of your wars, a group of brilliant mathematicians was gathered together, in great secrecy, to break an enemy code... incidentally, they built one of the very first real computers, to make the job possible.' 'And there's a lovely story -- I hope it's true -- that reminds me of our own little team. One day the Prime Minister came on a visit of inspection, and afterwards he said to Enigma's Director: "When I told you to leave no stone unturned to get the men you needed, I didn't expect you to take me so literally".' Presumably all the right stones had been turned for Project Damocles. However, as no one knew whether they were working against a deadline of days, weeks or years, at first it was hard to generate any sense of urgency. The need for secrecy also created problems; since there was no point in spreading alarm throughout the Solar System, not more than fifty people knew of the project. But they were the people who mattered -- who could marshal all the forces necessary, and who alone could authorize the opening of the Pico Vault, for the first time in five hundred years. When Halman reported that the Monolith was receiving messages with increasing frequency, there seemed little doubt that something was going to happen. Poole was not the only one who found it hard to sleep in those days, even with the help of the Braincap's anti-insomnia programs. Before he finally did get to sleep, he often wondered if he would wake up again. But at last all the components of the weapon were assembled -- a weapon invisible, untouchable and unimaginable to almost all the warriors who had ever lived. Nothing could have looked more harmless and innocent than the perfectly standard terabyte memory tablet, used with millions of Braincaps every day. But the fact that it was encased in a massive block of crystalline material, criss-crossed with metal bands, indicated that it was something quite out of the ordinary. Poole received it with reluctance; he wondered if the courier who had been given the awesome task of carrying the Hiroshima atom bomb's core to the Pacific airbase from which it was launched had felt the same way. And yet, if all their fears were justified, his responsibility might be even greater. And he could not be certain that even the first part of his mission would be successful. Because no circuit could be absolutely secure, Halman had not yet been informed about Project Damocles; Poole would do that when he returned to Ganymede. Then he could only hope that Halman would be willing to play the role of Trojan Horse -- and, perhaps, be destroyed in the process. 38 Pre-emptive Strike It was strange to be back in the Hotel Grannymede after all these years -- strangest of all, because it seemed completely unchanged, despite everything that had happened. Poole was still greeted by the familiar image of Bowman as he walked into the suite named after him: and, as he expected, Bowman/Halman was waiting, looking slightly less substantial than the ancient hologram. Before they could even exchange greetings, there was an interruption that Poole would have welcomed -- at any other time than this. The room vidphone gave its urgent trio of rising notes -- also unchanged since his last visit --and an old friend appeared on the screen. 'Frank!' cried Theodore Khan, 'why didn't you tell me you were coming! When can we meet? Why no video -- someone with you? And who were all those official-looking types who landed at the same time --' 'Please Ted! Yes, I'm sorry -- but believe me, I've got very good reasons -- I'll explain later. And I do have someone with me -- call you back just as soon as I can. Good-bye!' As he belatedly gave the 'Do Not Disturb' order, Poole said apologetically: 'Sorry about that -- you know who it was, of course.' 'Yes -- Dr Khan. He often tried to get in touch with me.' 'But you never answered. May I ask why?' Though there were far more important matters to worry about, Poole could not resist putting the question. 'Ours was the only channel I wished to keep open. Also, I was often away. Sometimes for years.' That was surprising -- yet it should not have been. Poole knew well enough that Halman had been reported in many places, in many times. Yet -- 'away for years'? He might have visited quite a few star systems -- perhaps that was how he knew about Nova Scorpio, only forty light-years distant. But he could never have gone all the way to the Node; there and back would have been a nine-hundred-year journey. 'How lucky that you were here when we needed you!' It was very unusual for Halman to hesitate before replying. There was much longer than the unavoidable three-second time-lag before he said slowly 'Are you sure that it was luck?' 'What do you mean?' 'I do not wish to talk about it, but twice I have -- glimpsed -- powers -- entities -- far superior to the Monoliths, and perhaps even their makers. We may both have less freedom than we imagine.' That was indeed a chilling thought; Poole needed a deliberate effort of will to put it aside and concentrate on the immediate problem. 'Let us hope we have enough free-will to do what is necessary. Perhaps this is a foolish question. Does the Monolith know that we are meeting? Could it be -- suspicious?' 'It is not capable of such an emotion. It has numerous fault-protection devices, some of which I understand. But that is all.' 'Could it be overhearing us now?' 'I do not believe so.' I wish that I could be sure it was such a naïve and simple-minded super-genius, thought Poole as he unlocked his briefcase and took out the sealed box containing the tablet. In this low gravity its weight was almost negligible; it was impossible to believe that it might hold the destiny of Mankind. 'There was no way we could be certain of getting a secure circuit to you, so we couldn't go into details. This tablet contains programs which we hope will prevent the Monolith from carrying out any orders which threaten Mankind. There are twenty of the most devastating viruses ever designed on this, most of which have no known antidote; in some cases, it is believed that none is possible. There are five copies of each. We would like you to release them when -- and if -- you think it is necessary. Dave -- Hal -- no one has ever been given such a responsibility. But we have no other choice.' Once again, the reply seemed to take longer than the three-second round trip from Europa. 'If we do this, all the Monolith's functions may cease. We are uncertain what will happen to us then.' 'We have considered that, of course. But by this lime, you must surely have many facilities at your command --some of them probably beyond our understanding. I am also sending you a petabyte memory tablet. Ten to the fifteenth bytes is more than sufficient to hold all the memories and experiences of many lifetimes. This will give you one escape route: I suspect you have others.' 'Correct. We will decide which to use at the appropriate time.' Poole relaxed -- as far as was possible in this extraordinary situation. Halman was willing to co-operate: he still had sufficient links with his origins. 'Now, we have to get this tablet to you -- physically. Its contents are too dangerous to risk sending over any radio or optical channel. I know you possess long-range control of matter: did you not once detonate an orbiting bomb? Could you transport it to Europa? Alternatively, we could send it in an auto-courier, to any point you specify.' 'That would be best: I will collect it in Tsienville. Here are the co-ordinates... Poole was still slumped in his chair when the Bowman Suite monitor admitted the head of the delegation that had accompanied him from Earth. Whether Colonel Jones was a genuine Colonel -- or even if his name was Jones -- were minor mysteries which Poole was not really interested in solving; it was sufficient that he was a superb organizer and had handled the mechanics of Operation Damocles with quiet efficiency. 'Well, Frank -- it's on its way. Will be landing in one hour, ten minutes. I assume that Halman can take it from there, but I don't understand how he can actually handle -- is that the right word? -- these tablets.' 'I wondered about that, until someone on the Europa Committee explained it. There's a well-known -- though not to me! -- theorem stating that any computer can emulate any other computer. So I'm sure that Halman knows exactly what he's doing. He would never have agreed otherwise.' 'I hope you're right,' replied the Colonel. 'If not -- well, I don't know what alternative we have.' There was a gloomy pause, until Poole did his best to relieve the tension. 'By the way, have you heard the local rumour about our visit?' 'Which particular one?' 'That we're a special commission sent here to investigate crime and corruption in this raw frontier township. The Mayor and the Sheriff are supposed to be running scared.' 'How I envy them,' said 'Colonel Jones'. 'Sometimes it's quite a relief to have something trivial to worry about.' 39 Deicide Like all the inhabitants of Anubis City (population now 56,521), Dr Theodore Khan woke soon after local midnight to the sound of the General Alarm. His first reaction was 'Not another Ice