rabbits must therefore come from hats, could he?”
“I never claimed it proved anything,” Massey answered. “But if a simple
explanation can account for the facts, then there’s no need for a more
complicated one, or indeed any logical justification for accepting one.”
“The simplest explanation for the planets and the stars would be that they
revolve above the Earth,” Zambendorf pointed out. “But nevertheless we all
accept a more complicated one.” With luck Massey would allow himself to be
diverted into the realms of philosophical logic, totally confusing ninety
percent of the viewers, who would then dismiss him as a hair-splitting academic
waffler.
“Yes—because it explains more facts,” Massey replied. “But all that’s irrelevant
for now. You said that the presence of competent scientists is of no concern to
you. Very well, then what I’m proposing will demonstrate the fact admirably. You
said facts aren’t altered by beliefs. I agree with you. So let’s find out what
the facts are.”
Clearly Massey was not about to be shaken off. Half the world was watching and
waiting for Zambendorf’s answer. If he committed himself, Massey would never let
him off the hook. “Well, Karl,” Connel said after a few seconds of dragging
silence. “What do you say? Will you accept Gerry Massey’s challenge?”
Zambendorf looked around him desperately. Across the Orion’s Control Deck, many
of the officers and crew members were watching curiously. If those damn GSEC
people had done their jobs, Massey wouldn’t have been able to get near him. It
was infuriating. Massey had folded his arms and was waiting impassively.
Zambendorf hesitated. Then, as their eyes met, he saw the triumph already
lighting up Massey’s face. That did it.
Zambendorf turned away for a moment, braced his shoulders and breathed heavily a
few times, and then looked up to the ceiling as if summoning strength from
above. When he turned back again, his face seemed to have darkened with anger,
and his eyes burned with patriarchal indignation. Connel looked suddenly
apprehensive. Even Massey seemed taken by surprise. “At a time like this? … At
such a moment of historic events about to unfold? . . . You would have me play
games? What childishness is this?” Zambendorf thundered. Dramatic, sure, but it
was an all-or-nothing situation. “We, the human race, are about to go forth and
meet the destiny for which fate has been shaping us for millions of years, and
instead of rising to fulfillment, your minds are distracted by trivia.” Connel
and Massey looked at each other nonplussed. Zambendorf whirled round upon Massey
and pointed a finger accusingly. “I challenge you! Do you see any hint of where
this journey will lead us, or what it will reveal? Indeed, do you see anything
at .all? Or are you like the rest of the blind who believe only in the part of
the universe that lies within groping distance of their fingers?”
A bluff to throw him on the defensive, Massey decided. He had to hold the
initiative. “Theatricals,” he retorted. “Just theatricals. You’re not saying
anything. Are you supposed to be predicting something? If so, what? Let’s have
something specific for once, now—not after the event and with hindsight, after
we arrive at Mars.”
“Mars?” Zambendorf sounded pitying. “You believe we’re going to Mars? You live
your life in blindness. It is no wonder you cannot believe.”
“Of course we’re going to Mars,” Massey said impatiently.
“Pah, fool!” Zambendorf exploded.
Suddenly Massey was less certain of himself. He could feel the situation
starting to slip. It was all wrong. Zambendorf couldn’t be turning it around.
Massey had had all the aces, surely. Connel was gaping incredulously. “What are
you saying, Karl,” he demanded. “Are you saying we’re not going to Mars? So
where do you think we are going? . . . Why? . . . What are you telling us?” Most
of the viewers had already forgotten Massey had ever issued a challenge. They
wanted to know if Zambendorf had seen something.
Zambendorf was back in his natural element—the showman in control of the show.
He extended his arms wide and appealed upward toward the roof. Beside him,
Massey and Connel seemed to fade away on a hundred million screens. He brought