Code of the Lifemaker By James P. Hogan

said. “It could be anywhere in an area of hundreds of thousands of square

kilometers. So we have to assume that the next time we see Zambendorf will be

when he decides to make his appearance at Padua and wheel in this messiah he’s

manufactured. We won’t get an opportunity to confront him again until then.”

“What we’d like is your professional opinion as one of the mission’s senior

psychologists on Zambendorf’s probable reaction to the course of action that we

have in mind,” Giraud said.

There would have been no point in Massey’s feigning disinterest. He raised his

head and thrust out his chin inquiringly, but remained silent. Lang waited for a

moment, and then resumed in a strange, curiously ominous voice, “As I’m sure we

all know, modem infantry-launched homing missiles for use against armor and

low-flying aircraft are pretty devastating weapons. They carry smart electronics

for target identification and tracking, and are designed to be very simple to

use—without requiring specially trained personnel. The Taloids could learn to

fire them very quickly.” Lang tossed out his hands in a brief motion and let his

meaning hang for just a second. “If, ah … if anything like that just happened

to have been included in the weapons that we shipped down to Henry, it could be

real bad news for anyone who tried a slow-speed, low-level run over the city in

a surface lander, couldn’t it?”

Massey’s eyes were blazing even before Lang had finished, and his beard quivered

with indignation. “What are you saying? That would be murder! You can’t—”

Lang held up a hand protectively. “Hey, take it easy, Gerry. Just . . . take it

easy. I was talking hypothetically. But suppose that Zambendorf believed that

the Paduans really did have weapons like that. . . . You see my point—he’s got

his own people down there with him, plus the crew of the shuttle they hijacked.

. . . What would he do? Would he back off and forget this whole damnfool thing

about going for Padua, or would he risk it, and to hell with the others down

there? Or would he do something else? What do you think?”

A short silence went by. “Are you asking me to make a prediction?” Massey asked

guardedly.

Lang shook his head. “No—only an opinion. As Charles said, we’re interested in

what you think in your professional capacity as one of the mission’s

psychologists. We’ve some important decisions to make and not much time to make

them in. We just want to be sure that we don’t overlook anything that might be

relevant.”

Massey stared down at the table again, now very thoughtful. If his opinion was

being sought and respected, perhaps he had judged the situation too hastily.

“Why should Zambendorf believe anything like that?” he asked, looking up.

“We call the lander via the comnet and tell him,” Lang replied simply.

“They wouldn’t reply,” Massey objected. “You’d be able to pinpoint their

location.”

“Not necessarily,” Giraud said. “They could route their transmission through a

surface relay dropped anywhere on Titan—or maybe several of them. We could

locate the relays if we wanted, but it wouldn’t help us get a fix on the

lander.”

Massey nodded distantly as his mind raced to absorb the implications of what was

being said. Surely there was some way he could turn this situation to advantage,

he told himself. Lang and the others would have deduced a long time ago NASO’s

real purpose in sending him with the mission, which would give them no reason

for supposing that he and Zambendorf should since have discovered any common

interests. All of their plans would be based on the assumption—now false—that he

and Zambendorf would have nothing to communicate. The possibilities were

intriguing.

After another long silence, Lang said, “Obviously the thought could cross his

mind that we might be bluffing—in fact with a guy like Zambendorf, it’s probably

the first thing he’d think of. But on the other hand, the international

political and commercial implications of the situation are big—very big, as

Zambendorf is only too well aware. Who’s to say what we might do when the chips

are down? Would he risk it with all those other people down there? You’re

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