The Two Worlds Read online

  Hunt just stared back at him blankly. The conclusion was so obvious that there was nothing to be said. They had all been assuming that the "organization" was Ganymean, and the Thuriens had said nothing to change their minds. But the Thuriens had never said anything to confirm it either.

  "And consider this," Danchekker went on. "The structural organizations and patterns of neural activity at the symbolic level in human and Ganymean brains are quite dissimilar. I find it impossible to accept that equipment designed to interact in a close-coupled mode with one form would be capable of functioning at all with the other. In other words, the devices inside that vessel standing out on the apron cannot be standard models designed for use by Ganymeans, which, purely by good fortune, happen to operate effectively with human brains too. Such a situation is impossible. The only way in which those devices could operate as they do is by virtue of having been specifically constructed to couple with the human central nervous system in the first place! Therefore the designers must have been intimately familiar with the most detailed inner workings of that system—far more so than they could have been by any amount of study of contemporary terrestrial medical science through their surveillance activities. Therefore that knowledge could only have been acquired on Thurien itself."

  Hunt looked across at him incredulously. "What are you saying, Chris?" he asked in a strained voice, although it was already plain enough. "That there are humans on Thurien as well as Ganymeans?"

  Danchekker nodded emphatically. "Exactly. When we first entered the perceptron, visar was able, in a matter of mere seconds, to adjust its parameters to produce normal levels of sensory stimulation and to decode the feedback commands from the motor areas of our nervous systems. But how did it know what stimulation levels were normal for humans? How did it know what patterns of feedback were correct? The only possible explanation is that visar already possessed extensive prior experience in operating with human organisms." He looked from one to the other to invite comment.

  "It could be," Karen Heller breathed, nodding her head slowly as she digested what he had said. "And maybe that explains why the Ganymeans haven't exactly been rushing themselves to tell us about it until they've got a better feel for how we might react—especially with the accounts they've been getting of what we're like. And it could make sense that if they are human, they got the job of running a surveillance program to keep an eye on Earth." She thought over what she had said and nodded again to herself, then frowned as something else occurred to her. She looked up at Danchekker. "But how could they have gotten there? Could they be from some independent family of evolution that already existed on Thurien before the Ganymeans got there . . . something like that maybe?"

  "Oh, that's quite impossible," Danchekker said impatiently. Heller looked mildly taken aback and opened her mouth to object, but Hunt shot her a warning glance and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. If she got Danchekker into a lecture on evolution, they'd be listening all day. She signaled her acceptance with a slight raising of an eyebrow and let it go at that.

  "I don't think we have to search very far for the answer to that question," Danchekker informed them airily, drawing himself upright and tightening his hold on his lapels. "We know that the Ganymeans migrated to Thurien from Minerva approximately twenty-five million years ago. We also know that by then they had acquired numerous species of terrestrial life, including primates as advanced as any of the period. Indeed we discovered some of them ourselves in the craft on Ganymede, which we have every reason to believe was involved in that very migration." He paused for a moment as if doubting that the rest needed spelling out, then continued. "Evidently they took with them some representatives of early prehuman hominids, the descendants of which have since evolved and increased to become a human population enjoying full cocitizenship within the society of Thurien, as is evidenced by the fact that visar accommodates both them and Ganymeans equally." Danchekker dropped his hands to clasp them behind his back and thrust his chin out with evident satisfaction. "And that, Dr. Hunt, unless I am very much mistaken, would appear to be the simple and obvious missing factor that you were looking for," he concluded.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Norman Pacey held up his hand in a warning gesture and closed the door to cut off the room from the secretary giving directions to two UNSA privates who were loading boxes onto a cart in the outer office. Janet watched from a chair that she had cleared of a stack of papers and document holders waiting to be packed in preparation for the delegation's departure from Bruno. "Now start again," he told her, turning away from the door.

  "It was last night, maybe early this morning . . . I'm not sure what time." Janet fiddled awkwardly with a button on her lab coat. "Niels got a call from somebody—I think it was the European, Daldanier—about something they needed to discuss right away. He started saying something about somebody called Verikoff, it sounded like, but Niels stopped him and said he'd go and talk to him at his place. I pretended I was still asleep. He got dressed and slipped out . . . kind of creepily, as if he were being careful not to wake me up."

  "Okay," Pacey said with a nod. "Then what?"

  "Well . . . I remembered he'd been looking at some papers earlier when I came in. He put them away in a holder, but I was sure he hadn't locked it. So I decided to take a chance and see what they were about."

  Pacey clenched his teeth in the effort not to let his feelings show. That was exactly the kind of thing he had told her not to do. But the outcome sounded interesting. "And," he prompted.

  Janet's face took on a mystified look. "There was a folder among the things inside. It was bright red around the edges and pink inside. What made me notice it was that it had your name on the front."

