“All right, then,” he said. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. It seems to me that it’s too early to report to Washington that this object is natural in origin. We just might be wrong about that, and Project JOVE would be stopped in its tracks.”
Markov tapped his fingertips on the tabletop. “If there is even the slightest chance that this object is indeed a visitor from another civilization, we would be criminally negligent to abandon this project. Even if the chance is microscopically small, why disband, when in another few weeks, another few months at most, we will definitely know, one way or the other? Why not continue to study the object with every means at our disposal, on the chance that it is an intelligent visitor, and that it will respond to our signals? If we abandon this work now, the thing may pass us by and we will lose our one chance to make contact with an intelligent extraterrestrial civilization. That would be criminal!”
McDermott picked up his pipe, toyed with it. “I’m willing to give it another few weeks. If it’s intelligent, if it’s alive, it’ll respond to our signals in some way. But if it isn’t, there’s no sense indulging in wishful thinking.” He focused his gaze directly on Stoner. “Or planning.”
So that’s what he’s after, Stoner realized, his mouth compressing into a hard thin line, his insides turning to ice. The old bastard wants to shoot down the rendezous mission.
Looking around the table at the others’ faces, alternately glum or reluctantly nodding agreement, Stoner saw that McDermott had accomplished his goal. They’ll let him get away with it. Rather than have him recommend shutting down the whole project, they’ll go along with dropping the space flight mission.
Too angry to trust himself to answer Big Mac, Stoner sat in smoldering silence as the meeting adjourned.
Cavendish walked past him, patted him on the shoulder and murmured, “Too bad, old man.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Stoner demanded, getting to his feet.
Cavendish shook his head. “Your McDermott is determined to stop the rendezvous mission.”
“It would have helped if you’d spoken up.”
“Quite…” Cavendish seemed confused for a moment, disoriented. “I…really, I haven’t been feeling too well lately. I’m sorry…”
Stoner saw that his face was gaunt, eyes hollow.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
Cavendish half smiled. “I really don’t know.”
“You ought to see a doctor.”
“Yes,” he said vaguely. “Quite.” And he left Stoner standing there as he wandered out of the conference room.
Markov was by the doorway, a frown on his long face. “Professor McDermott is wrong,” he said as Stoner came up to him. “We must be prepared to send a cosmonaut to inspect this spacecraft. It is not a natural object. I feel this in my bones.”
“Feelings don’t count in this business,” Stoner said. “Evidence does.”
“But why is McDermott so stubborn about this?”
“Because he knows if there’s a manned space mission, I’ll be the logical choice as the man to go. And he hates my guts.”
“That is no reason.”
“It is for him,” Stoner said.
“We must not let him get away with that. We must be daring. Revolutionary!”
Stoner leaned against the doorjamb, feeling suddenly tired, worn down. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Markov said, “We must bypass McDermott and start our own space program.”
With a laugh, Stoner asked, “And how do we do that?”
“I’m not sure,” Markov answered honestly. “But we can begin with the two of us, and recruit others. We will create a revolutionary underground movement.”
He was serious, behind his bantering tone, Stoner could see. “We’ll need somebody from computing to keep us up to date on the spacecraft’s track,” he said.
Markov smiled. “I have just the person. An American, Jo Camerata.”
“Jo?” Stoner looked sharply at the Russian. “No, she wouldn’t work with me.”
“Ah, but she would with me,” Markov said.
A sudden rush of anger surged through Stoner. Surprised at his own reaction, he fought it down.
Finally he managed to say, “Okay. You work with her.”
Markov studied the American’s face intently. “So you are the one.”
“One what?” Stoner asked tightly.
“You care for her.”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Then why do you look as if someone has just stabbed a knife into your liver?”
“Look, Markov…”
“Kirill.”
“Okay, Kirill—Jo and I had something going months ago. But it’s all over now. Dead.”
“And yet you have the power to hurt each other deeply.”
“Each other? She’s feeling hurt?”
Markov nodded gravely.
“Because of me?”
“Apparently so.”
Stoner tried to assess this new piece of data, but it didn’t seem to fit inside his head. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered.
“Neither do I,” said Markov, with a heavy sigh. “I am madly in love with her, you know, but I can see that it will do me no good. I think perhaps you are madly in love with her too, but you haven’t admitted it to yourself.”
Stoner said nothing. His brain seemed to be short-circuited: no output.
“Well”—Markov made a rueful smile—“I will ask her to join our revolutionary underground. At least it gives me a legitimate reason to speak with her.”
He left Stoner standing in the doorway, puzzled, doubtful, wondering.
Chapter 26
The Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI) is an idea whose time has come. A decade or so ago only a handful of scientists were active in this area; actual searches were almost nonexistent and few people had heard of SETI. But today hundreds of scientists are actively involved, a dozen radio observatories around the world are carrying out actual searches, and much serious thinking is being devoted to SETI….
The earth is mankind’s cradle and although we are a very young, emerging civilization and still in our cradle, we are now adolescent enough to look beyond that cradle and acquire a cosmic perspective. Only by achieving a true view of ourselves as we relate to the planets and stars of our galaxy and the universe beyond can we attain maturity. SETI is a first step toward the growing up of mankind….
Jo was going down the stairs from her office to the main floor of the computer building when she saw Dr. Cavendish standing listlessly at the bottom of the stairwell.
With a shock, she realized that he looked older than he had when they had first arrived at the island, only a few weeks earlier. His body was gaunt, the clothes hung on his frame limply. His face was deeply etched with sleeplessness, his eyes were dark and sunken.
“Dr. Cavendish, are you all right?” she asked him.
He blinked and peered at her. “Ah, yes…Miss…” His voice trailed off.
“Camerata. Jo Camerata. I’m with the computing section here.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Cavendish said. “How stupid of me not to recognize you.”
“Is there something I can do for you?”
He shook his head slightly. “I’ve just come out from the weekly meeting with Professor McDermott, and I was gathering my strength before going out into the hot sun again.”
“It is more comfortable in here,” Jo agreed.