Also Dave is a communications specialist.”
“The other possibility is that it could have been you who was fed wrong
information,” Drew West said to Massey. “Perhaps the Paduans have been given
smart missiles. The story that it’s a bluff might really be a double bluff aimed
at persuading us to persuade ourselves that there isn’t any risk.”
“Yes, that’s also possible,” Massey admitted. He sounded far from happy.
Andy Schwartz shook his head and tossed his hands up helplessly. “I’m confused,”
he protested. “What is all this? The management doesn’t want us doing the same
thing at Padua that we did to Henry’s army—right? If that’s so, they’d want us
to believe what Lang said, wouldn’t they—whether the Paduans really possess any
missiles or not. So why would they set Gerry up to tell us Lang was bluffing?
Either way it makes no sense.”
Drew West bit his lip for a moment, then said, “Unless they wanted us to get
shot down.” The cabin became very still as everyone tried to tell himself West
hadn’t meant what they knew he’d meant. After a pause West went on, “It would
get rid of their number-one problem permanently. No Terrans need be directly
involved since the Paduans would have done everything necessary through a
contrived accident . . . And Leaherney’s people would have gone on record as
having tried to do the civilized thing and warn us, even after we hijacked their
lander.” He shrugged. “So how would it look to an investigating committee
afterward? A bunch of hotheads insisted on flying an illegally acquired vessel
into the home territory of heavily armed aliens of known warlike disposition
despite attempts to warn them, and got themselves killed—a clear verdict of
death by misadventure. All parties in authority get exonerated. Some
recommendations would be filed for tightening up security precautions against
similar seizures in future. And that would be it. Case closed.” West turned from
the screen and moved away to stand staring moodily down at the empty captain’s
couch.
Hank Frazer was shaking his head and looking appalled. “You’re kidding!” he
gasped. “Are you saying they’d deliberately set us up to be shot down? But
they’re our own people! . . . All over some lousy robot religion? I don’t
believe it. The whole thing’s insane.”
“This operation might be worth millions to them—billions, probably,” West said
without turning his head. “And on top of that it could be curtains for the
Soviets. With stakes like that, who knows what they might do?”
“I have to agree with Drew,” Abaquaan told Zambendorf from the cabin doorway. He
knew now what had been bothering him: After Massey’s attempt at organizing a
formal protest, Lang wouldn’t have confided in him over something like this. The
leak had been planned.
“They wouldn’t think twice about it,” Clarissa declared flatly. “I’ve seen ’em
waste more people over peanuts. It just depends on how much somebody decides he
wants the peanuts.”
“They’re right,” Andy Schwartz agreed morosely.
A heavy silence descended once again. Zambendorf brought a hand up to his brow,
emitted a long, weary sigh, and moved a couple of paces toward the door. There
was nothing more that any of the others could add. Zambendorf was going through
the motions of tussling with a difficult decision, but Abaquaan, West, and
Clarissa, who had worked with him for a long time, knew already that there was
no decision for him to make; as bitter as it would be for him to have to concede
defeat —and to cap it all, defeat in the final round after winning every round
that had gone before—he would never ask them to risk their lives for any cause,
and wouldn’t for a moment consider risking the crew, even if they were to
volunteer. It had been a good fight, but it was over. All that Zambendorf was
really looking for now was a way to climb down gracefully. The lander’s crew
could sense it too, and while they sympathized with his predicament, none of
them was particularly disposed to help make it any easier. After all, being
hijacked to help a worthy cause was one thing; going on suicide missions was