  Pacey's brows creased as he listened. What Janet had described sounded like a standard UN-format document wallet that was used for highly confidential memoranda. "Did you look inside it?"

  Janet nodded. "It was weird . . . the report criticized the way you'd been obstructing the meeting here and stated in a Conclusions section that the delegation would have made more progress if the U.S. had shown a more cooperative attitude. It didn't sound like you at all, which was why I thought it was weird." Pacey was staring at her speechlessly. Before he could find words to reply, she shook her head as if feeling a need to disclaim responsibility for what she was going to say next. "And there was this part about you and—Karen Heller. It said that you two were . . ." Janet hesitated, then raised a hand with her index and second fingers intertwined, ". . . like that, and that such—how was it put?—such `blatant and indiscreet conduct was not becoming to a mission of this nature, and possibly had some connection with the counterproductive contribution of the United States to the proceedings.'" Janet sat back and shook her head again. "I knew the report simply wasn't true . . . And coming from him, well . . ." She let the sentence trail away and left it at that.

  Pacey sat down on the edge of a half-filled packing case and stared at her incredulously. A few seconds went by before he found his voice. "You actually saw all this?" he asked at last.

  "Yes . . . I can't give you all of it word for word, but that was what it said." She hesitated. "I know it's crazy, if that helps. . . ."

  "Does Sverenssen know you saw this report?"

  "I don't see how he could. I put everything back exactly the way it was. I guess I could have got you more of it, but I didn't know how long he'd be away. As it turned out, he was gone quite a while."

  "That's okay. You did the right thing not risking it." Pacey stared down at the floor for a while, feeling totally bewildered. Then he looked up again and asked, "How about you? Has he been acting strange now that we're leaving? Anything . . . ominous, maybe?"

  "You mean sinister warnings to keep my mouth shut about the computer?"

  "Mmm . . . yes, maybe." Pacey looked at her curiously.

  She shook her head and smiled faintly. "Quite the opposite as a matter of fact. He's been very gentlemanly and said what a shame it is. He eve
n hinted that we could get together again sometime back on Earth—he could fix me up with a job that pays real money, all kinds of interesting people to meet . . . stuff like that."

  A smarter move, Pacey thought to himself. High hopes and treachery had never gone together. "Do you believe him?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  "No."

  Pacey nodded in approval. "You are growing up fast." He looked around the office and massaged his forehead wearily. "I'm going to have to do some thinking now. I'm glad you told me about it. But you've got your coat on, which says you probably have to get back to work. Let's not start upsetting Malliusk again."

  "He's off today," Janet said. "But you're right—I do have to get back." She stood up and moved toward the door, then turned back as she was about to open it. "I hope it was okay. I know you said to keep this away from the delegation offices, but it seemed important. And with everybody leaving . . ."

  "Don't worry about it. It's okay. I'll see you again later."

  Janet departed, leaving the door open in response to Pacey's waved request. Pacey sat for a while and began turning what she had told him over again in his mind, but was interrupted by the UNSA privates coming in to sort out the boxes ready for moving. He decided to go and think about it over a coffee in the common room.

  * * *

  The only people in the common room when Pacey entered a few minutes later were Sverenssen, Daldanier, and two of the other delegates, who were all together at the bar. They acknowledged his arrival with a few not overfriendly nods of their heads and continued talking among themselves. Pacey collected a coffee from the dispenser on one side of the room and sat down at a table in the far corner, wishing inwardly that he had picked somewhere else. As he studied them surreptitiously over his cup, he listed in his mind the unanswered questions that he had collected concerning the tall, immaculately groomed Swede who was standing in the center of the vassals gathered around him at the bar.

  Perhaps Pacey's fears about the Shapieron had been misplaced. Could what Janet had overheard have been connected with the communications from Gistar ceasing so abruptly? It had happened suspiciously soon afterward. If so, how could Sverenssen and at least one other member of the delegation have known about it? And how were Sverenssen and Daldanier connected with Verikoff, whom Pacey knew from CIA reports to be a Soviet expert in space communications? If there were some conspiracy between Moscow and an inner clique of the UN, why had Sobroskin cooperated with Pacey? Perhaps that had been part of some even more elaborate ruse. He had been wrong to trust the Russian, he admitted to himself bitterly. He should have used Janet and kept Sobroskin and Malliusk out of it.

  And last of all, what was the motive behind the attempt to character-assassinate him personally, compromise Karen Heller, and misrepresent the role they had played at Bruno? It seemed strange that Sverenssen had expected the plan to work, because the document Janet had described would not be substantiated by the official minutes of all the delegation's meetings, a copy of which would also be forwarded to UN Headquarters in New York. Furthermore, Sverenssen knew that as well as anybody; and whatever his other faults, he was not naive. Then a sick feeling formed slowly in his stomach as the truth dawned on him—he had no way of being certain that the minutes which he had read and approved, which had recorded the debates verbatim, would be the versions that would go to New York at all. From what Pacey had glimpsed of whatever strange machinations were in progress behind the scenes, anything was possible.

