Is it plain enough to get through your thick skulls?” He glowered at Massey
defiantly, then shifted his gaze to Price for a moment. When he resumed
speaking, his voice quivered with emotion. “I probably know them better than any
other person on this mission. Wasn’t it I who exchanged the first meaningful
information with them? Didn’t they continue to come to me for confirmation even
after they’d been told repeatedly that Giraud and those walking procedure
manuals that he calls aides were the mission’s official spokesmen? . . . Don’t
ask me how, but I can sense the Taloid world that lies behind the words we see
on screens, and those unmoving metal faces.”
Zambendorf’s manner calmed a little. “There is a world there, you know—not a
world that we are able to experience directly, or even one that we’re capable of
conceiving, maybe . . . but it’s there—as warm, and as rich, and as colorful
when perceived through Taloid senses as Earth is to us. I can feel it when I
talk to them.” The other two listened silently as he went on, now in a distant
voice, “The Taloids know I can too. That’s why they trust me. They trust me to
teach them about the worlds that exist beyond their sky, and the new worlds of
mind that exist beyond the clouds obscuring their present horizons of knowledge.
They trust me to show them the ways of discovery that will enable them to
explore all those worlds. That’s more than all those fools back on Earth ever
asked for, or understood that I could have done for them.” His expression became
contemptuous. “And you think I would have traded that for anything a bunch of
deadhead executives and bureaucrats might have to offer—people who’ve never in
their lives had an inspired thought or a vision of what could be?” Zambendorf
focused his gaze back on Massey and Price, and shook his head. “No, don’t you go
preaching at me about the meaning of the word human, the insignificance of
accidental differences in biological hardware, or any of that crap. Because I
could give both of you a whole lesson on it.”
The cabin remained very quiet for what seemed a long time. Massey drank the last
of his coffee, then looked across at Price with his eyebrows raised
questioningly. Price looked uncomfortable and said nothing. “I, er . . . I guess
we owe you an apology,” Massey murmured.
Zambendorf nodded curtly and left it at that. He looked at Massey curiously.
“You still haven’t explained what made you think I’d accepted a deal,” he said.
Massey looked over at Price again. Price made a face and shrugged. “I guess he’s
got a right to know,” he said. Zambendorf frowned uncomprehendingly.
Massey drew a long breath, held it for a second or two, then exhaled abruptly
and nodded his agreement. “Set it up, Vernon.” Massey turned to Zambendorf.
“Obviously what you’re about to see is not intended to become public knowledge.
I don’t know if you’re aware that the news from Earth is censored before it’s
broadcast around the Orion. In particular, a lot of what goes out across the
Earth newsgrid is omitted from what’s shown here. However, that was anticipated
before we left Earth and arrangements were made for me to have a private channel
direct into NASO.”
Zambendorf watched as Price unlocked a storage locker in the wall and took out a
small metal strongbox which in turn yielded a collection of video cartridges.
Price selected one of the cartridges and walked over to the cabin’s terminal to
insert it, at the same time switching the terminal to off-line local mode.
Whatever was stored in the cartridges evidently was too sensitive to be
entrusted to the ship’s databank. Zambendorf gave Massey a puzzled look. “If you
were told we were going to Mars too, why would anyone give you a private
information line?” he asked. “Why would you be supposed to need one?”
Massey smiled faintly. “I didn’t know I had one until a timelocked message from
the databank told me about it after we’d left Earth. I guess you weren’t the
only one who didn’t find out what he was really here for until a while after