The oncoming object was expanding on the forward telescopic screen. It was a long, thin pipe, hurtling through space like a spear.
“That doesn’t look Legit,” he remarked.
The Captain attended to an information terminal that at that moment flickered into life. “It’s just been identified as Hadranic, sir,” he said, straightening. “An unmanned self-programmed missile.”
“This far back?”
“No doubt the Hadranics have despatched them in droves, just for nuisance value.”
They watched as the Disk of Hyke carried out its own automatic defensive action. Its first volley of countering missiles were easily evaded by the Hadranic pipe, which then returned to the attack, its memory locked on to the Wheel ship. The Disk of Hyke was then forced to take evasive manoeuvres of its own, and finally destroyed the missile with a second volley.
Dom sighed when it was all over. For a brief time it had looked as if the outcome might be in doubt. It augured ill if their wait in the Cave was to be a long one.
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“We are much too exposed here,” he said. “Hadranic missiles, Legitimacy battle fleets-and a major battle liable to begin at any moment!” He pursed his lips fretfully. “We might be well advised to get down on a planet somewhere, out of harm’s way.”
“You are aware, sir, of the peculiarity attaching to stars in the Cave?” the Captain asked.
Dom nodded. “Indeed, I cannot help thinking it is in some way connected with the choice of venue. But it seems to me that the risk of being caught in a nova is not too great, and certainly less than the dangers we face here in free space.” He turned to the navigator. “How close are we to that archeological team?”
“Quite close, sir. They sent out another narrowbeam ten hours ago.”
Dom wanted, if possible, to get a look at the machine the earlier transmission had mentioned. Since the first interception had been of an all-package beam sent from Cave HQ, locating the planet where the machine lay, done by picking up local narrowbeam traffic, had proved difficult. But Dom was interested in any new scientific treatment of randomness, especially if it came from an alien source.
“An archeological site probably doesn’t have much by way of defensive armament,” he decided. “Let’s go over there. Captain, and take a look. If we can do it quietly, maybe we can take over for a while.”
His parallaxed image flicked out as the Captain acknowledged the order.
As the raiding party lunged over the arid, ravaged terraces, the halftracks that carried it sent up a wake of dust. The Grand Wheel maintained no regular militia, but it understood perfectly the use of force. A space-tensor blanket had been thrown over the Legitimacy camp to forestall a narrowbeam 80S, and in effect the site was already in Wheel hands.
From where he sat in the leading halftrack. Marguerite Dom could see people emerging from their tents and staring at the approaching raiders in puzzle—
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ment. They would not have guessed, yet, what was afoot. Nor was ignorance all on their side. Behind Dom the Disk of Hyke towered over the desert for twenty-three decks, looking more than anything like a scaled-up 19th century riverboat. Most people aboard did not know yet that the ship had landed, and probably would not even when it took off again, so complete was the Wheel transport’s internal life.
In the event, the archeological camp was practically unarmed. Even when the Wheel insignia was recognized, there was little shooting. Dom’s men strode from tent to tent, making a brief survey of each, herding the team members into sullen groups where they looked on, half resentful, half perplexed.
Half an hour later Dom stepped into the tent containing the alien machine. The first thing that caught his eye, however, was not the machine itself but a youth of about sixteen who lolled in an armchair, his face slack and exhausted.
He paused, looking the boy up and down. “Who is this?”
He was answered by Haskand, the Wheel scientist he had assigned to examine the machine. “His name is Shane, sir. He plays some part in the research project.”
“So young? What’s his specialty?” “What does this boy do?” Haskand asked a thin man in a white gown who stood nervously by. Wis” horn did not answer, but another man, with stem steady eyes and wearing the cloak of a Legitimacy official, glided up to stand behind Shane’s chair, placing a proprietary hand on his shoulder.
“I am Shane’s guardian,” Hakandra said. “No one answers for him but me.” “What’s wrong with him?” Hakandra hesitated. “He is not well.” Dom’s eyes strayed to the object of his visit; the alien device. The lent was crammed with modems, transformers and similar equipment, all of it wired up to the glistening drum.
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ly to Haskand, and stepped past the two armed guards, beckoning Scarne to follow him.
They walked through the archeologists’ camp. Just beyond its bounds were fresh mounds of earth and heaps of odd-looking artifacts. From the look of them, though, the digging and sifting machines had not been used for some time. A thick layer of dust had blown over them. Everything, Scarne guessed, had come to a stop because of the study of the randomness machine.
Dom spoke, his tone gloating. “They’re up to something,” he said. “They are trying to hide whatever it is has to do with the boy. I have an instinct about him-see if I’m not right.”
A wheelman climbed down from a parked halftrack and spoke quietly to Dom, pointing to a small yellow tent that lay not far off. Dom instantly made for it.
“That’s where they chief technician lives,” he told Scame. “All the data is there. Now we’ll really find out what they’ve been doing with that gadget.”
Inside the tent, one of Dom’s people was huddled over a reading machine to which was attached a transliteration modem. All around him were scattered tapes, papers and coils.
He looked up as Dom entered. “The Legits certainly lay some store by this device they’ve found, sir,” he said. “They’ve been working all out on it.”
“Well, what is it?”
“They think it’s able to affect probability in some way, to increase or decrease it. But they don’t have it under control, that’s certain.”
Dom became very thoughtful. “What makes them think it can do that?”
“There’s a new nova about thirty light years from here. They think the machine triggered it.”
Dom sat down as if in sudden surprise. “Well!”
“It seems they were hoping to learn how to control the nova process here in the Cave. As you can imagine, sitting on top of a potential nova is something that drives the Legits crazy.”
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Dom uttered a short, sharp laugh. The scientist indicated the spread mass of tapes. “They don’t really have a clue how or why it works, though, and objectively a chance result like a nova would be difficult to confirm. These records only deal with uninterpreted responses the machine makes to specified inputs. It’s what they use to register those responses that’s interesting, and probably more important.”
He paused. “Well, go on,” Dom murmured. “The Legits have been developing something they’ve managed to keep secret from us-”
He stopped as a high-pitched howl came from the direction of the research tent.
They looked at one another. “What was that?” Scame said.
“It sounded like that youth,” Dom answered. Scame bolted and ran towards the sounds of torment. Behind him, he heard Dom’s feet, pounding at a slower pace. The howling had died down by the time he reached the tent. He burst in to be greeted by a weird scene. The alien drum was blazing, throwing off an eerie light. The youth Shane was sprawled in his chair, his face ashen, mumbling into a microphone which Hakandra held to his lips.
Wishom, also, was bending over the boy, directing questions at him in a clipped, fussy voice.
“It was like the last time,” Shane said in faint, resigned tones. “As if tragedy was about to break now, in the next minute, and couldn’t be avoided-awful tragedy. Only nothing ever happens.” He struggled upright. “That’s what it is,” he said contemptuously. “A tragedy machine. Only you haven’t got it to work right yet.”
“What,” Dom interrupted, “is going on?” Haskand sidled close to him. “The machine has some peculiar effect on the youngster. He was in quite a state. It shook me up, I can tell you.”
“I knew there was something!” Dom exclaimed softly.
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He stepped to Shane, looking at him with concern. “Poor boy,” he murmured. Then he straightened to confront Hakandra. “And you have a considerable amount of explaining to do.”
Hakandra snapped shut his recorder. “To the Grand Wheel? Hardly. It is you who will be called to account when this charade is over.”
“You mean when forces arrive to investigate what has happened here, I presume? I doubt that they will, until after we have left. We should be able to arrange for your usual reports to go out.”