  "In my opinion it would be a good thing if the South Atlantic deal did go to the Americans," Sverenssen was saying at the bar. "After the way the United States almost allowed its nuclear industry to be wrecked just before the turn of the century, it's hardly surprising that the Soviets gained a virtual monopoly across most of Central Africa. An equalizing of influence in the general area and the stiffening of competition it would produce could only be in the better long-term interests of all concerned." The three heads around him nodded obediently. Sverenssen made a casual throwing-away motion. "After all, in my position I can hardly allow myself to be swayed by mere national politics. The longer-term advancement of the race as a whole is what is important. That is what I have always stood for and shall continue to stand for."

  After everything else this was too much. Pacey choked down his mouthful of coffee and slammed his cup down hard on the table. The heads at the bar turned toward him in surprise. "Hogwash!" he grated across the room at them. "I've never heard such garbage."

  Sverenssen frowned his distaste for the outburst. "What do you mean?" he asked coldly. "Kindly explain yourself."

  "You had the biggest opportunity ever for the advancement of the race right in your hand, and you threw it away. That's what I mean. I've never listened to such hypocrisy."

  "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

  Pacey couldn't believe it. "Goddammit, I mean this whole farce we've been having here!" He heard his voice rising to a shout, knew it was bad, but couldn't stop himself in his exasperation. "We were talking to Gistar for weeks. We said nothing, and we achieved nothing. What kind of `standing for advancement' is that?"

  "I agree," Sverenssen said, maintaining his calm. "But I find it strangely inappropriate that you should protest in this extraordinary fashion. I would advise you instead to take the matter up with your own government."

  That didn't make any sense. Pacey shook his head, momentarily confused. "What are you talking about? The U.S. policy was always to get this moving. We wanted a landing from the beginning."

  "Then I can only suggest that your efforts to project that policy have been singularly inept," Sverenssen replied.

  Pacey blinked as if unable to believe that he had really heard it. He looked at the others, but found no sympathy for his predicament on any of their faces. The first cold fingers of realization as to what was going on touched at his spine. He shifted his eyes rapidly across their faces in a silent demand for a response, and caught Daldanier's gaze in a way that the Frenchman couldn't evade.

  "Let us say it has been apparent to me that the probability of a more productive dialogue would have been improved considerably were it not for the negative views persistently advanced by the representative of the United States," Daldanier said, avoiding the reference to Pacey by name. He spoke in the reluctant voice of somebody who had been forced to offer a reply he would have preferred left unsaid.

  "Most disappointing," Saraquez, the Brazilian, commented. "I had hoped for better things from the nation that placed the first man on the Moon. Hopefully the dialogue might be resumed one day, and the lost time made good."

  The whole situation was insane. Pacey stared at them dumbfounded. They were all part of the plot. If that were the version that was going to be talked about back on Earth, backed by documentary records, nobody would believe his account of what had happened. Already he wasn't sure if he believed it himself, and he hadn't left Bruno yet. His body began shaking uncontrollably as a rising anger took hold. He got up and moved forward around the table to confront Sverenssen directly. "What is this?" he demanded menacingly. "Look, I don't know who you think you are with the high-and-mighty act and the airs and graces, but you've been making me pretty sick ever since I arrived here. Now let's just forget all that. I want to know what's going on."

  "I would strongly advise you to refrain from bringing personal issues into this," Sverenssen said, then added pointedly, "especially somebody of your inclination toward the . . . indiscreet."

  Pacey felt his color rising. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

  "Oh, come . . ." Sverenssen frowned and looked away for an instant like somebody seeking to avoid a delicate subject. "Surely you can't expect your affair with your American colleague to have escaped notice completely. Really . . . this kind of thing is embarrassing and uncalled for. I would rather we dropped the matter."

  Pacey stared at him for a moment in frank disbelief, then turned his gaze toward Daldanier. The Frenchman turned to pick up his drink. He looked a
t Saraquez, who avoided his eyes and said nothing. Finally he turned to Van Geelink, the South African, who had only been listening so far. "It was very unwise," Van Geelink said, almost managing to sound apologetic.

  "Him!" Pacey gestured in Sverenssen's direction and swept his eyes over the others again, this time offering a challenge. "You let him stand there and spew something like that? Him of all people? You can't be serious."

  "I'm not sure that I like your tone, Pacey," Sverenssen said. "What are you trying to insinuate?"

  The situation was real. Sverenssen was actually brazening it out. Pacey felt his fist bunch itself against his side but resisted the urge to lash out. "Are you going to try and tell me I dreamed that too?" he whispered. "Malliusk's assistant—it never happened? Are these puppets of yours going to back you up on that too?"