Tugging at his beard, Markov said, “Your logic is unassailable. Certainly you have all the knowledge of what we are doing here. Perhaps we can get you boosted up in a Soviet rocket, with one of our cosmonauts as your companion.”
Stoner nodded. “That would be fine by me.”
Jo said, “But if you go…it’s going to be a kind of hurry-up, makeshift mission, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Stoner said. “If Big Mac had planned on a manned rendezvous mission from the beginning, things would be a lot easier for us.”
She shook her head. “It sounds awfully chancy.”
They were passing under a streetlight, and Stoner could see real concern on her face.
He smiled at her. “Don’t worry. Driving a car in Boston is a lot more dangerous.”
Jo nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
“You don’t believe me?”
Jo thought a moment as the three of them walked down the dimly lit street, past house trailers and the dull, graceless cement block office buildings.
“Does it really matter what I think? You’ve made up your mind that you’re going off into space to greet our visitor.”
“I’ve got to go,” Stoner said. “I’ve got to.”
Markov broke in, “We will need someone else to help us with our little revolution.”
“Someone else?” asked Stoner.
“Yes. Someone with enough stature to override Professor McDermott’s objections once he finds out what we are doing.”
Jo suggested, “What about your head man, Zworkin?”
“Not him,” Markov said. “He is too old and cautious to outshout McDermott. I was thinking of the cosmologist, Reynaud.”
“The monk?”
“Yes. He has a direct line to the Vatican, which can be politically very useful.”
“The Vatican? What political clout does the Vatican have?”
Markov laughed softly. “Our lamented Josef Stalin once asked the same question—and found the answer, much to his chagrin.”
“Reynaud looks like a cream puff to me,” Stoner said. “He won’t have the guts to fight Big Mac. What about Cavendish?”
“He’s sick,” Jo said.
“But he’s with NATO, and he’s pretty well connected higher up, as well, from what I’ve heard.”
“I don’t think he would be the man for us,” Markov said slowly.
“And he’s sick,” Jo repeated. “He’s really in trouble, physically.”
“I could still talk to him,” Stoner said.
Markov objected, “But you must not approach him, Keith. You are too well known to be opposed to your Big Mac.”
“Then how…?”
“I’ll talk to him,” Jo said. “But I don’t think it’ll do any good.”
“And I will approach Reynaud,” Markov said.
They were strolling past the bungalows now. Far down the street, Stoner could see another couple walking slowly toward the beach.
“Ah, there’s a light in my window,” Markov said. “My darling wife must be waiting up for me.”
They walked him to his bungalow.
“Would you care to come in for a nightcap?” Markov asked.
Jo glanced at Stoner, who shook his head. She declined also.
“Very well, then.” Suddenly Markov gripped Stoner’s right hand in both of his. Looking straight into the American’s eyes, Markov said, “There are enormous forces working against us.”
“I know,” Stoner said.
“More than you realize,” the Russian insisted.
Stoner nodded slowly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes. We will fight the good fight. Together. Against them all!”
“Damned right.”
“Keith…I am proud to be your friend.”
“And I’m proud to be yours, Kirill. We’ll beat the bastards, you’ll see.”
“Yes. Of course.” Markov turned to Jo, took her hand, put it to his lips. “And you, dear lady. Any man would gladly face the firing squad for you.”
“You’re very sweet,” Jo said, grinning, “but much too dramatic.”
“Ah yes, I know. It’s our national curse. We Russians are an emotional people. We feel things deeply.” He seemed slightly flustered, embarrassed. With a forced little laugh, Markov said, “Well, good night. Perhaps tomorrow our visitor will answer our signals and we won’t need to start a revolution, after all.”
“Good night,” Stoner said.
Markov trotted up the cement steps and entered his house. Stoner walked slowly with Jo back toward the hotel.
“He’s a funny guy,” Stoner said. “I like him.”
“I do too.”
“Do you really think Reynaud would be any help to us?”
“More than Cavendish,” she answered. “That poor guy ought to be in the hospital.”
“But you’ll talk to him about helping us, won’t you? It’s important.”
“More important than his health?”
He looked down at her, walking along beside him. “Of course it’s more important than his health! It’s more important than anything else…”
“For you, Keith,” Jo said. “It’s important to you. This is your dream, your obsession.”
For a moment he didn’t reply. Then, softly, “No, you’re wrong, Jo. It’s my life.”
Chapter 28
LIFE MAY EXIST ONLY ON EARTH, STUDY SAYS
By Malcolm W. Browne
A standing scientific assumption that the universe abounds with advanced, human-like civilizations is encountering a challenge from a small but growing number of astronomers.
While most scientists continue to believe that extra-terrestrial intelligence must be common in a cosmos filled with trillions of trillions of stars, dissenters increasingly are calling this assumption into question. In fact, they say, it is quite possible that our earthly civilization is the only one of its kind….
Dr. Michael H. Hart of Trinity University in San Antonio, Tex., has completed a computer analysis of hypothetical planets, sketching in the features they would seem to require to produce advanced civilizations like our own. His conclusion is that, far from being common, civilized life must be exceedingly rare and the one we have on earth may even be unique….
The Officers’ Club bar was quiet, cool, shadowy. It was not yet six o’clock, but the place was slowly filling up with the after-work, before-dinner crowd. Stoner sat glumly in a corner booth, his back to the wall.
Markov sauntered in, his head pivoting as he blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust after the burning glare of the street outside. He spotted Stoner at last and came over to the booth.
“Better get yourself a drink first,” Stoner told him. “There’s no table service until after six.”
Markov went to the bar, quickly negotiated a vodka-tonic and hurried back to the booth.
“How was your meeting with Professor McDermott?” he asked as he slid in across the table from Stoner.
Stoner pointed to the two empty beer glasses in front of him and the nearly empty condition of the third.
“That bad?” Markov asked.
“Kirill, we’re in the hands of fanatics,” Stoner said. “Big Mac is a paranoid and Tuttle is a religious nut.”
Markov took a sip of his drink. “Tell me about it.”
Stoner began to explain.
Maria Markova sat in the cushioned chair in the front room of her bungalow. On her lap was a letter from Moscow, just in on the weekly flight from the U.S.S.R. She held an oblong black object in her hands, about the size and shape of a pocket calculator.
The letter was handwritten in a neat, tight Russian script and signed, “Affectionately, Cousin Anna.” Cousin Anna was nonexistent. The pocket calculator was a cryptographic computer, and Maria was using it to decode her latest orders from Moscow.